Title: Doubt
Synopsis: Reeling from a traumatic assault, Bonnie leaves New York for Detroit to escape her demons. She soon learns about the untimely death of the apartment's previous tenant, a woman who also worked at Parker & Associates.
Tags: Thriller, Erotica, Romance
Pairing: Kai/Bonnie/Katherine
Triggers: Aftermath of rape, suicide, cheating.
Other: Older Kai, older Katherine.
..
I shouldered a large black leather backpack as I arrived at the Detroit Metro airport. I was expecting a crowded arrivals section like any other airport in the United States but there was only a sprinkling of people hugging and kissing loved ones.
Spotting a driver holding up a placard with a Parker & Associates company logo with my name on it, I waved and advanced toward him.
"Mrs. Bennett?
"It's Miss. Thanks."
Taking my bags, he led the way out of the building and I had to take a deep breath before I followed him. My cheeks tingled at the frigidly cold air and the skinny black jeans and army boots did nothing to keep the chill at bay. I hunched my shoulders against the cold, pulling up the collar of my black leather jacket. My clothing was an amour against the world; it made me feel safe like I was in control again.
And I was in control. Sometimes.
But sometimes that horrific night crept in. I'd have a flashback in a crowded subway or if someone stood too close, brushed against me, a date kissing me, that's when the claustrophobia would kick in.
The wind tugged my hair and I touched a hand to the textured bob before pulling a hoodie over it. I always kept it short now after the incident. When I looked in the mirror there was a different person staring back at me now. I changed the outside to reflect the inside.
I had known my rapist. I'd spent months defending him in a rape case.
He took a plea deal for eight years which would have been longer had I testified against him. I didn't testify because I knew the deal once you got on that witness stand and I wouldn't let another defense attorney attack my character, make me look like I'd wanted it, like I'd had some sick perversion of sleeping the monsters I defended.
Eight years for destroying my life, my mental well-being and my emotional well-being. Shit, he was probably going to be out in four years for good behaviour. The rape happened two years ago which meant he was probably going to be out in two years.
The driver led me to a black BMW and held the door open for me.
Sliding into the backseat, I settled against the butter-soft leather and felt the warmth of the heated seats radiate through my jeans and onto my bones.
In Detroit I could be invisible.
I stared out the window as we passed abandoned buildings. Detroit wasn't the kind of city people fell in love with. It didn't have rolling beaches or stunning mountain views. It didn't have thick pine boughs scratching at the sky. It was an Industrial city, a tough city. Once we got to the city everywhere I looked there were signs of optimism from letterings on shop windows to graffiti art. The city had a fighting spirit, a tenacity that I admired.
I'd uprooted my life so that I could begin again someplace new. I felt an uprush of relief and anxiety as we headed downtown to the loft the firm had been gracious enough to offer me.
I thought about the phoenix how it had to burn to emerge. That's what it must be like for Detroit.
That's what it will be like for me.
..
We entered the lobby of the luxury high-rise building that looked to have been built in the 1920s. The driver dropped my bags next to my feet and waited awkwardly with me while I tried to find the woman who was to show me the place. As I approached the reception with tall arrangements of elegant flowers, someone called my name.
"Bonnie Bennett?"
She was a slip of a woman in a sophisticated dress and a face made of elegant lines and high cheekbones.
"Yes?" I lifted a brow.
"Hi, I'm Rose." she smiled her lipstick dark against her pale face. Bidding farewell to the driver, we crossed the marble floors and headed to the bank of elevators on our left. Inside the antique elevator, she pushed the button to the top floor and we watched as the dial climbed on a wonderfully detailed brass floor indicator.
"So you're from New York?" Rose tried to make small talk as she inserting a key card into its slot, pushing open the door. Alarmed at the contrast between such an old building and new technology, I paused before following her inside. Once in the apartment, she punched in a four-digit code and closed the door after me.
The pictures had shown a rich apartment with wood panelled walls and a fireplace that she could picture herself living in.
"The place hasn't been occupied in an almost two years." Rose said, her hells click-clacking across the hardwood floor. I craned my neck to look up at the soaring ceiling. I felt as though we were locked inside a vacuum.
"There's under-floor heating in the winter." Rose continued while I stared at the herringbone floor and tall windows. A sleek leather sofa stretched the length of one wall and what looked like reclaimed wood made a coffee table littered with magazines. I thought it strange since the place hadn't been occupied in over two years.
The windows shut out the noise from the city and the only sound in the apartment was the clopping of our shoes. There was something about the colorless view that stroked my soul.
"The apartment has a panic room." She notified me as she gestured to the kitchen.
"Why?"
"One of the old owners was a bit of an eccentric."
"Or maybe it was just precautionary measures." I heard my self say.
On top of the marble top island in the kitchen was a bottle of wine with a note. I plucked the card from the bottle and read it. It had a welcome note from the firm.
Before I could ask Rose any further questions, she drew out another set of keys from her purse and handed them to me.
"And these are your car keys. The car's parked in the basement, just look for 6E."
"Thanks."
"You do have a license right?"
"Yeah, I just haven't driven in a while."
"Don't worry; it's not a stick shift."
"Thank you." I said and watched her sashay out of the apartment.
..
I found the bedroom and opened the closet to find a row of empty hangers. After unpacking, I pulled out my phone and a quick internet search brought a few neighbourhood restaurants up on the screen.
I called an Italian place and ordered a nap-inducing pasta dish. While I waited I uncorked the wine and poured a glass to warm myself from the chill. Beyond the glass was a sea of lights that I got lost in before hearing the buzzer. I abandoned the window and made my way to the front of the apartment.
Assuming it was the food delivery; I buzzed him in and waited at the threshold, barefoot till a young teen approached with the takeout bag. After paying him, I set myself up on the couch and parked my laptop on my lap, logging online.
On the Parker & Associates website was the executive partner's primary reason for retuning to Detroit. His name was Kai Parker and he said that as much as he loved New York he realized that Detroit was home. He missed the people, the community and the sense of fighting together as a family because that's who they were to him. He was a Detroiter and proud.
There were various articles on other media sites that celebrated him for making an impact, giving back to the community.
After the second glass, I decided to take a bath before bed. I watched steam from the water rise and climbed in. The water was therapeutic and then I recalled him, his smell, and his hand over my mouth. How desperately I'd scratched but he pinned me down, slapping a hand across my face.
I hadn't dated for a long time after the rape.
It was like I gave off some sort of scent that only attracted assholes, abusers and narcissists; like the rape had set some blue-print on how she needed to be treated.
..
I must have fallen asleep because I jerked wake, water sloshing over the side of the tub to the floor. The sound of my heartbeat echoed in my ears. It took me a moment to orient myself to the environment. My eyes leapt around the unfamiliar room and I slowly climbed out of the tub. Wiping a hand across the steamed mirror, I regarded her face then swiped my towel from the floor and opened the door.
Nothing. The door was stuck. Jjiggling the handle, I pounded on the door
"Is somebody out there?" I shouted and on the third attempt, the door gave in and opened. Nervously, my heart stuttering, I walked out and looked around. No one was there. I examined the door as if it would give me a clue. Perhaps the steam caused the door to stick, even though I didn't remember closing the door in the first place.
I was going insane.
…..
A/N: I would just like to say that the rape aspect is not the major part of this story. I'm not glorifying rape or using it as some art-form in anyway. In fact I'm quite sensitive to the subject. I know it does change you. You just have choose how it changes you….I'm a survivor, we're survivors.