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I had taken a cab to Queens. There are two major airports in New York City, both found in the same borough. I was on my way to JFK. I’d been to La Guardia before, but didn’t care for the place.
There was little traffic until we neared the airport. I had plenty of time till my flight and paid little attention to my surroundings. Instead, I thought about Scott. He was too practical a man to accept my conclusions and too caring to support them. I will never forget the look on his face.
“You can’t be serious.”
Poor Scott. So sure of what is real, he will never truly know reality. “But I am serious. I have no choice.”
“Sandra, you know your sister. She could be anywhere. There’s no evidence she’s come to any harm.”
“There is evidence. My dream.”
I could see his mind working, trying to come up with a flaw in that thinking without insulting my sanity. He couldn’t.
“Perhaps you should talk to someone.”
“Talk to someone? Who did you have in mind?”
I knew what was coming before he said it. “Perhaps you should talk to a psychiatrist.”
I smiled gently. “I’m sorry, Scott. I wish you well. I really do.”
There were tears in his eyes. “Don’t go, Sandra.”
I leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself.”
I never looked back, though I got the impression he’d started after me and stopped himself. Scott would do fine. He was bright, had a great personality and a wonderful career. But I was entering a world far enough removed from his practical day-to-day existence to make our relationship impossible. From his point of view, I lacked common sense. From my point of view, he lacked faith in me.
By the time the cab pulled up at the domestic departure terminal, my mind was already onto other matters. I’d taken a personal leave of absence from the job, but had enough money in the bank where it didn’t concern me. Not yet anyway. When our mother had passed, she’d left each of us half of her hundred thousand dollar insurance policy. Predictably, Jaycee had spent her half and I’d saved mine. I was glad now I had.
I grabbed an expensive cup of coffee and a cardboard danish from a snack counter, one of the few places open at that hour of the morning. My 6:00 a.m. flight would get me to Miami in just three hours. I had set only one goal for myself. I would not think about Jaycee during the flight. There was nothing I could do until I got there and I felt alone enough already.
Fortunately, I’d brought a book with me, The Cup and the Bucket by Dean L. Stevens. Strangely enough, I’d picked it up quite some time ago, before I’d had my dream. Little did I know just how involved I’d become in metaphysical matters. I hadn’t yet read it, but I’d been told it was a great book. Hopefully it would be good enough to hold my attention when so many more pressing matters still flitted about the edges of my mind.
&bsnp;&bsnp;Less than an hour later, I was on a 727 not quite filled with people. The woman sitting next to me was well into her sixties and pleasant enough, but I wasn’t in the mood to chat. I opened my book and started reading, hoping it would distract me for the duration of the flight.
I hadn’t slept much however, and found myself reading the same page over and over until I finally drifted off.
The dream was the same as it had been the first time. The hot sand on my feet, my startling journey into Jaycee’s head and the subsequent attack by a man who only existed from the shins down. I’d have given a lot to be able to look up. The view wasn’t clear enough to notice any distinguishing features. We were too busy trying to shield ourself to notice much.
I woke with a scream and the old woman beside me tried to do a fair imitation of Scott, but failed. I didn’t tell her about the dream. This was my burden, a thing I had to handle on my own. I didn’t go back to sleep. I didn’t dare. As for not thinking about Jaycee, the dream had ended that ambition. So I considered what I would do when I arrived. I played with every possibility I could think of, some of which scared the hell out of me. It was the longest flight of my life. By the time we set down in Miami, I was ready to crawl into a hole and die... but didn’t.
I picked up my luggage and the car I’d arranged for and set off north. The sooner I solved the mystery, the sooner I’d be able to sleep again.
Hollywood is about an hour from the Miami airport. Fort Lauderdale would have been closer, but they hadn’t had as early a flight. I didn’t mind the drive anyway. It helped ground me. Driving was something familiar and I needed that right now.
I’d never been to Jaycee’s house, but had gotten directions off the Internet before I’d left. Insomnia gave me plenty of time to memorize them, though I’d printed them as well. The directions were perfect and I found the house with no trouble. Like everything else in the neighborhood it was single-story, and the white weatherboard looked like it had been recently painted. It made the gray-shingled roof look darker than it was. If it weren’t for the front lawn, I might have thought I’d stepped into a black and white movie. Two eye-like windows gazed out over the newly mowed grass, which probably would have had a fence around it with a locked gate, had it been in New York. Here open lawns were the rule rather than the exception. A large sign in the front yard informed me the house was available for rent and offered a phone number. I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket and dialed.
“Seaside Realty.”
“Hello, yes, I’m looking at the house on 56th Avenue and Orange. I understand it’s available.”
“Hold on, let me check that for you.”
I could barely stop from pacing as I waited. “Yes, ma’am, it is.”
“Could I possibly speak to the landlord?”
“Seaside handles that property ma’am.”
“I understand that. I’m trying to find my sister. She used to live there.”
“I’m sorry ma’am I’m not allowed to give out the landlord’s phone number.”
I cursed under my breath, but kept my voice pleasant. “I understand. Could you possibly give him my number? I wouldn't trouble you, but this is very important.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
I gave her my cell phone number and thanked her again before hanging up.
I wondered how long ago Jaycee had moved and where she’d ended up. I thought about my dream and knew one thing--those cliffs didn’t exist anywhere in Florida, though where else they might be, I couldn’t venture to guess.
I almost got back in the car, but decided against it. There was, I felt, a good chance the landlord wouldn’t call back. So I walked from the car up the flagstone path to the front door.
It was a nice house, if small. Having spent most of my life in apartments, the lawn and quiet appealed to me. I checked the mailbox first and found a few advertisements, a few bills and a letter from a video store. I placed them in my purse and walked around the house to the side door. I checked, but it was, of course, locked.
I looked around. There was no one watching. I returned to the front, pried up a flagstone with some difficulty, then carried it to the side of the house. I smashed it against a pane of glass in the door, wincing at the amount of noise it made. I froze, waiting to see if someone would come to investigate. After a minute or so, I reached in and undid the lock.
I felt a thrill of excitement run through me. I’d never done anything like this before and found myself enjoying the sensation. I wondered how long it had been since I had something resembling adrenaline pumping through my veins. The door opened onto a laundry room, which contained a washer and dryer, but nothing else on the concrete floor. I entered the house proper.
The rooms were empty and had already been cleaned, offering no clue as to the life Jaycee had been living. Not even one of her ever-present notebooks, filled with poems, doodles or some silly story she was working on, had been left behind. I took a deep breath, fighting the fact her existence had been erased as easily as her writings. Even that last remnant of my sister had been denied me. Frustrated, I returned to the car and closed my eyes. There had to be something I could do.
Where to now? I couldn’t think of anything. To kill time, I started going through the mail. I sorted it, putting the advertising on the side. The letter from the video store was a reminder that she had tapes overdue. I’d never heard of any of the movies she’d rented, but then, I wasn’t all that much of a movie buff. Still, the titles were vaguely disturbing; Chain Mania, Whip Song, Slave Labor, Wet Heat and The Executioner. What had my sister been into?
I set the letter aside with the ads and started opening bills. The phone bill was there, complete with the long distance numbers she’d dialed. That might give me some clue, but I wasn’t up to that yet. The very last envelope I opened was her Visa bill. Most of the entries on it were no surprise. The one that deviated from the norm appeared multiple times; The Bondage Shoppe. I shivered as I tried to picture my little sister tortured by some pervert. Then I realized she would likely be the one holding the whip. I shook my head. I really couldn’t picture that either.
At least I had something to go on. Finding the address for the Bondage Shoppe wasn’t difficult. I’d passed an Internet cafe on the way that had everything I needed. I not only located the shop, but also got directions and checked my email as well. I even took a moment for another coffee and a too sweet pastry. I’d have to start eating better, but not yet. First, I had a mystery to solve.
From the outside, the Bondage Shoppe appeared unassuming. It had no windows, just a mural of semi-naked women painted on the front and around the sides. I’d never been to such an establishment and didn’t know what to expect. A pang of fear gave me a moment of pause before I forced myself into action.
The inside wasn’t quite what I expected. It was very low-key and professional, with glass cases, and racks of leather and lace clothing. The man behind the counter looked innocuous enough; brown hair and eyes, a neatly trimmed goatee and a smile that put me immediately at ease.
“Good morning.” His voice was deep and not unpleasant. He sounded more like a radio announcer than a salesman. I wanted to trust him, but decided not to--at least not yet. Until I had more of an idea of what had happened to Jaycee, I would take no one into my confidence.
“Hi.”
“I haven’t seen you here before.”
I smiled my most convincing smile and crossed the store, until I was standing across the counter from him. “I’ve never been here. I’m new in the area.”
“Oh, I see.” His eyes sparkled and his smile widened. I wasn’t sure if I should be scared or flattered. His expression and mannerisms made no secret of the fact he found me attractive. I expect that kind of behavior in bars, not in shops. I didn’t say anything, just gazed blandly at the contents of the glass display case. Inside, a wide range of dildos and vibrators, in all sizes, colors and prices, lined two shelves. I found myself unnerved at the sight of them, but did my best to not let it show.
“So are you looking for the local scene?” he asked. “I know a lot of people.”
“Is that right?”
“There’s a party tomorrow night, if you’d like to come. Our group hosts them pretty frequently.”
“Sounds nice.”
I wasn’t in the mood for a party, but if Jaycee had frequented this place, she might have gone to such parties and it might give me more of a clue as to what she’d been into.
The man scribbled down an address on the back of a business card. “My name’s Jorge. Just mention it at the door and they’ll let you in.”
&bsnp;&bsnp;I was going to ask him something else when a man walked through the front door. He was tall, with a shaved head and too many tattoos. I didn’t like the look of him. He reminded me of a biker and I grew frightened. I found I didn’t want to be in the same place with so dangerous a looking man. When I looked back to the counter, Jorge was studying me.
“What time does it start?”
“Show up any time after eight.”
I nodded and smiled. “I’ll see you then.”
Without another word, I turned and left. I crossed the parking lot quickly, cursing myself. He was just a man with tattoos. Why should I allow myself to react so? I was in a public place, after all. What was he going to do to me? Why was I such a wimp?
I grew angry and kicked the tire before unlocking the door. If I were to investigate a murder, I’d better grow a backbone fast.
I went shopping that day for a new outfit. I’d packed enough clothes for a fairly long stay, but hadn’t brought anything to wear to a party. I went to Saw Grass Mills, the largest mall I’d ever seen. You could walk for half an hour before you crossed its length. I ended up with a sexy crimson dress, not too revealing, but definitely more daring than anything I’d worn in recent memory. It was, however, the kind of thing Jaycee might have picked up. It was too expensive, but I didn’t care. I charged it, then found a place to eat in the food court.
After a light meal of pseudo-Chinese fare (I’d never grown used to the proliferation of Asian fast-food places), I looked down at my worn leather sandals and decided my party outfit was not yet complete. Shopping for shoes is one of the great pleasures of life, a pleasure I embraced wholeheartedly.
The shoes I ended up with, black high-heeled things, were definitely more stylish than comfortable. As soon as I’d tried them on, the knack of walking in heels returned to me as if I’d worn that sort of thing all along. In reality, I hadn’t stood this high off the ground since my freshman year at Columbia.
From the mall, I drove back to the main strip, where I found myself a room in a motel that looked clean, but lacked the amenities of many other establishments. I had cable TV, but no pool or exercise room. I didn’t care. As long as it had a bed, it would be fine.
I spent the rest of the day worrying. The worst of it was, I still had no idea what I expected to find at the party. What was I thinking? I almost decided not to go, then thought of Jaycee huddling in the sand. I remembered the fear in her eyes and knew I had no choice.
I half expected the dream to return that night, but was granted a merciful reprieve.
I spent the next day thinking about the party, about Jaycee and about what my next move should be. I thought about the shop and the films she’d rented. My sister had done stupid things before, but nothing along these lines. I thought of the little I knew about S&M; whips, handcuffs, leather. It was a dark business--one I wanted no part of. But what could I do? The police couldn’t help me. I couldn’t even prove a crime had been committed. Until I had some hard evidence, I was on my own.
The day passed too slowly, but finally, it was time. I showered, dressed and applied makeup carefully. I laid it on heavier than I usually did, because I wanted to get noticed. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, I didn’t think I’d have a problem.
It was strange Jaycee and I were sisters, for we looked completely different. Jaycee stood five-two--about six inches shorter than me. She had wavy blond hair down to the middle of her back, while mine was brown, straight and barely reached my shoulders. Jaycee often had the perfect tan, whereas my own skin burned, but remained fair after I healed. We were both slim, but Jaycee was decidedly top-heavy. My breasts, in comparison, were small, but perky. About all we had in common were our sea-green eyes, which were so much the same, we could have swapped them and no one would have noticed.
She used to complain how her ‘tits’ got in the way of things and I’d just shake my head. I’d have killed for a pair like hers... many women would. Her figure made her popular with the boys and thus, she was always in trouble. I often wondered if I’d have ended up like her, had I been better endowed.
I grabbed my purse from the bed, made sure I had everything I needed in it and made for the door. Only then did the fear hit me. I had been invited to a party by a complete stranger, and I was dressed like a call girl. I pulled my hand away from the knob and turned to study my reflection again. What was I doing?
I almost didn’t go. To this day, I’m not sure where I found the strength to open the door and get to my car. Only after I started the engine and turned onto the strip, did I realize I was excited as well as scared. It would have been more prudent to let someone know where I was going, but there was no one. With Jaycee dead, I was alone in the world. I couldn’t call Scott. He was out of my life. I was certain of that much. And the people at work, though they were good people, they’d never understand.
I concentrated on driving and, after a few wrong turns, finally found the place. I forced myself to slow down and park on the street, but didn’t get out of the car immediately.
“Okay, Sandy, this is it. Show time.”
I killed the engine, took my purse and got out of the car. The house was fully lit, and several cars were already parked in the driveway. I could hear music, though not loud enough to identify the song.
It was a private home, far nicer than anything I’d seen on my trip thus far. For one thing, it was a two-story affair, and was constructed of stone, looking more like a medieval monastery than any residence had a right to. There were a couple of balconies evident in the front, open to the night, but currently deserted.
The path to the door was cement, but the garden in front was well cared for. There was no bell, but a large brass knocker adorned the front door, which was made from oak and looked to be quite sturdy. I used it, then dropped my hand. I can’t remember ever having used a knocker before and that, along with the strange setting, put me more on edge than I already was.
I didn’t have long to wait before the door opened. A young woman looked me up and down, before standing to the side. She was tall, leggy, almost blond and wore no makeup I could see. The way her hair was braided made it impossible to tell how long it was. She wore a French maid’s outfit, complete with fishnet stockings, garters and high heels. Her cleavage was on display for all to see. I suddenly felt more like a puritan than a call girl.
“I’m a friend of Jorge,” I said, when I realized she wasn’t talking.
She smiled. “Please come in and make yourself at home. I’m Jasmine. And you are...”
“Sandy. I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Thanks.”
I returned her smile and entered, trying not to stare down at her body. It wasn’t easy. It was a warm enough night where I didn’t feel I needed a coat, so I had nothing to give her. I certainly wasn’t parting with my purse, though I didn’t have much in it. I followed her through the wood-paneled foyer into what I assumed was the living room. I don’t know what I was expecting, but what greeted me wasn’t it.
The music was classical, the people dressed casually. It turns out I was overdressed for the occasion. There was a tray of wine glasses by the door and the room was furnished elegantly, but not ostentatiously. Several overstuffed chairs were scattered about, giving the impression of a country club. Surely the room was big enough to support a healthy population. There were also three love seats hiding amongst the chairs. They were navy blue, quite a bit darker than the carpet, which was thick enough to feel like cushioning, even in my heels. The walls were half paneled below and stenciled above, with something that looked to me like a Boy Scout merit badge. Lamps and rosewood end tables seemed to be as prevalent as the chairs, and I thought if I studied the scene for long enough, I might discern some pattern to their arrangement.
I recognized Jorge immediately. There were about a dozen others present. The scene was so conservative, it might have been a party on the Upper East Side--with the exception of Jasmine, of course.
She picked up a glass of amber wine and handed it to me, smiled again and lifted the silver tray, carrying it around the room. Several of the men ogled her appreciatively... one even slapped her ass. I felt a bit of indignation for her, but she didn’t seem to mind at all, in fact, she seemed to enjoy it. That was when I saw the man watching me.
I’ve never believed in love at first sight. Lust, on the other hand, can strike at any time. It did then. He was tall, maybe six feet, with bronze hair and light eyes. His square jaw was clean-shaven and I knew his tanned, well-muscled body would look as at home in a three-piece suit as in shorts and a T-shirt.
At the moment he was wearing navy slacks with a white shirt, open at the collar. He wore no jacket, nor did anyone else. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I just stood there and waited for him to approach. Then the man to his left said something and he turned away to answer. Almost at once, the spell was broken.
I wanted to flee. I had every intention of leaving. I hadn’t felt like that in many years and the timing was all wrong. I turned toward the door, but found Jorge blocking the way. I was so taken by the stranger, I hadn’t noticed anything else.
“Glad you could make it.”
To cover the need to speak, I took a swallow of wine. I hoped he hadn’t noticed my reaction. It was humiliating enough feeling like a teenager, having someone witness it would have been too much. He showed no sign of having seen though.
“I still don’t know your name.”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Sandy.”
“Well, Sandy, make yourself comfortable. Hors d’oeuvres are coming. Come, let me introduce you around.”
“Okay.”
“I’m guessing you’re a sub?”
I assumed he wasn’t talking about an underwater vehicle, but wasn’t sure to what else he might be referring. I decided to hedge. “That’s a distinct possibility.”
He grinned. “Be that way, then.”
I had no idea what I was talking about, but smiled back and allowed him to take my arm and lead me around the room. As we approached the handsome man I’d noticed earlier, I realized I hadn’t caught a single name. Actually, handsome didn’t describe him. Striking was far closer to the truth, though even that didn’t do him justice, for once his expressive gray-blue eyes locked onto mine, there might as well have been no one else there.
“And this is Nicco,” said Jorge.
I felt myself sinking into those eyes. If I continued much longer, I would surely drown. “A pleasure.”
Nicco bowed and kissed my hand. “M’lady.” His voice was rich, baritone, demanding of attention, as if I could have ignored him anyway. He looked up at Jorge. As soon as the eye contact was broken, I sagged, as if it had been the only thing holding me up. “Not yours, is she?”
Jorge chuckled. “Think she’s out of my league?”
“Of course not. But I wouldn’t want to presume, would I?”
Jorge didn’t look particularly pleased at the way Nicco looked at me. I shouldn’t have been pleased, but was. Nicco turned his attention back to me.
“It’s a lovely night. Would you like me to show you the garden?”
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t say no. I couldn’t say anything, even when Nicco disengaged Jorge’s hand from my arm and put his own in its place. I did glance back, half expecting to see Jorge glaring, but he was smiling instead. I didn’t understand it, though I was glad he wasn’t upset.
The garden was not the one I’d already seen, as I’d expected, but a far more substantial one hidden in plain sight behind the house. While I got the impression of rich colors set against a backdrop of verdant green, I couldn’t describe what it looked like. It was as if Nicco’s presence was so strong, even the fragile beauty of a formal garden couldn’t make an impression. I did, however, notice a gazebo, which brought to mind some old Fred Astaire movies I hadn’t seen since I was a little girl. They used to come on late at night. I could still picture him dancing with Ginger Rogers in a love story as unrealistic as it was beautiful. Being there with Nicco on this moonless night, I had to remind myself how unrealistic they had been.
“So Sandy, tell me about yourself.”
I don’t open up to strangers right away and almost said so. Still, I didn’t see how it could do me harm and I didn’t want to ruin the moment. “What is it you’d like to know?”
“Everything.”
I laughed. “You don’t do things halfway, do you?”
“Should I? The world is full of men who walk in baby steps. I hope never to be one of them.”
“Nicco is an interesting name.”
“Short for Nicolas. And Sandy?”
“Short for Sandra.”
“Ah, I like that name.”
His smile pleased me, though I didn’t really know why. He was, after all, a complete stranger and I had other business he knew nothing about.
“Are you a sub, Sandy?”
“I don’t know.” At least I didn’t lie.
“I see. So you’re just curious?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you ever answer a question directly?”
“Not if I can help it. I think it’s nice to keep an air of mystery for a while, don’t you?”
He grew serious and stopped walking. “No. I think two people should be open and honest with each other. I have no room in my life for mysteries.”
The quiet intensity with which he spoke the words, made me want to hide. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t feel you have to wear a veil of secrecy when I’m around. I won’t hurt you... I promise.”
I couldn’t tell why his words so moved me, but couldn’t deny they did. Still, it was all happening too fast. I think he sensed it too. “Why don’t we go back inside?”
“Okay,” I said. I really didn’t want to, but Nicco suggested it and I didn’t want to seem too eager to be alone with him. And I needed time to think. I followed him inside.
A number of people were seated around a chair where Jasmine sat, looking up at a man who hadn’t been there when we’d walked outside. The man held in his hands a device I’d never seen before. It was about two feet long, with an electrically charged ball on the end. It looked like one of the lightning spheres you buy at novelty stores--only smaller.
Nicco stopped and pointed. “Violet wand.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say.
The man was short, with a full beard and a bald head. His eyes were green, his hands larger than they should have been. He slowly lowered the device and touched it to Jasmine’s inner thigh. She spread her legs and moaned softly.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“It’s for electrical play,” explained Nicco, as if that should make some kind of sense to me.
“It has varying power levels,” announced the man, “so I can turn up the intensity.” He took it from Jasmine’s leg and moved a knob on it, then he touched it to her left breast. She jumped, then giggled. Her eyes were wide with lust and her breathing grew heavy. I had never been a voyeur before and found myself getting turned on.
Just then, the man with the violet wand looked up and noticed me. “Well, well, what have we here?”
Jasmine smiled and watched as he made his way toward me. “What’s your name, little one?”
“Sandy.” I kept my voice level. I didn’t trust him and didn’t know why.
“I was just about to demonstrate my toy, Sandy. Would you like to help?”
“No thanks.”
“Don’t be shy.”
He reached for my hand. I pulled it away. Nicco stepped in front of me.
“I do believe the lady has declined your invitation.”
The man growled. “Stay out of this, Nicco. I don’t see a collar around her neck.”
He reached for me again. Nicco slapped his hand away. “I repeat, I do believe the lady is not interested.”
The man with the violet wand paused, then turned his attention back to me. “Then let her say so herself.”
I wanted to speak, but the look in his eyes scared me. He must have taken my hesitation for acquiescence, for he moved forward and reached for me again.
Nicco’s fist shot out and struck the man square in the jaw. He went over backwards and lay there. Several of the men laughed, but no one made a move to interfere. When he finally made his way to his feet, his eyes held a terrible anger.
Nicco said one word. “Don’t.”
There was a terrible moment when I didn’t know what would happen. I feared for Nicco. He’d been protecting me. Whatever occurred would be my fault. I was going to speak, but courage deserted me as soon as I looked into the man’s eyes. Cold, they were. Intense. Angry. No one spoke or moved, and I could almost believe we had always stood thus. Then, without another word, the man turned and left the party.
