Rachel From The Edge Pt 03

Rachel From the Edge Pt. 03

by G. Lawrence

Near death, Rachel finds a friend

When a national scandal broke out following the sudden death of billionaire Daniel Benson, his ex-wife feared the tightly bound slave girl found underneath his dead body would damage their business interests. And perhaps there is some jealousy. But Rachel has been discovered in her tiny downtown apartment deathly ill. Pamela doesn't want the scandal to get worse.

* * * * * *

Chapter Three

MISSING BOUNDARIES

"More tea?" Rory asked, emerging from the white-tiled kitchen.

"You shouldn't be stealing her tea," Oliver said, sitting on the old couch. After the orderly had scrubbed out the vomit stains.

"I'll leave a few bucks. It's more than the tramp deserves," Rory replied. Oliver held his tongue, looking disappointed in her.

"It's been an hour. What the hell is going on in there?" Pamela said to no one in particular.

"You asked for discretion," Rory said. "Mike promised to keep things mum, but he won't put a patient in danger. Not for you or anyone."

The bedroom door finally opened.

"How do we contact her family?" Dr. Bellows asked, his thin eyebrows bent. He looked angry.

"She doesn't have any family," Oliver replied. "Only a mother who is mentally incapacitated."

"Who is her medical contact at work?" Bellows asked.

"Daniel Benson," Oliver answered.

"Why? What's the problem?" Pamela asked.

"You aren't family. I need to respect her privacy."

"At the moment, we're the only people here, so you'd better goddamn tell us what to do," Pamela responded, standing in his way.

"She has viral pneumonia. Fortunately, the inflammation hasn't damaged her lungs yet. If she wasn't so weak, I'd be taking her to the hospital."

"Hospitals are no place for pneumonia patients," Rory said.

"That's another reason for holding off," Bellows agreed. "With food, liquids, and proper care, Miss Montgomery should recover, but there are other issues. That's why I need to contact her family."

"Can you at least give us a hint?" Oliver asked.

"I'm suspecting clinical depression," Bellows replied.

"What? Now she's too nuts to sign legal documents? What kind of bullshit is this?" Pamela complained.

"Pam, for God's sake, control yourself," Oliver said. "Doctor, what can we do?"

"I recommended additional treatment, but Miss Montgomery declined. She's asked everybody to leave."

"How do you like that? Some gratitude," Pamela said.

"What are you going to do?" Rory asked.

"She's not crazy," Bellows said. "I can't have her committed. I'd like to check on her again tomorrow if she'll let me."

"What if she continues refusing treatment?" Oliver asked.

"She'll die. She's already halfway there," Bellows answered.

The room grew quiet.

"Look, I hate the bitch as much as anyone," Rory said. "But she can't feed herself, or get liquids. Or even go to the bathroom. I'll stay around to help."

"Do you think you should?" Bellows asked. Rory didn't like his tone.

"I may only be a student nurse, but I won't have anyone question my ethics. Not ever. It's not like I need the job."

"I'll notify Dr. Burstein that you'll be missing some classes," Bellows said.

"When can she sign the documents?" Pamela asked.

Oliver took Pamela by the elbow and dragged her out of the apartment. The door slammed. Rory remained behind with Dr. Bellows.

"Have you spoken with her?" Bellows asked.

"I've seen the whore from across the room at office parties. We've never been introduced."

"Does this really need to generate such animosity?"

"My father is dead. Dead because of her. Now Mom says she's trying to steal our inheritance. Am I supposed to like her?"

* * * * * *

Dr. Bellows and the orderly left, having done what they could. Rachel was finally asleep. Rory still thought the shameless slut deserved anything she got, but couldn't help feeling sorry for her. The poor thing was wheezing, coughing, and thoroughly drained.

Rory made herself comfortable. The apartment was small, the carpets needed replacing, and spots in the ceiling showed rain damage. The kitchen was scrubbed clean, pots and pans hanging on the wall. Wilted daisies filled a vase over the sink. There was no evidence that Rachel had been eating. No dirty dishes. No food packaging in the trash bin. No ants.

Rory wandered back into the living room, sitting on the lumpy couch, noticing the TV. Nice, but not fancy. Probably bought secondhand. A bookcase held romance novels and DVDs. Mostly different versions of Pride & Prejudice. A framed photo of Rachel and Daniel sat on the end table. They were standing on the Santa Monica Pier, hugging. The small 24-year-old woman and her tall 62-year-old boyfriend. Both looked very happy. Rory remembered seeing a bottle of vodka in the kitchen and fetched a clean glass.

Unopened mail lay on the floor. One was a bill from a nursing home in Scottsdale, Arizona. Rory opened it. Apparently Rachel's mother had been there for several years, diagnosed with heart trouble, liver disease and dementia. Her care was ferociously expensive. Rory glanced around the apartment again, realizing why Rachel was living in such shabby conditions. Then she saw a cardboard box on the floor next to the door, sealed with duct tape. The word 'incinerator' was scrawled on the side in magic marker. Rory dragged the box to the couch and ripped it open.

The contents seemed very strange for the incinerator. Rachel's diploma from Palmdale High School was on top. She had graduated with honors. Then her acceptance letter to Harvard. Harvard? And with a scholarship, too. Certificates for swim competitions. A flattering letter offering her a senior research position at Marbury & Benson, signed by Oliver Mendelson. Rory had been told Rachel was an intern.

Tucked inside the box, Rory found a stack of video disks. Outdated technology, but good if you want to keep the contents off the internet. Rory wondered what secrets Rachel was trying to hide. In the bottom of the box, she found an old laptop computer. It seemed that Rachel was seeking to hide her crimes by disposing of the evidence, but the scheme had now failed. Those secrets would be revealed.

Bank accounts were the first to be explored but proved disappointing. Rachel's account had only held a paltry $12,000, and that had been transferred to her mother. Rachel's credit card balance had been paid off. An insignificant sum.

Rory spent the whole evening and two vodka martinis looking through every file Rachel had, but the good stuff wasn't there. There were hints that Rachel had come from an abusive family, but she dropped out of Harvard when her parents got sick, losing her scholarship. Her father had died, and the expenses mounted. The laptop held almost nothing about her work at Marbury & Benson, though it did contain her Harvard term papers. Rory only understood bits and pieces of the mathematical puzzles, but it looked like Rachel was really smart, and her professors agreed.

There was a video disk in the laptop's tray, similar to the stack she'd found. The date was ten months old. Was it evidence of Rachel's plot to exploit her father? Rory would find out, though she got another drink first.

The video started by peering into a dark room. Her father's bedroom at Canby Place. Someone was sleeping in his bed, covered by a sheet. And then a looming figure entered the room, dressed in black, wearing a mask, holding a rope. He approached the foot of the bed. A rather small-boned woman was asleep. Rory watched the intruder tie her ankle to a bedpost, and then reach for her other ankle.

"What are you doing?" the woman said, partially in the dark. She tried to pull back, struggling, but the intruder was too strong. He tied her other foot to the far bedpost. She clutched the sheet, still hidden in shadows.

The lights in the room became bright. Rory saw it was Rachel sitting in the giant bed, and knew it was her father wearing the black outfit.

"Go away. Go away or I'll scream," Rachel said, looking more nervous than afraid.

"I don't think so," Daniel said. And then he drew a knife. Rachel used both hands to cover her mouth. Daniel pulled the sheet off the bed, finding her naked. He ordered her to lie back while tying her hands to the headboard, leaving her spread-eagle. Rachel pulled against the ropes, but the knots were too tight. Over six feet tall and weighing two hundred pounds, there was little Rachel could have done against her father even if she wasn't tied up. She looked like a twig being menaced by a grizzly bear.

"Okay, lady, tell me the combination to the safe," Daniel said, attempting a Brooklyn accent.

What the hell? Rory thought.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Rachel whispered.

"You don't give me no choice. I'll hafta make you talk," Daniel said, waving the knife.

Rory leaned forward, pausing the video. Something about the knife was wrong. And then she realized: it wasn't a knife at all. It was a plastic toy. Like the ones her brothers played with as children.

"Please don't hurt me," Rachel whimpered.

Rory was no stranger to bondage porn, having watched it with her girlfriends. But there was something different about Rachel. A palpable vulnerability. She was either an uncertain novice or a terrific actress.

Daniel pulled a cloth from his back pocket. A gag. He moved up, tying it across her mouth. Her eyes began to look desperate.

"Remember, you made me do this," Daniel said.

The camera mounted on the bedroom wall showed both of them graphically. Her father was lying on his side next to Rachel, still wearing the burglar costume, his hand roaming her body. Rory wasn't keeping time, but it seemed to go on for quite a while. And Rachel did not appear to be faking, squirming at every touch. When Daniel's hand traced down her stomach and went between her legs, she arched and fought, seeking escape. Her breathing was heavy. Daniel pulled off his mask, smiling devilishly. He was so handsome. And excited. He continued working her.

"Gonna give me the combination now?" Daniel asked. "Or do we keep doing this? Because I can do this all night long."

Rachel shook her head. Daniel slid to the foot of the bed, hovered over her for a moment, and then went down on her, the camera only showing the back of his head. Rachel was trying to scream through the gag, but it wasn't fear. Her whole body was twisting in the ropes, and Daniel was having no mercy on her. She appeared to orgasm. And orgasm again. Rory felt her heart pounding. Watching her father seemed so wrong, and yet she couldn't turn her eyes away.

Rachel was left panting, still tied hand and foot, as Daniel left the room. He returned a minute later carrying martini glasses. He removed the gag.

"How are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm good," Rachel sheepishly replied. "That was stimulating."

"You think? I wouldn't have guessed."

Rory studied the interplay. It was the first time she'd ever heard Rachel and her father speaking to each other. The audio was excellent, even picking up their whispers. Daniel looked particularly virile. Muscular. Better than he'd looked in years. Rory realized that, though this was a sex game, it seemed like more. They spoke like a couple, not a tycoon and his employee.

It was Rachel who surprised Rory most. Despite her small frame, she had a vigorous physique. Taunt. Athletic. Desirable. Nothing like the burned-out shell sleeping in the next room. Rory couldn't blame Daniel for his interest. Rachel's big brown eyes were always a bit frightened, like a deer caught in the headlights. Her innocence inspired a protective instinct that even Rory felt. And Rachel was no harlot. Even lying spread-eagle under a harsh light, she seemed shy. Demure. It was an intoxicating blend.

Daniel held Rachel's head up so she could sip from the martini glass. Some dribbled down her chin. Daniel dabbed it with his sleeve. Then he set the glasses aside and laid down next to her, one hand supporting his head.

"You love me, don't you?" Daniel said.

"Maybe," she teased.

"Tell me you love me," he insisted.

"I love you," Rachel replied, softly and in fear.

"Say my name."

"Daniel. I love you, Daniel," Rachel said.

There was a pause as they just gazed at each other. Then Daniel leaned forward to kiss her, long and slow and gently.

"I do love you, Daniel. I love you so much," Rachel said. There were tears in her eyes, pleading for him to love her back.

"I'll always take care of you, no matter what," Daniel said. "You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes," Rachel answered, though it was hard to tell if she truly did trust him, or only wanted to.

"The next time I ask you to marry me, you're going to say yes. I don't give a damn what my kids think."

"You can't hurt them," Rachel said, looking sad.

"They're grown up. Making their own way in the world. I don't need their approval."

Rachel grew quiet. Rory realized this was a conversation they'd had before.

Marriage?

"Maybe if you'd said yes, I would have spared you," Daniel said, taking off his shirt. He stood at the foot of the bed, removed the rest of his clothes, and stared down at his helpless victim, his back to the camera. Rory felt embarrassed, but saw he had been working out. He crawled on top of his woman, plunging in. She was wet and ready. He was not being gentle. Rachel didn't seem to mind.

As he finished, Rory stopped the video again, leaning close to see Rachel's expression. She did not appear frightened. She looked excited, and content. Safe.

The video ended. Rory never did learn how Rachel got free of the bed. The incinerator box had twelve more videos.

Rory made herself another drink, feeling a bit tipsy, and went into the bedroom. Rachel's sleep was not peaceful. She mumbled and tossed around. Some of the disjointed words were Latin and Greek. Rory sat on the bed, comparing her to the enticing young woman she'd seen in the video. Something had happened to that girl. Something terrible.

Rachel woke up, reaching for a photo of Daniel on the nightstand. She clutched it close to her chest before lying back.

"What's your story?" Rory asked.

Rachel was so startled she almost fell out of bed. Rory grabbed her at the last second.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" Rachel said, pulling the blanket up.

"I'm your nurse."

"I recognize you now. You are Mr. Benson's daughter."

"Mr. Benson? Still keeping that up?"

Rachel started to reply, then fell quiet. Rory saw it again. The look of desolation. She seemed so tiny. So fragile. Like the smallest thing could break her into a thousand pieces.

"I'm Rory May Benson. Not the second son my father wanted," Rory said. "We've seen each other but never met. I'm training to be a registered nurse at USC."

"Why are you in my apartment?"

"Why? You're kidding, right?"

"Kidding about what?"

"You had a major meltdown. My mother sent for a doctor."

"Is you mother here?" Rachel asked, shrinking against the headboard.

"No, she's home by now. I volunteered to take care of you."

"Why? Why would you do that?" Rachel said, sounding resentful.

Rory studied the distressed expression. It wasn't an act. She wondered if she should call someone at the women's center.

"Girl, you've been really sick. You need to drink fluids, eat soup, and snap out of this downward spiral."

"No, I really don't," Rachel said, so quietly that Rory almost didn't hear. "Thank you for helping me, but you should go now. I'm okay."

"Can you reach the kitchen? Can you even get to the bathroom?"

Rachel looked down, her fingers twisting the blanket. She started coughing. Nearly gagging. Her eyes watered. Breathing was difficult.

"I am not your responsibility. Go away," she finally said. Then she turned over, pretending to go back to sleep. She was crying but trying not to show it.

"This is fucking great," Rory said, slapping Rachel on the butt.

"Hey, don't do that," Rachel protested.

"Talk to me. Are you listening? Talk to me."

When she got no response, Rory slapped her on the butt again.

"Would you rather I tied you up?" Rory asked. Rachel rolled over, staring in surprise. "Yeah, I know about you and Dad playing those games. He didn't have any trouble making you talk."

What little color remained in Rachel's cheeks drained out. She drew up her legs, hiding under the covers.

"Please don't tell anybody," she begged.

"I'm no stoolpigeon," Rory said, helping Rachel settle back. Her hands felt cold. She shivered. Rory found an extra blanket from the no-frills closet.

"Mr. Mendelson is making a paper for me to sign. I won't take your money," Rachel explained.

"Mom said something about that."

"I wasn't trying to take him away from you. I just ... it was ..."

"Yeah, I saw how it was. Now I want you to sleep, and when you wake up, I'm going to bring you soup. And you are going to eat it. Do you understand me?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders without answering.

Rory got up to leave, taking another look at her patient. She normally had contempt for women not strong enough to take care of themselves, but Rachel was different. She wasn't asking for anyone's help, and she wasn't complaining. Her only fear was people, Pamela Benson being the worst of them.

Going back to the living room, Rory brought up the latest newsfeeds on her phone. The press wasn't done with Danny Benson's sex slave. They said she had worked as a stripper off Highway 14, which Rory knew wasn't true. They said she'd been expelled from Harvard. Reports of Rachel's firing from Marbury and Benson had leaked out, commentators gleefully saying that getting rid of the murderous gold-digger was the only choice Benson's ex-wife had. A photo of her mother appeared on the screen, looking strong and heroic. Rory didn't need to guess who was behind the report.

Rory had watched these commentators before. Even agreed with them. But now there was something monstrous about their deceit. And their arrogance. The more Rory thought about it, the madder she got. What would happen to Rachel after signing away the inheritance? She had no money, no job, and her health was broken.

"Johnny?" Rory said, calling her brother in Boston.

"Sis, how are you holding up? How's Mom?" John said. "I'll be there a few days before the funeral."

"Are you still into the whole social justice thing? Defending those who can't defend themselves?" Rory asked, so angry that John heard it over the phone.

"I believe in defending people's rights."

"I have a client for you. A client that will make you the most famous lawyer in America."

"Who would that be?"

"Rachel Montgomery."

"The sex slave? You've got to be kidding. What would Mom say?"

"Mom can go screw herself," Rory said.

* * * * * *

"Pammy, dear, how are you getting along?" Sheila Marbury asked, taking a seat in the upholstered booth without asking permission.

Canter's Delicatessen was busy serving breakfast, the iconic restaurant filled with patrons. The waiters rushed around while the kitchen staff kept the hot plates coming. Pamela looked up from her text messages, a bit embarrassed. Normally finely attired with her hair made-up, she looked over-worked. Stressed. She was still wearing gray sweats from the gym.

"Sheila, my favorite cousin," Pamela said. "Whose husband are you sleeping with these days?"

Sheila laughed. In her mid-thirties, sleek and graceful, with curly black hair and blue eyes, she reminded many of a panther on the prowl.

"Daniel and I broke it off two years ago, when he started banging that little piece of trailer trash who worked for him," Sheila said.

"Oh? You couldn't compete with her?" Pamela asked, offering a catty smile.

"You didn't see that bitch in her prime. There was no competing with that. And her mental illness just made Daniel want to protect her that much more."