KILLING SARAI (A NOVEL)

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX





Sarai





The second the large double-doors lock behind us, I feel my heart sink into the pit of my stomach. But I shake it off and do my best to retain my Izabel Seyfried fa?ade.

As I’m letting my gaze sweep the vast room I’m surprised at how fast Arthur Hamburg gets right to the point.

“I will tell you what I’d like and give you the opportunity to name your price.” He gestures for Victor to sit down in the nearby leather chair.

Victor sits and I find myself being left to stand here alone.

The masks have come off now that the two of them are alone together in the privacy of this room. Arthur Hamburg is no longer the disgustingly charming man he pretended to be out there in front of everyone. No, he’s the evil, sick bastard that Victor was sent here to kill. He’s no longer looking upon me as a guest of his mansion who deserves a glass of champagne and respect; I’m merely a pawn in his sexual game who isn’t worthy of his eyes or his conversation anymore. Only Victor is worthy of such luxuries. Victor is the one he wants. I see that now. But there’s so much more to it than I know. And it takes no time at all for the rest of it to unfold.

“What is it that you want?” Victor asks calmly, cunningly.

He rests his back against the chair and props his left ankle on the top of his right knee.

Arthur Hamburg takes the matching chair across from Victor, a devilish smile slides across his harsh features.

“I like to watch,” he says. “But none of that missionary position bullshit.” He pauses and adds, “You f*ck the girl, every now and then do what I ask you to do to her and then afterwards, if you’re up to it—and for extra money—I’ll get on my knees in front of you.”

He grins and for the first time since I walked in here, his eyes skirt me.

While I’m secretly having an anxiety attack, Victor ponders it for a moment, making it seem as though he’s taking the offer into consideration.

Victor glances at me.

“No way,” I say right on cue. “He’s disgusting, Victor. I don’t agree to this.”

Victor stands up and casually takes me by the elbow.

“You’ll do what I tell you to do,” he says.

I shake my head back and forth, looking between them, trying not to break character, but finding it more and more difficult to achieve.

I can do this, I tell myself as the loud pounding of my heart rises over my voice in my head. Victor won’t hurt me. In any way. I have to believe that.

Why doesn’t he just kill the pig now? I don’t understand…

With my elbow still clenched in his hand, Victor turns to Arthur Hamburg and says, “Fifteen thousand,” and Hamburg’s face lights up. “And it’ll be another fifteen if I let you go down on me.”

I feel my eyes widening in my skull.

“It’s a deal.”

“No,” I say and try to wrench my arm free, but then Victor narrows his eyes at me and I give in.

“Bend over the table,” Victor says.

What?...

He looks at the heavy square marble table to my right, moving nothing but his eyes.

“Now, Izabel,” he demands.

Oh my God…

Hesitantly I step over to the table and lay my stomach and chest across it from the waist up. Already I feel the air in the room brushing against the fabric of my panties. I swallow hard.

Victor comes up behind me and raises my short dress the rest of the way over my butt, resting it on my lower back. One of his hands squeezes my cheeks.

“Make her cry,” Arthur Hamburg says from the chair behind me. “I have things you can use if you’d like.”

“I can make her cry without them,” Victor says, pulling my panties down and letting them fall around my ankles. I gasp uncomfortably as I’m exposed. “But I might use them still. It’s been a while since I really hurt her.”

Arthur Hamburg makes a strange noise I’ve never heard before. “Oh yes, I’d very much like to see that.” He smacks his hands together and adds with creepy delight, “How small is she? I have a rubber bat.”

I freeze against the table, his comment sucking the breath right out of my lungs.

Are you f*cking kidding me?

I’m ready to kill him now. He could be my first kill. I’m ready to do it!

My hands begin to shake underneath my chest.

Stay in character, Sarai…no matter what.

Then suddenly, as if we’re no longer in the room with this sick f*cking bastard, I feel Victor’s fingers slide into me and I’m instantly wet. I gasp sharply, the warm breath emanating from my lips coats the marble table inches from my face with moisture. I watch it appear and disappear with every rapid breath I take.

“Spread your legs,” Victor instructs.

At first I don’t, but when he wedges both hands between my thighs and forces them apart, exposing me fully, I don’t fight him, I just grapple the edge of the table with my fingertips and straighten my back.

My mind struggles with the wrong in this. I know it’s wrong and disgusting because that man is sitting there watching this happen. But the other part of me, the part that is starting to block Arthur Hamburg’s presence from my mind entirely, wants Victor to have his way with me. I try to shut my eyes and picture only Victor in the room and it works a minute or two until I hear Arthur Hamburg’s voice again.

“Yes, she’s very pink. Very small,” he says and I grit my teeth.

Victor begins to stall.

“You know,” he says, “maybe you could show me what you have. I’ll f*ck for a little bit first, open her up some, and then—”

“Say no more,” Arthur Hamburg says with a sadistic smile in his voice.

I hear him get up from the chair and then his dress shoes tap against the floor as he walks by. I see his pants have already been unbuttoned, his shirt untucked sloppily about his grotesque stomach. He’s already been touching himself. As he approaches what looks like a large closet, he stops about mid-way and turns back to Victor. He seems to be contemplating intensely until he says, “Would it be OK if I allowed my wife to watch with me?”

After a momentary pause, Victor answers, “An extra person wasn’t part of the deal.” He mulls it over. “But I suppose that would be alright. Is she downstairs?”

“Oh good,” Arthur Hamburg says, rubbing his fat hands together. He continues onward toward the closet, opening both enormous doors to reveal a walk-in bigger than an average bedroom. “No, I keep her in here.”

Huh? You keep her in there?

Sensing that this has gotten more than just Victor’s attention, I look up just as he walks past me. Having no idea what he’s doing, I’m not sure if I should stay like I am, or do what I’d rather do and stand up to let my dress drop back over my ass. I wait it out a few more minutes.

“Don’t be too shocked when you see her,” Arthur Hamburg says. It looks like he’s punching in a series of numbers on a silver keypad in the wall on the inside of the closet. “In a way, my Mary is just like your Izabel.”

“Is that so?” Victor says stepping into the closet with him.

Another massive door breaks apart from the wall inside the closet to reveal another room.

“Yes,” Arthur Hamburg goes on. “Though she’s much more submissive than yours.”

Then I hear a loud thump and a bang as the two of them disappear somewhere inside the hidden room. I scramble to pull my panties up and run across the space to see what’s going on, nearly tripping on my way there because of the heels.

“Victor!”

“Get in here, Izabel, now!” I hear him shout and though he called me Izabel, I know by the urgent tone in his voice that he’s speaking to me as Sarai.

Once I make my way past the tall shelves inside the closet and burst through into the hidden room, I’m shocked and confused by what I see, unable to form thoughts much less words. Victor has Arthur Hamburg pressed face-first against the wall with a tie wrapped tightly around his thick neck. His face bulges over the restricting fabric, his skin turning dark red and purple. A woman lies on a cot next to the wall wearing a long, see-through white cotton gown that has been soiled by urine and blood.

“In the closet,” Victor says, pressing his body against the struggling man, “there’s a briefcase on the floor with a gun inside. Get it.”

I nod rapidly and run back into the closet behind me to search for the briefcase, finding it in seconds. I take the gun out and rush back inside the room.

He frees one hand and I give it to him.

Victor shoves the gun against Arthur Hamburg’s temple and releases his body. He gasps for air, making desperate choking sounds as he tries to regain control of his breathing. Then Victor pats him down, checking for weapons. When he’s satisfied there are none, Victor reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pair of rubber gloves and tosses them to me, indicating for me to put them on.

I do so quickly.

“Now here are how things are going to happen,” Victor says to Arthur Hamburg. “Unfortunately, you get to live. If it were my choice, I’d of killed you last night at the restaurant, or any other Friday night before that. But you get to live.”

What. Is. Going. On? I can’t wrap my mind around this unexpected turn of events.

“If you didn’t come here to kill me,” Arthur Hamburg says, his voice shaking with fear but laced with amusement, “then what the f*ck are you here for? Money? I’ve got plenty of money. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Victor shoves Arthur Hamburg onto the floor and keeps the gun trained on him. Sweat is pouring from the man’s face and neck, soaking his white dress shirt. Then Victor reaches inside his hidden suit jacket pocket and hands me a small yellow envelope.

“Open it,” he instructs.

As I’m doing that, Victor turns back to him.

“The death will be ruled as a suicide,” Victor says and I’m growing even more confused. “She left a note signed by her hand. All you have to do is wait one hour after we leave to call it in.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Arthur Hamburg snaps, despite a gun being pointed at him.

I can’t decide who to look at more, the sick man on the floor or the poor woman lying on the cot.

Suddenly she looks up at me with sad, weak, tormented eyes and a chill runs through my body.

“Victor we have to help her.” I start to move toward her.

“No,” Victor says. “Leave her be.”

“But—”

“Remove the contents of the envelope,” he interrupts.

I take out a folded piece of paper first, trying to grasp the feel of it through the tight rubber gloves sealed to my hands.

“Read it,” he says.

Carefully, I unfold it and look down into the pretty handwriting in a blue ink flourish. And as I begin to read the letter aloud, I start to feel queasy and my heart hurts.





My Dearest Husband,



I can’t do this with you anymore. I’ve shamed my family, our children, we’ve shamed ourselves, Arthur. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t love myself. I don’t love anyone because I can’t. I haven’t been able to feel a valid emotion in twelve years of the thirty I’ve been married to you for. I can’t live like this anymore. So many times I wanted to seek help, maybe get on medication. I don’t know, but after so long, after years of wanting to get help I started not to care.



I am so sorry that you had to see me this way. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t come to you for help. But I didn’t want help. I just wanted it to end.



And that’s what I’m doing.

I’m ending it.



Goodbye, Arthur.



Sincerely,

Mary





The man can’t take his eyes off his wife. His flabby chin vibrates as he tries to hold in his tears. But I still don’t feel a shred of remorse for him. Not only because I’m still struggling to figure out why this has happened, but because I know he’s a sick man and doesn’t deserve remorse.

“Why are you here?” he asks, his husky voice shuddering.

Victor looks to me. “Give me the SD card,” he says.

I pull the tiny square card from the corner of the bottom of the envelope and place it into Victor’s free hand. He holds it up to Arthur Hamburg wedged between his thumb and index finger.

“All of the information on this card has already been transferred to my employer. The names on your extensive client list, the locations of your underground operations, the video evidence that your dear wife recorded that you knew nothing about. It’s all here.” He throws the SD card onto Arthur Hamburg’s chest. “If anyone comes looking for me or Izabel for the death of your wife and it’s not ruled a suicide, all of that information will be released to the FBI. We are to walk out of here unharmed and as welcomed as we were when we walked through your front doors. Is that understood?”

I’m shaking I’m so confused and nervous and unsure. Unsure of everything.

Arthur Hamburg nods, sweat still dripping from his chin and eyebrows.

The woman reaches out her hand, but then it drops back to her side. Two syringes lay empty near her legs. She’s heavily drugged. My eyes sweep the rest of her, seeing that the bends of her arms and around her ankles are painted by needle marks.

I can’t help it anymore, I rush over to her fully intent in helping her up. But Victor reaches out and grabs me by the arm, stopping me. He looks fiercely into my eyes, the gun still pointing at Arthur Hamburg.

“She is the target,” he says to me, pulling me closer to him. “Go into the room to the nightstand on the side of the bed where the window is. There is another gun in the drawer. Bring it to me.”

I want to say no, that I won’t do it, but the stand I take only goes as far as my mind. I do it because a part of me still trusts Victor as much as the rest of me wants to stop this before it goes too far.

“OK,” I say and run back into the main room. I find the gun right where Victor said it would be and I pick it up nervously by the handle and carry it so carefully back into the hidden room it’s as if I’m terrified it’s going to explode in my hand. Maybe it’s because I know what he’s about to do with it. It feels heavier, deadlier, more ominous than any gun I’ve ever held. Even the one I used to shoot Javier with didn’t feel like this.

I feel my heart beating in the bottoms of my feet.

“Now trade with me,” Victor says.

He’s wearing a pair of black gloves now.

I step up to him, wobbling on my shaking legs, and hand him the gun. I take the other one and make sure to keep it pointed at Arthur Hamburg. I can barely hold it straight. I feel like I did when I hid in Victor’s car, the gun so heavy in my hands that I just wanted to drop it and be free of it.

Victor looks at me, his blue-green eyes intense and faintly empathetic.

“Do you trust me?”

I nod slowly. “Y-yes. I trust you.”

“Plug your ears,” he instructs and I don’t hesitate.

Without another word he walks over to the wife and leans forward, lifting her from the cot into a slouched sitting position. Her body is so weak and disconnected that she can just barely stay upright on her own. Her eyes open and close seemingly from exhaustion or the drugs as Victor puts the gun into her hand, folding her fingers around the handle and her index finger on the trigger. I feel like I’m going to be sick, but the adrenaline won’t let me.

Victor positions his body in front of her and shoves the gun underneath her chin and pulls the trigger with her finger. I hear the shot reverberate through the thick-walled room, but my eyes close before I see the blood.

Arthur Hamburg cries out his wife’s name and then slumps over onto the floor, his oversized body trembling with emotion.

Victor stands behind me in a way that makes me think he’s trying to shield my eyes from the gruesome sight of the wife. It’s a quiet gesture that I find unexpected and sheltering.

“You have one hour,” Victor says. “You might want to get your story in order.”

“F*ck you! F*ck you!” Arthur Hamburg shouts, spit spewing from his mouth. He points at us coldly, barely raising his face from the floor an inch. “F*ck you!”

“It never would’ve happened,” Victor adds.

Then he wraps one arm around my shoulder and walks me out of the hidden room, still shielding me from the sight as best he can. I want to break away from him long enough to run back over and kick the disgusting bastard in the stomach with my heels, but I can’t knowing the woman is lying dead just feet away from him. It’s not the bloody sight of her that makes looking at her so chilling—I have seen too much death to be affected in that way—but it’s the terrible feeling of her being innocent and in need of help that makes it unbearable.

What has Victor done?