Chapter 1
Melanie
“I am going to murder your daddy, yes I am.” Tiffany slides a tiny spoonful of ice cream into my baby’s expectant mouth. Chloe presses her tiny rose lips against the plastic, lids closing over shiny hazel eyes like she’s found Nirvana. Probably not that far off. I make her food from scratch, just to be safe, and I don’t add sugar. Right now, the only thing good in my life has a bowl of sugar free sherbet in front of her. Untouched because my best friend is introducing her to the sinful pleasure of chocolate fudge ice cream. And the concept of murder.
We are at a table in the rear of the ice cream place, near the bathrooms. A jangle of laughter and innocence echoes off the storefront glass, the tables occupied by purple and gold toboggans, North Face jackets, and irreverent sweatshirts. Speakers unfamiliar with the concept of ‘inside voice’ call out to the line waiting to be served or checking out the specials behind the glass display case. My body wants to melt with envy for their freedom. The owner, Zelda, hasn’t changed since we knew her as LSU students. Always ready with a smile and a boatload of ‘hon’s and ‘dears’, the occasional ‘Bless Your Heart.’ Tiffany continues with the half-whisper baby talk, bringing her lips close to Chloe’s soft cheek.
“It won’t be quick, sweetie. Oh no, we can’t have that. No bullet in the back of the head for your daddy. Am I right, Love?” She kisses my baby. I don’t bother to correct her characterization of my husband. “Maybe we’ll stake him to a red ant hill. Wouldn’t that be delicious?” My friend leans back, blue eyes smiling. Chloe reciprocates, showing off the latest addition to her dental collection. I think they may be in love with each other. I experience a rare moment of softness, almost peace, watching my beautiful friend interact with my precious baby. My vision blurs and Tiffany’s voice echoes from far away. I wonder if this is real or am I dreaming an impossible dream.
Movement at the front of the store brings me back. Zelda is waving the Vulcan salute. She’s not wishing that we live long and prosper. She's telling us my chauffeur/watchdog is about to enter the shop. I nod to Tiffany, who unfolds her body and pushes strands of blonde hair behind her ears. She leans over and kisses Chloe, kisses me, leaves her lips close to my ear.
“Think about what I said.”
She graces me with one more of her electric smiles and disappears into the ladies room. The door at the other end of the shop tinkles. Charles pushes his way in. I slide the chocolate fudge into my half-eaten bowl of butter pecan and stack the dishes. My driver is not the sharpest knife, but I’m not taking any chances. These little excursions are the only morsels of freedom my husband allows. And this only recently. His rule is that I can speak to no other human except to order. Charles is supposed to see to that. The first few times he sat with us, but he couldn’t stand the baby talk and Chloe’s experiments with food slinging. With him happy to wait in the car for my allotted hour, I got a message to Tiffany through Zelda. On days her class schedule allows, an extra dish with a double scoop of chocolate fudge shows up at our table.
Charles lets me know it is time to leave. I pull on my overcoat and hand him the diaper bag. His nose scrunches. With Chloe settled on my left hip, I use my right arm to give Zelda a thank-you hug and we are out the door. I strap Chloe into the car seat and cross around the back of the car. Over the time he has been driving me, Charles has rambled on about it. A classic Rolls Royce Silver Shadow, he told me, immaculately preserved, with armor and bullet proof glass. One of several classics in the Le Blanc garage. I blanked out his yammering about cubic inches and torque. Charles is holding the rear door. It has child safety locks, a modern feature, he told me. For my safety.
I ask why my hour was cut short. It is a precious thing, this time out in the world, and I’m miffed at losing even fifteen minutes of it. Charles’ only contribution is ‘Orders.’ Probably Kevin demonstrating his absolute control over my life. Or maybe he’s trying to catch me being naughty. If so, he’ll have to try harder than springing a trap with his dimwitted chauffeur. Still, I shiver, thinking about the consequences of even a minor transgression.
I picked the near-campus creamery because of good memories. It has the added advantage of being a forty-five-minute drive from the Le Blanc compound nestled in the swamps across the Mississippi. Imprisoned in the soft leather backseat is not the same as freedom, but it is time to myself. I spend it passing my fingers across Chloe’s round tummy and thinking about Tiffany’s baby talk. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. In the early days my brain was occupied with ways to off my husband. But I descended into darkness where I was no longer myself, or maybe even human. I quit struggling.
I tell myself that Kevin was drugging me, partly because it makes sense, but mostly because I can’t accept that I am that weak. I guess he had to stop when I got pregnant, but having clearer vision was no blessing. It tore at my soul that I was bringing a new life into this hopeless prison. I fought hard to keep the visions of causing Kevin’s death at bay for fear of poisoning the being growing within me. I hope I have at least partially succeeded. Chloe seems to be a happy soul, as much as one can tell in a fourteen-month-old. Sometimes I dream of us living safe and happy together, free from the evil that binds us to my husband. It’s impossible really. Kevin is heir apparent to a multi-billion-dollar enterprise that serves the oil and gas industry. Tiffany wouldn’t have a prayer of breaching the layers of security and I have zero chance of escaping. And that’s just his public face. I don’t want to think about the secret stuff.
So yeah, I am trapped. If I was alone, I would kill myself. But I have a responsibility to protect my baby as best I can. That means surviving. Still, a girl can hold on to a fantasy.
Like the one with an anthill.
I tumble awake. The car comes to a stop in front of a black steel gate. It is the portal to my part of the compound. Two uniformed guards wearing boxy black pistols and zero expressions approach the car. Their immaculately pressed white shirts have some kind of badge sewn onto them. Charles exits the car and allows himself to be frisked. I hear the trunk pop open. This is standard procedure. I’m next. My door opens and I step out. Hands explore every part of my body, as if I could hide a hand grenade in my nursing-mother cleavage.
The guard escorts me to the other side of the car, opens the door. I unbuckle Chloe and extract her so the guard can check her car seat for explosives. I ask the guard if he wants to check her diaper. Zero expression change. The sugar has worn off and she’s getting hangry. I unbutton and offer her a nipple. Staring at the guard, I ask if he wants a sip. Zero expression change.
I try to keep Chloe on a schedule. Not that I have one, but I’ve read it’s healthier for her. These ice cream days run past her normal nap time, and she is down with her lips still locked on my breast. A protest gurgles from her as I disengage, but she stays asleep. I put her in the crib, check the baby monitor, and return to the living/kitchen area. My suite has plenty of room for two people. The nursery is decent sized and pink themed. My bedroom has a queen bed, walk-in closet, bathroom. The colors are perfect for a bedroom, so boring my brain shuts off. Kim told me this place once housed the domestic slaves, over a dozen of them. If so, it has returned to it’s original purpose, if less crowded.
Chapter 2
Melanie
I rack the dumbbells, sweat pouring off my entire body. I’d like to think I would have gotten back in shape after childbirth anyway, but I wasn’t allowed the choice. Kevin brought in a personal trainer when Chloe was four months old and let me know that carrying a dozen or so post-partum pounds rendered me un-fuckable. My words, but that’s what he meant. So I told myself he was taking me where I wanted to go anyway and dove in. I’ve lost the baby pounds and even a few more, gained some serious muscle. I’ve outgrown this trainer. What I need now is a refresher in martial arts. And guns.
Kim is waiting in my quarters when I back through the door with Chloe on my hip and a towel around my neck. I don’t know her job description, but part of it is taking care of us. I assume she reports back to Kevin. She’s pretty in a manufactured sort of way, long legs, tiny waist, enhanced boobs. Maybe Kevin is doing her. I don’t care. Kim lets me know I am to be in Kevin’s office in twenty minutes.
“Oh that’s right,” I say. “It is inspection day.” I use air quotes. Kim smiles at this but proves her loyalty to whatever surveillance is in my space by saying my husband only wants what’s best for me, her words accompanied by a micro-wink. I wouldn’t say we are friends. She’s always helpful and I believe she loves Chloe and would do nothing to harm her. I don’t know if she is aware of what happened during the dark times. I hope not. Better she be the kind of person who would quit rather than be part of that.
After a quick shower, I dress in lacy underthings, a silk slip, and a slinky dress. It would be easier to wear a robe, but Kevin likes to watch me disrobe one button at a time. I kiss Chloe and leave with a silent prayer that I do nothing to provoke my husband. There is an armed guard posted at the door to my quarters twenty-four/seven. I guess in case I get the burning urge in the middle of the night to knife my husband. Smart move on their part. The duty guard escorts me down the hall. My heels echo on the polished hardwood floor. The walls are decorated with rich looking wall covering. Expensive art hangs along both sides. The lighting is warm and inviting. I shiver like I’m walking the hall from Death Row to the execution room.
Plush leather and oriental rugs grace the reception area. Portraits of a man and a woman occupy mahogany walls. The desk has a red-veined black marble top clear of any office equipment. Behind it is a woman with long curly brown hair, a pretty face and green eyes. Deep red lipstick stretches into a smile as she rises, exposing a striking body. Her name is Stacey.
“Welcome Madam. Mr. Le Blanc is expecting you.” She opens a door and turns to let me pass. I enter his office and stand before his aircraft carrier of a desk. I study the floor. My knees want to give in to gravity and my belly is a mass of writhing earthworms.
“Hello Mel, thank you for coming.” His voice is measured, reasonable, polite. I look into his dead eyes, portals to a monster’s den. He smiles. “I am excited to see how much progress you have made this month.” I know the drill. I step to the side of his desk so he can see my entire body. My fingers have trouble with the first button. I keep my eyes diverted and take my time with the rest because that’s how he likes it. When the last button is free, I shrug the dress off my shoulders and let it drop to the ground. I step out of it and wait for his nod to continue. The slip comes off over my head. My brain escapes to a different dimension and I continue on auto-pilot. I unhook my bra and drop it on the pile. Kevin approaches me. He lifts my chin with a finger and rubs my lips with a thumb. His hands move over my body, down the sides, over my hips and bottom. Between my legs. He works up my belly to my breasts. There is nothing sensual about this for either of us. I am separated from my body, watching through a worm hole. He is a cattleman evaluating the quality of a heifer.
“Excellent, My Dear,” he says. “You are almost ready.”
Almost? Ready for what? His mouth continues to make words, but I am having a hard time following. Something about a breast lift. The best guy…Caribbean…I am about to explode. My brain returns from the other side, preventing me from making a literally fatal error. I nod my head and smile.
“It will be soon. Everyone is excited about it.” It’s a fight to keep from vomiting on his face. Whatever ‘it’ is, can’t be worse than I have already endured. I hope.
I complete the ritual by kneeling, clasp my hands, and bow my head. The words come of their own volition.
“I pledge to you all that is of me, my body, my mind, my life. To honor your every command. To satisfy your every need. Your desires are my desires, your pleasure my pleasure. On my soul I swear this.”
I straighten my knees and back. Without thought my hands unbuckle his belt, slide down his clothes. I do the thing that certifies the truth of my words.
Chapter 3
Melanie
I had two brothers. Clint was twelve years older than me, Chad ten. My parents never said anything, but in my heart I knew I was a ‘surprise.’ I remember my mom playing house with me as a little girl, tea parties, princess dresses, but no doubt about it, my brothers were her favorites. She fawned over them. My father, a calloused-handed contractor, had few tools to deal with a defiant, red-headed daughter.
I was ten when Clint drove over an IED. He’d been the golden boy, high school president, took the Naval Academy by storm, went overseas as a Marine Captain. Chad dropped out of LSU, leaving behind a straight A average and two semesters to graduate in Civil Engineering. He stopped by home to let my father know he no longer wanted to join the business. I could see daddy’s chest collapse as his heart shattered. I never saw my brother again until the funeral. Mother insisted on an open coffin since Clint’s had been closed. I guess an overdose is easier to dress up than a missing face.
My parents were like ghosts. I took to making breakfast for daddy. I was like, ‘Hey, I’m still here. You can love me.’ Six months after the last of their hopes and dreams was buried, my mom found the key to daddy’s gun safe. I discovered her sitting at her vanity, vacant eyes staring at the mirror in front of her, brains splattered on the wall behind her. She’d watched herself pull the trigger.
Daddy sent me to therapy because the school and friends insisted. Didn’t do any good. There was no escaping the fact that my mother preferred death to living with me.
