Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

How could you Gabriel?

I insert the key and bite my nail.

As the file is loading, Charlie appears in the open door.

“I’m hu–hungry.”

“I’ll be right there. How about folding the laundry while you wait?” Charlie loves pairing socks.

“Lau–laundry.” He disappears in the direction of the scullery.

I turn my focus back to the computer. A folder named Valentina sits menacingly on the screen. Shiver after shiver creeps over my arms. It’s eerie to see my own name and wrong to open something that doesn’t belong to me, something that Gabriel is clearly hiding. I make a last brave effort to abort my mission, which is driven on the ugly fuel of curiosity, pain, and humiliation, but my finger is already hovering over the mouse. Will Gabriel give me honest answers if I question him? Probably not. The final thought that sways the balance and brings my finger down is the knowledge that Magda knows more than me.

Click-click.

The folder opens. My heart stops pumping for a beat. I hold my breath and bite my lip. The folder contains two files. The one is titled Birth Control and the other Evidence. I open Birth Control first. It contains a sound file. Confused, I click on it. It’s a recording of a telephone conversation. The voices belong to Gabriel and Dr. Engelbrecht. They’re discussing my health. Guilt and fearful anticipation heat my cheeks as I listen in on a conversation not meant for my ears.

“I want a placebo birth control pill,” Gabriel says.

“You want her to fall pregnant?” Dr. Engelbrecht asks.

Gabriel doesn’t hesitate. “Exactly.” He doesn’t even sound ashamed. No remorse, no explanations.

“Tomorrow?” the doctor says.

There is a smile in his voice. “Perfect. We need to repeat the examination to make sure she’s healthy and susceptible. I want her to have a fertility shot to help things along.”

It takes a full minute to register the words. I rewind and play the conversation over. Over and over. With each repetition more anger boils through my veins until my body feels like a coal stove ablaze with a fire. Shaking uncontrollably, I go back to the beginning and listen to the conversation again. I can’t help myself. I keep on lashing my soul with the hurtful truth, punishing myself for my naïve ignorance. My heart doesn’t want to accept what I’ve heard, even if my mind already believes it. I cover my mouth with a hand and place the other on my stomach, over Gabriel’s planned intention, the baby I love more than myself. I feel sick. When I’ve played the conversation back at least ten times, I stop. I’ve listened to every nuance and intonation of Gabriel’s voice, searching for feelings and motivations that aren’t there. Why did he do it? Why did he lie to me? Why me? Magda’s words spin in my head. And the reason why he chose you.

It takes every ounce of courage I have left to open the second file. This one is a video clip. Fear snakes down my arm, making it feel heavy as my finger pauses above the keyboard, but my hand has a life of its own as it moves down and hits enter.

The image is grainy and blurry, but slowly comes into focus. It’s not a feed from a security camera as I expected, but a home movie. The lens is pointing at the floor. Whoever is carrying the camera is walking. A pair of polished, black shoes fall on the wood. There are voices in the background. They are excited, loud. There is something else, another voice my mind refuses to decipher. A feeling of foreboding heats my body, making my palms clammy. I want to turn the recording off, but I can’t. The unfolding pictures hold my eyes as if they’re glued to the screen. The shouting becomes louder, clearer. There’s cheering. The camera lifts, and the room comes into focus.

“You got that, Barney?” a voice says.

“Yeah, hurry up. I’m rolling.”

The walls are covered in wood paneling with framed pictures of dressed-up dogs playing cards. In the center is a big table covered with green felt. A pool table. My mouth goes dry. My body temperature drops ten degrees, and ice lodges in every pore of my skin. Frozen in horror, I watch as four men drag a struggling girl onto the table. Two of them grab her arms, and two her legs, while a fifth starts tearing her clothes. Her screams are futile. The more she pleads, the harder they laugh. Sobs wrack her thin body. She tries to kick and gets a fist in the stomach. Her eyes are pinched shut as the man who destroyed her clothes works his pants over his hips. He’s fat and gray. She keeps her eyes closed as he does the unthinkable, but I don’t. I watch every violating move of his body, every painful slap of his palm as it falls on her cheeks. Through the lens, I watch each face that looks on, that laughs as it’s his turn to smile for the camera. The coldness spreads through my limbs when the man in the center, the one with his pants around his ankles, falls over the girl’s body. Something hot and wet runs over my face and explodes in drops on the keyboard. The camera moves around the table, capturing every angle of the unmoving body that lies on top. When it comes to the side where her dark hair trails over the edge, the rapist stands up right in front of me. His head is bent, obscuring his features as he pulls up his pants and fastens his belt. Then he lifts his face and looks straight at me. My throat constricts. I try to swallow, but I can’t. I can’t breathe. The cold spell of my body ripples over my skin, freezing me inch by inch, until I can’t move a finger or toe. When the extreme coldness reaches my scalp, it’s replaced with scorching heat. I’ve seen the face of my rapist many times before. Right here, in my husband’s study. It’s standing on his desk, looking back at me now. Paying witness to my shock, he regards me with a mocking smile.