Chapter Thirty
More than a week has passed since we lost Dash, and Jonathan has been mine ever since.
Sometimes I let him go for a few hours. But he always comes back.
Back to his place, at my feet. Collared and leashed, where he belongs.
Mine.
It’s intoxicating… The way he knows he’s strong enough to fight back, to overpower me. Shit, he could rip me to shreds if he wanted to.
But he won’t. Even if he wants to, which I’m not fully certain he even does… He won’t do it.
‘Broken down over time, even the most feral of subjects become obedient house pets, domesticated into undying loyalty and submission by their master.’
Beneficial Brainwashing, Dr. Melvin Strange
I had dinner with Dr. Love a few nights ago. Took him into Manhattan by helicopter. We dined and drank and talked for hours. It was great. Just what I’ve been needing.
I would rather pluck my own eyes out than ever admit this to him, but Yari might’ve been right… about me needing a friend. Even thinking the words feels way too purple singing dinosaur for me.
Still, Lemuel and I had a good time. But I was itching to get back to the island; back to my study where my loyal pet was waiting for me, right where I’d left him.
The prison is on lockdown. The entire island, in fact.
There must be consequences for such gross negligence, and it’s not fair that only Officer Chevelle suffer them. So I’ve put an end to any and all recreation.
No more parties. No more contraband for prisoners. I even had Jonathan confiscate what they’d stored up.
You see, they’ve had it easy up until now, and if they’d made the mistake of thinking things couldn’t get any worse in the Pen, well… to that I said, hold my fucking scotch.
I left Jonathan in my office for the night after another particularly grueling evening of punishment and degradation for my wicked animal. The orgasm he gave me with his mouth had me fuzzy for minutes after, but I’m still unable to sleep. Something just feels.. off.
Of course, I know why. I’m not insane.
Nothing about what’s been happening on this island lately feels in any way settled. Just because I’ve been in a relatively good mood, that doesn’t mean things aren’t still completely fucked.
We can’t find Dascha anywhere. He’s just… gone.
Between my boundless connections and Kent’s private investigators, we’ve narrowed down that he fled the country—likely to Mexico. But we still don’t know exactly where he is, and it’s bothering me.
I’ll likely have to bite the bullet and just call Alexander. Not that I think he would ever in a millón anos tell me where his son is, whether he knows or not.
Regardless, it’s an option. One I’m considering because I need to at least know where Dascha is, in case Russo decides he wants to come by for a visit. It’s never happened in thirteen years, but still… Better safe than sorry.
Another pain point is my new friend… Dr. Lemuel Love.
Felix Darcey is becoming enamored. It’s pretty damn obvious when listening to their recorded sessions, and I’m worried that this impeccably professional, straight—quote unquote—doctor might not be as impervious to the charms of our sexy serial killer as he thinks he is.
Jonathan believes Dr. Love was involved in the madness that ensued in the prison two weeks ago, and as much as it irks me to agree, the evidence is hard to ignore.
He’s very unapologetic regarding his research methods. Whether it’s allowing Felix free rein to terrorize the prison, or allowing him into his own pants, the doctor has no scruples when it comes to that little psycho, and I can’t lie. It’s entertaining as hell to witness.
Still, I cannot allow my love of chaos to overpower the need to instill order on my island. So long as the doctor remembers who’s in charge here, we’ll be fine.
But let’s be clear… By no means was Love the only person involved in Felix setting Dash free. I’m still not convinced Joy Jameson didn’t assist in some way.
She was also in the East Wing around the time of Dash’s escape. In fact, she was the last person seen leaving the control room.
Could this have anything to do with the gap in the footage?
I’d be willing to place a large bet on it.
Steve Islo was purposefully negligent in operating the East Wing control room, that we know. He was too lenient… He was stupid, and because of that, he wound up a scapegoat in this matter.
Yes, I killed him. So what?
I had to kill someone, and Joy Jameson was absolutely not an option. That would have brought an all-out war, from many sides.
And yet, despite all of that, Joyless and her little Rookie Cookie still came into my office earlier demanding I release my pet back to them. As if he’s theirs and not clearly mine.
Jesus, the audacity.
My teeth are grinding my jaw into a persistent ache just remembering it. How affected he was by their presence…. How miserable he seemed watching them go. And after he’d chosen to stay with me, no less.
It’s highly infuriating, and even hours later, I’m unable to get my mind to shut up about all this. Just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling…
Wondering if I should go check on him… just to make sure he’s…
“Ugh.” I flop over petulantly in bed, eyes landing on the clock on the nightstand.
It’s just after three o’clock in the morning.
No hope of getting any sleep tonight.
Swinging out of bed, I rub my eyes, padding onto the balcony. I gaze out over the calm ocean, the quiet shore, the depth of forest, all of which are bathed in the pale glow of a large moon.
Possess all of it. Every inch.
Possess him. Cage him and never let him fly away from me again.
At least him I can keep.
Sudden unrelenting need draws me to him… so I follow it, back inside, then across the hall to my office. But when I get there, it’s empty.
Muscles stiffen all over my body, a fervent rage climbing up my esophagus like heartburn.
Lo juro por Dios…
If he snuck back over to the left side, he will be in for a world of hurt.
The mansion is dark, almost unrecognizable in its now perpetual state of quiet. There hadn’t been true silence in this place in longer than I can recall, not since before the parties became a constant. Now it’s all been calmed.
But then… has it? Really?
Going for my phone in my bedroom, I’m about to text Kent; have him go over to the left and see if Jonathan is there. With Harley and Joy.
But before I can, I find a new text from Mateo…
We might have a problem.
I call him.
“What’s wrong?” I ask the second the call connects.
“I want to start out by saying this was not my fault…” He says cautiously.
I’m immediately on edge. “Just say it.”
“I heard from Alejo that… there were EMT’s at her house earlier.”
Hollow. That’s what I am.
Empty.
“She, um… apparently she overdosed,” he says, and there’s a ringing in my ears.
Jonathan’s mother. Tammy…
I can barely feel my legs moving but they are. I’m not even fully cognizant of what my body is doing, but it is racing down the stairs.
“How is that possible, Mateo?!” I snap. “Tell me it wasn’t on our shit… Fuck, dime, por favor…”
“It wasn’t!” He gasps in my ear while I run. I’m running across the foyer to the left stairs, taking them two at a time. “I told them to stop, and they stopped! On my kids, I swear—”
“Then where did she get it?!” I roar, stalking up the hall.
Fuck knocking. I barge through the door to his bedroom. But it’s empty. Checking next door, I find Harley’s room also empty.
And Joy’s.
“Fuck!” I snarl out loud, whipping my phone at the wall. “Fuck fuck fuck!”
Bending at the waist, I grip my hair, yanking it in my fists.
This isn’t happening.
This can’t be happening…
My mind is tearing through so many things, all of this bullshit, like curse after curse being hexed on my goddamn existence. That for once I actually tried to do something good, and it still resulted in tragedy…
But most specifically, I’m remembering how his phone was ringing earlier, in my office. While he was at my feet. While he was…
Ringing, over and over… It wouldn’t stop.
His mother overdosed.
He’s going to think it was me.
He… left me.
He finally fucking left.
So… as it turns out…
Jonathan’s mother, Tammy Chevelle, did indeed overdose.
She’s dead.
And because of that, Jonathan is gone. He packed a bag and left in the middle of the night, with Joy Jameson and Harley Samuels in tow.
I’m not sure I’ve ever felt emotions so potent.
Alright, I have. But it’s been a while.
Naturally, his phone is switched off—all three of theirs are. I have no way of tracking them, but I don’t really need to. They’re obviously at Jonathan’s house in Staten Island. It would’ve been my first guess anyway, but it was verified.
When I spoke to him.
Last night, after exhausting my attempts at texting and leaving him voicemails, I decided to try another approach. One I was sure would enrage him even further, but that I still needed to attempt.
I couldn’t just not speak to him. The sheer impotence of not having him here, for the first time in thirteen years, was driving me absolutely insane. In all that time, he’s been the one constant in my life. Just him, and this fucking island. That’s it.
But one doesn’t feel right without the other…
So I called his mother’s phone. His dead mother… Who, as far as he’s concerned, I had killed.
And after a few agonizing rings, he answered. Just answered. Didn’t say anything.
“Jonathan…” I spoke smoothly, maintaining my composure, though it was excruciating.
“I know you’re upset… Trust me, I understand what you’re feeling, I do.
But you must understand, there’s more to this than you think.
I’m… sorry for your loss, my pet. I truly am, but you can’t just run off.
You belong here, Jonathan, and I swear to God, if you don’t come back, there will be hell to pay… ”
I had to stop and take a breath before I passed out.