Housebroken (11 page)

An eye for an eye, rule for a rule. The laws of an unforgiving god.

Adam met Blake’s gaze with a single nod.

The homes they passed were dark; few had more than automated exterior lights brightening the occasional palm tree or bush. He wondered how many of the homes they passed were even occupied. Most of these mansions, their Realtors had told them, weren’t primary residences but vacation homes with only the occasional visitor. At the time, that had seemed a plus. Now Blake wasn’t so sure.

Everything else was black—sky, road, even the space between homes. Beyond their street, nothing was visible but an empty nothingness that was supposed to be an ocean.

We should never have moved here
, Blake thought. Why hadn’t they recognized the darkness that was here?

They pulled into the garage and Drew turned the engine off, closing the garage door with the press of a button. No one exited the vehicle. They sat in silence until the overhead lights flickered back off.

“We’re home,” Joje said.

As soon as they entered the house, Conrad began her yapping. Blake sat at the kitchen counter, a wave of dizziness sweeping over him. Jenna was pulling his shirt off.

“We need to get you to a hospital,” she said. “Adam, honey, can you get the dog?”

“No hospitals,” Joje said.

Blake winced as Jenna lifted his arm. Nausea suddenly hit, and warm vomit splattered onto the counter. The sushi looked even more decorative coming back out. What little Blake swallowed burned on its way back down. His body started shivering.

“He’s going into shock!” It was Jenna. Jenna’s voice. Moving away from him.

Conrad clawed her paws up onto Blake’s legs, licking the spittle from his face. In the next moment, Blake was on the floor, his face pressed against the cool wood. He couldn’t remember sliding from the stool, but the reverberations from hitting the ground continued to resonate. Conrad whined, nestling her face into Blake’s.

He heard his wife yelling. Struggling. Something crashed to the floor, metal ringing out. If Blake could have spoken, he would have told them all to be quiet. The noise wasn’t helping his head.

Conrad was up, moving away from him, growling then barking, though not in her usual tone—her bark was low, menacing. A promise of violence.

“Get it—”

“Drop da knife!”

“Adam, run!”

“This ends wight now!”

Conrad snarled, bodies shuffling, colliding. Grunts, then a man’s yell followed by a thud that shortened Blake’s breath.

Whimpering. Conrad’s or Jenna’s? Or his own?

“Ah, gawd, my hand!”

More snarling. “Get her in the cage!”

The rattle of the latch snapping into place.

“Get some ice.” Joje.

“He bit through my hand!” Drew.

“I said get some ice!”

It’s a she
, Blake thought.
The dog is a she
.

Conrad’s barking became desperate. She finally found her voice. From the angle Blake had landed, he couldn’t see past the counter wall. Blinking required effort.

And then the yelling began.

“You think this is a game?”

Thud.

“That I’m joking?”

Another thud. Blake heard Jenna gasping for air.

“That I won’t follow through on my promise?”

It came again, that muffled thump. And again.

Moisture pooled beneath Blake’s cheek on the kitchen floor, and he realized he was crying.

“Don’t you
ever
break a rule again!” Joje’s lisp was brought even more to the forefront than normal.

Thud.

“You break a rule? I break a rule!”

Thump. Jenna, choking on her gasps.

Blake tried to get up. His muscles rebelled. Like trying to command the body of a corpse.

“That’s enough!” Adam’s voice, shrill and higher than normal. “That’s enough.”

Silence. Even Conrad’s barking stopped. Blake had never heard his son talk like that before, with such authority.

A final thud. Blake shuddered.

“Now it’s enough,” Joje said. “Wrap your hand and get her upstairs. Cuff her to the bed. And you.” There was a pause. “That was brave. I’m proud of you, protecting your family. Now help me carry your old man.”

Blake passed back out before they had a chance to lift him.

“California Dreamin’” pulled Blake from a dreamless sleep—the alarm playing from his phone. He had always loved that song, though now that he was here, he wished he were anywhere else. Who knew, maybe that was the point of the song? The dream infinitely better than reality. He reached out to silence it but found he couldn’t move—or rather, he could move only so far.

His arm was restrained, handcuffed to the headboard behind him. Every muscle in his body groaned with the slightest of movements.
His face colliding into the rushing airbag, a noose wrapping around his neck, his head smashing against the windshield, shoulder slamming into the car door
. Memories resurfaced, reminding him how their California dream had become a prison. Two days they had survived, though by Joje’s count, they still had six to go.

Lying beside him, Jenna stared into his face with one eye. Her other was swollen shut, her face a blotched mask of purple and black. She blinked, the deranged wink of some villainous monster.

“It was nice . . .” Blake paused, trying to clear his throat, realizing there was nothing to clear. He swallowed glass. “Nice sleeping with you again.”

Jenna smiled, as much as her lips would rise. She wore an old nightgown. Blake wondered how she had changed into it or if she had been the one to make the change. Her cuffs were tighter than his, her wrists chaffed and reddened. The angle of the bonds kept her from lying flat against the bed, her spine arced. It had to have been a sleepless night.

“How do you feel? Sorry,” she said, turning her face from his. “Morning breath.”

“No, you smell good. And I feel great.” Two lies to start the day.

“You look like shit.” Jenna giggled.

“Probably make a good pair then, don’t we?”

“Always have,” she said.

“Not always,” he said.

Her eyes flitted around his face, exploring him as if it were their first night together, though maybe it was the bruises, cuts, and scrapes that held her attention.

“I’m sorry—” they both began at the same time, then laughed. Or at least Jenna did; Blake only croaked.

An energetic “Good mauwning!” sent the smiles into hiding. Joje crossed from the foot of the bed to Blake’s nightstand, pulling his phone from the charger. “Now just pretend I’m not here while you two do your thing. Morning routine, right?”

He buried a key into the cuff around Blake’s chained hand, then went around to the other side of the bed, releasing Jenna. “You should really consider makeup before seducing your husband. Just a little constructive feedback.”

Her clasps came undone, and Jenna collapsed against the headboard with a sigh of relief.

“And . . . action!” Joje stared at them as if watching magicians about to perform their final act.

Jenna began to laugh. Blake couldn’t help but join her, the ridiculousness of their situation moving past fear into a plane of utter insanity.

“Do not laugh at me!”

They only laughed harder, Joje’s lisp adding to the absurdity. It was like watching a child in the throes of their first tantrum.

“This was part of our deal—I will observe your sex life!”

“I can barely speak,” Blake said. “Or move.”

“Right back atcha.” Jenna buried her head in the pillow. “Ooh, though I could still sleep for days.”

“Guess I’ll have to demonstrate how it’s done myself,” Joje said.

Their laughter died. The veins in Joje’s neck were throbbing, his face flushed with anger.

“I’ve seen what happens when we break your rules,” Blake said, “and I’m not willing to break another. In this case, that means
not
having sex with my wife. We haven’t been . . . intimate in a long time.”

Joje was quiet. The lack of a smile was almost as disconcerting as the hideous jackal’s grin that normally adorned his face.

“We’ll follow your rules, but don’t expect to watch a live porno in here. This is real life. It’s not always as grand as it appears from the outside,” Jenna said.

“I want you to follow your routine, but that routine had better include patching up your relationship because this . . . excuse? It won’t work a second time.”

Not out of the woods yet
, Blake thought to himself.
Not even close.

Blake showered. He wasn’t timid by nature or afraid of locker-room culture, but standing naked in their open rock shower while Joje watched a mere three feet away was one of the most awkward moments of his adult life. Still, the almost-scalding water was a welcome sensation and gave the false impression of washing away the aches and pains of the previous day.

Nothing seemed broken, at least noticeably. The left side of his face was a seared red from the airbag, and his neck looked like he had tried to hang himself and failed. Countless gashes and bruises, but above all, his body just ached, a deep, underlying pain he welcomed with every movement of joint and muscle.

It meant he was still alive.

He dressed, a light-gray Armani with a blue Italian shirt. Joje watched him in his walk-in closet—Jenna’s was twice the size of his—racks of suits, tuxedos, and dress shirts. Blake snapped his cufflinks on, slipped into a pair of leather shoes. Joje wore the same tan kakis as the past two days, though he had found a new wrinkled polo with brown and white stripes.

In the hall, Blake stopped in front of his son’s door, pushing it open. Adam was crashed out on the floor, his feet climbing vertically up the bed that had yet to be put together. One of the taped-up boxes had been split open, Lord of the Rings figurines with tiny plastic axes, swords, and shields spilling out onto the floor. The aftermath of a battle gone wrong.

Blake backed out of the room, bumping into Joje behind him. Shadow, indeed.

“You know, I never had a father?” Joje said.

“How tragic,” Blake said. “I’m sure no one can relate. It must be the cause of every misdeed you’ve ever committed in your life.”

Joje laughed. Blake wasn’t sure what reaction he had been hoping for, but that certainly hadn’t been it. They started down the stairs.

“We got an e-mail from JT this morning. He wants an update,” Joje said.

“And what would you tell him?”

“I wowee about your commitment to this pwoject.”

No longer talking about work, are we
, Blake thought.

As they passed his office, Blake couldn’t stop from seeing the image of his beige safe hidden at the top of his closet. Thirty seconds alone, and Joje would quickly learn how serious Blake was taking his “pwoject.”

The unmistakable aroma of cooking bacon hit them as they walked into the family room. Drew stood shirtless in front of the stove wearing an apron with orange and purple flowers on it. The apron had been a gift, a joke since Jenna refused to cook. She had found it so amusing she had brought it with them; as unsentimental as she was, she occasionally clung to the most random things, things that had made her smile. Blake wondered if he hadn’t already been lumped into that category, Jenna keeping him around to remind her of better and happier times.

“How do you like your omelet?” Drew asked, attempting to flip runny eggs over in the pan. He was soaked in sweat as if he had just stepped from a steam room, his shoulder-length hair tangled and moist, droplets rolling from his face and thick arms and falling into the pan with an added sizzle.

“None for me,” Blake said. “Just coffee.” Preferably without Drew sweat. “How’s the hand?”

Drew brought his left hand close to his chest, thick gauze and tape making it three times the size of his other hand.

Good girl
, Blake thought. He’d give Conrad as many treats as she wanted.

Drew stared back at him with his deadpan eyes. “You know, I don’t even feel sorry for you. Or your family.”

Joje crossed in front of Drew, grabbing a plate with a greasy omelet on it. Smoke rose from the one in the pan.

“Where’s Jenna?” Blake asked, realizing she wasn’t in the room. He moved to the back of the kitchen, the dog crate was also empty.

“Went for a run,” Drew said.

Blake glanced at Joje who seemed unconcerned as he took a monster bite out of his omelet. Cheese hung from his lip, connected to his fork.

“With the dog?” Blake asked. “By herself?”

Drew just stared back at Blake across the kitchen island. Joje shoveled another steaming bite into his mouth.

“Where is she?” Blake said, his throat burning from the increased force of his words.

“He told you,” Joje said. “She went for a run.”

“Might be her last,” Drew said.

“I swear if you’ve—”

“Consequences, Bwakey,” Joje said, mouth full, steam pouring from that gaping hole as if he were a devil. “Your wife is learning a valuable lesson.”

Blake strode to the counter, prepared to teach Joje a “
valuable wesson
,” but all the knives in the block had been removed. His thoughts were moving so slow he had no idea what to do next. “Please,” he found himself saying.

Drew sniffed loudly. “She’s out back. Better hurry.”

Blake pulled the slits open at the shuttered doors leading to the covered patio in the backyard. It took several seconds for his mind to make sense of what he was seeing. When he realized he was looking at his wife, no damage to his throat or vocal cords could have kept him from screaming.

Adam heard yelling. His room was almost directly above the kitchen, and in spite of the immensity of the house, he could hear almost everything.

He had been awake, thinking about last night, Jenna getting the crap kicked out of her. He had almost joined in; it was so hard just to watch, and then he had cried out for it to stop. He still wasn’t sure why. Had he actually wanted it to stop, or had he been testing his ability to influence Joje? He wasn’t sure. People were complicated, he knew, their decisions rarely set against a backdrop of one color or tone.