Devil In The Waters (partial), Chapter 5, Remote Control

The words from his bully written out on his phone’s screen chilled him. All the fear he’d experienced this weekend came rushing back to him in all its former glory. Part of him, thirty-six hours removed, had come to believe that maybe Devin in the tent had been a dream after all, that the horror wrapping itself around him was all fabricated in his own mind, woven from blades of past trauma like one of Kimmy’s baskets.

A simple friendly phrase, yet one heavy with the threat of what would come next.

how’s it going?

The query wasn’t preceded by Devin Stone’s name, but by a phone number Josh didn’t recognize. Yet he knew it wasn’t spam or a mistake, he knew it was Devin. He stared at the words a long time, opened his phone and his message app, texted a reply.

Josh: leave me alone

A reply came in a few seconds.

don’t be sore

He texted again:

Josh: leave me alone

On the TV screen his cowboy sat atop a chestnut mare, a mountain vista spread out before them. He set the controller down and rubbed his fingers against his clammy palms.

Another text:

Kimmy say I came by to talk to her today?

He grunted, disbelieving this was his reality again after he’d thought they’d moved on. His face had tightened, his brow lowered, but his shoulders slumped like they were too heavy.

Josh: fuck off

she didn’t? bad girl that Kimmy

Josh: I don’t believe you

why not?

Now he looked over his shoulder and could see his wife in the kitchen, through the pass-thru, moving around with her back to him, her black hair tied back in a tail.

Josh: go fuck with someone else

Josh just go and ask her

I didn’t fuck her if that’s what you’re thinking

His fingers tingled like he’d been sitting on them, and he felt detached from his body, watching himself from above sitting on the couch gawking at his phone, Xbox controller and fizzing Coke on the table at his knees. There was a profound feeling of unreality.

Josh: that’s good

feel better?

Josh: no go away

I mean she begged me to fuck her and I had her pants down

There was a clinking and clattering in the kitchen, Kimmy loading the dishwasher. He regarded her over his shoulder again, and the sight of her feminine form, its innocent grace, had him angry that Devin would fabricate something so horrible. The image of Kimmy begging Devin Stone to fuck her couldn’t even be formed. Fantasy was one thing, but bringing the image closer to realism was impossible.

He turned back, admired the mountain view beyond his cowboy’s horse.

Josh: you are so full of shit

Am I?

The anger tightening his neck and jaw was welcome and comforting in its way. He chuckled a confrontational sound, texted.

Josh: Big successful guy like you has nothing better to do on a Monday night than fuck around with some guy from high school? Pretty sad man

ha ha, Josh, you got me. I’m eating dinner at Harbour 60 right now so bored I gotta text my old pal Josh and make up a story how I fingered his wife today

Now he was practically growling, a low animal sound in his throat. he was too grown up to be a bully’s victim now.

Josh: you grew up to be a real piece of shit

I left you something

Josh: oh okay

Oh okay. He liked the sound of it. He smiled, betting to himself Devin hadn’t expected Josh to be so aloof this time around. But he wasn’t blitzed with bourbon, roused from a painful sleep. Now he was comfortable at home, on his own couch, recovered, well-fed and tended by the woman he loved. A woman who would never sleep with Devin Stone.

So this would be where a bully like Devin Stone was going to say something perverse and mean and belittling, and he could see it in his mind before it was even written: Left you my sloppy seconds . . . Practically followed by imagined wheezy teenage laughter. Only he and Devin were removed from school a long time now—so fuck off, Devin, you’re powerless over adults.

But it wasn’t what Devin returned.

Nice apartment you have

He stared at the statement a long time. It got him. Well played, Devin.

Josh: thanks

small, plain, there’s a picture of Taiwan in the eighties b&w on the wall facing you as you come in the door. brown leather couches in the family room, you have a wedding photo on the table against the wall...

There wasn’t much to say, so he just read, winding his neck around as he did, that helpful anger fumbling, getting into the backseat now so worry could get up and take the wheel.

nothing to say now? I told you I left you something. Go in the front hall, the table where there’s the flowers and the dish with coins and keys, open the top drawer for me

Josh: Why?

I left something for you

Josh: it’s not there

you didn’t check then

Josh: I don’t have to

coward

When he rose from the couch his legs were shaky. He stared a moment at the cowboy on screen waiting for his input, waiting to be lead into great and wonderful adventures. Instead he was a player on someone else’s screen, his high school bully’s, a piece in another man’s fantasy adventure.

In the kitchen, Kimmy still puttered, content and oblivious. It angered him she would be brought in on this malicious enterprise, an innocent NPC—it was the challenge to her honor that got his heart pounding again. How dare Devin say these terrible things about her. But he was stuck now, somewhere between the anger and the submission, his feet moving across the apartment floor, taking him to the front hall where he would confirm what Devin was saying wasn’t true.

The awful journey to his front hall was his bully’s joy, he was sure, sitting gleefully on the other end of this text exchange picturing dumb Josh shitting his pants in Ajax. He’d come to find the drawer empty and Devin would then say Kimmy must have found it first and got rid of it. String this game along further, drag gullible Josh out into deeper waters . . . 

Only when he made it to the front hall unspotted by Kimmy, he opened the drawer of the table with the flowers and the dish of keys and coins and found Devin was right. There on the top layer of junk, right at the far side, a crisp linen business card lay face up and staring like it had been expecting him. What took you so long, Mr. Waters it was saying. The chills and the tingles returned to him, that sinking feeling in his stomach pushing down hard on his bladder. The card read: Stone Custom Brokerage LLC, then in bolder font the cardholder’s name, Devin Stone, and, underneath in italics, Vice-President.

He never lifted the card from where it sat, left it there and quietly closed the drawer again. Kimmy still cleaned, still oblivious to the tragedy in the front hall, scooting around the kitchen in her slippers.

When he looked down there was another message waiting for him on his phone.

Kimmy’s way too much woman for you

The sinking feeling deepened, the anger liquifying and pooling around his feet.

Josh: U came here today

I did. Believe me now?

Josh: Why?

I told you you asked me to fuck Kimmy

Josh: I never asked that

You sure did

Josh: I don’t want that

You told me you did

Josh: Now I’m telling you I don’t

He stared at the screen, waiting for the response. It came.

Too late

He grumbled a pained sound, thumbs flying.

Josh: Don’t text me again don’t ever come by my apartment again and don’t talk to Kimmy

Too late for all that Josh Kimmy and I have something good going

Josh: I’m telling you to stop

You know you want it, now I want it. And Kimmy wants it too

Josh: No she doesn’t.

enjoy it man you asked for it you’re getting it

ciao

* * *

There was no way it could be true.

It had to be a ruse, but he was standing there in the front hall with all the demonstrated proof someone would need. And yet there was a surprising emptiness inside him. It was like the horror was currently buoyed on the vestiges of his disbelief.

He moved to the kitchen doorway, could see Kimmy rinsing a plate, the dishwasher open, placing it on the bottom rack. She was done now, drying her hands.

Something occurred to him. Something that had registered in his mind, but sat dormant until now. He approached her, took the towel from her hands, her smiling and watching him suspiciously. He snapped away the wet, then folded it and tossed it onto the counter. She asked him what was up.

He took her hands, kissed her knuckles. “Thank you for dinner.”

“I slaved away all afternoon,” she said, averting her eyes.

Now he held both her hands between them, thumbing her knuckles, caressing her wedding ring. He said, “Did your nails today, eh?”

Sure enough, the thing that had registered: Kimmy had changed her nail color. There’d been a clear coat over a base of dusty rose for the high school reunion. Hadn’t changed that yesterday, but now he could see she’d done them in black.

She took her hands away from his, looked at her nails. “Oh yeah, I did.”

“Black, huh?”

“I was bored,” she said.

“Bored?”

She shrugged, and her lack of forthcoming irked him. He said, “You weren’t busy today? Did you get a basket and and a half done?”

“No,” she said, eyes straying away again.

“You didn’t?” There was an unfinished basket on her worktable.

She said, “Just a half a basket.”

“Did you go out?”

“No . . . My hands were sore,” she said now, then shook one of them out as if it was still smarting. She made a fist, then wouldn’t look his way again.

“Are your hands sore?”

“Yeah, a little . . .” Then: “I just didn’t feel like it today. I started watching The Heirs, I lost track of time. Next thing I know, I’m making tea, I got my feet up . . . I did my fingernails.”

“While you watched Netflix?”

“Yes,” she said, unsmiling, then adding, “My toes, too,” looking down at her feet though she wore slippers in the house.

He said, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, posture slumping. “I’m okay . . .” She leaned on the counter and crossed her arms.

“Anybody come by today?”

Though she made no reaction at all, somehow that was a weird indication bu itself. Kimmy stone-faced him. Gave him her lawyer face. When she wanted to, she could keep you out—it was part of what she practiced, never letting your opponent know what you’ve got. She said, “No . . . why?”

He shrugged, looked away. “Just wondering.”

There was a beat of quiet, then: “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, like Amy or something. Maybe you guys went out . . .”

“I said I didn’t go out.”

“Well, it’s just . . .”

She stared at him a long while with her lips parted, an expression somewhere between concern and anger. She said finally: “Why would you ask me that?”

“I said I don’t know. It’s weird coming home to you like this.”

“Like what?—I ordered your favorite dinner, Josh, you played video games, we ate together . . . What’s wrong with that?”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, Kimmy,” he said and put up his hands. “Look,” he said backing away, not wanting to be a part of this conversation at all anymore. “You’re being weird, so I’m asking you questions.”

“Your questions are weird, Josh, like you sound like you’re accusing me of something.”

“You’re acting like you’re guilty, I’m asking questions. I’m not chasing you, I’m following you . . .”

Her eyes darted over his, she softened then, raised her eyebrows. “Sorry,” she said, and now he was the guilty one.

He went to her, saying, “It’s okay . . . I don’t mean to bug you. It’s just . . .”

“What—because I was I won’t tell you about . . .” She left the sentence unfinished. The argument at the party.

“Yeah, I don’t know . . .”

“It’s nothing, Josh, don’t make it into something.”

“You’re making into something by being so tightlipped.”

She studied him again, eyes going over his, weighing and measuring.

He said, “What are you thinking?”

“Nothing,” she said softly.

“All right,” he said, backing away again. I'm going to be in my office . . .”