Rich…Andrew said his name in the basement, but only out of anger since the guy with the cherry scent ejaculated all over my chest when he wasn’t supposed to. No one was allowed to have me except Andrew. I vaguely remember hearing conversation about how he didn’t want them to know what I look like or have me. Do the men take turns or something?
Could this be one of the men there that night?
Wetness gathers on my forehead and I briskly wipe it away nervously while my mind grapples with the possibility.
He takes the paper cup from barista’s hand and gives her a warm smile, as if they know each other.
“How’s your dad?” he asks the young barista.
She continues working, but answers. “He’s good. You know him, always working hard.”
His shoulders straighten while his eyes shoot me a look before he responds. “That he does. Tell him I’ll see him next tax season.”
Tax season?
She chuckles. “I will.”
“Have a good day, darlin’.” He suspiciously looks over at me one more time before leaving.
No…itishim.
I know it.
Fuck.
I knew I should’ve stayed home. Why did I leave….
Swallowing hard, I attempt to keep the panic induced bile from rising up from the back of my throat.
When I see the barista coming to the counter with my drink, I rush over and interrupt her before she calls out my name.
“That’s mine!”
Her expression brightens as she hands it to me. “Oh, perfect!”
I’m still reeling from being so close to one of my possible attackers, but I force myself to plaster a fake smile on my face and say, “I couldn’t helpbut overhear, the gentleman before me mentioned he did your father’s taxes?”
“Rich?” she says, grabbing an empty plastic cup and a tea pitcher. “Yeah, he’s wonderful. We’ve known him forever.”
My lungs constrict. “I’m actually new in town and looking for someone to help with my taxes.”
“That’s Rich Smith and he works at Stanford Accounting Services. I’m sure if you give them a call, they’ll be more than happy to book an appointment for you. Say Haley sent you,” she offers as she finishes someone else’s order.
With my heart racing, I clutch the paper cup between my fingers. “Great, thank you so much.”
“Of course,” she tosses over her shoulder.
I hurry home, immediately returning to my office. I flip my laptop open and start searching the law enforcement databases for anything I can find on Rich Smith. Which, surprisingly, doesn’t take me long. It appears that pervert has recently been made partner of the accounting firm, even though it appears he hasn’t been there long.
I spend the next few hours reading articles and pouring over the information I find in the county’s database, my coffee long forgotten.
I skim through the few minor traffic violations before finding a domestic violence incident from a few years ago. The charges were later dropped by his wife, citing an attempt to mend their marriage. Then I find an address to a house not far from my own. And before I realize it, an intrusive thought is creeping into my mind.
Should I go to his house? Maybe dehumanize him in some way?
I want to know where he lives. If he is the monster I know him as, because, according to the barista, he’s awonderfulguy.
Two separate lives. Two completely different personas. A wife, and possibly kids? Driven by rage and now the answer for why someone who appears like a trustworthy member of society can do they heinous things is perplexing.
