DITW 10-16: Branch Chain

Friday night he found himself in a place he’d never imagined he’d be: in the visitor’s parking outside Devlin Stone’s apartment, looking to meet with Devlin behind Kimmy’s back. It was like he was guilty of the same thing Kimmy was. But he was drawn here by the cruelest torment. His own. His own desires had brought him out in the warm September rain, engine idling, windshield wipers arming droplets off the windshield in regulated intervals while he searched for the resolve to do what he came here for. Sickness swirled in his stomach and his heart fluttered with the panic of fight or flight.

He didn’t have to do this. He could go home. Go home to Kimmy, go to his cousin’s, where he’d told her he’d be. He could put this wickedness behind him, he and Meyer could order a pizza and some jalapeño poppers and play some Call of Duty, and later, around eleven or twelve, he could go home to his apartment and climb into bed with the woman he loved. A woman he’d pushed off a treacherous cliff. Had punished with his lechery. But a woman who held him blameless. A woman who’d proved to him she wanted no other man than him, and would do anything he wanted to restore what they had.

He could wipe the slate clean and start over, but he was sitting in his car outside Devlin’s apartment.

Headlights passed by the rear bumper, a tenant coming in, the underground garage door lifting and giving access to the building’s private residents-only belly. The car stopped. Then its white reverse lights came on and it pulled into the empty visitor’s spot next to his Qashqai. The sickness in his stomach condensed to cold, hard lead. The car was low and sleek and black, its paint rippling with rain water. The passenger window went down, and he motored his down as well. Devlin. Devlin sitting in his roadster.

“Hey, Josh, man, sorry, I’m late, I—”

“I just got here.”

“Oh, good. . . . Fuck, it’s pissing, eh? I’m going to park and I’ll meet you in the lobby. Go wait in the vestibule.” Devlin closed his window and backed out; the garage door had begun its descent closed, then jerked to a stop and yawned open again. Devlin’s Mercedes disappeared into the underground and the door rolled down, shutting off the light.

Josh shook his head and chewed his cheek. “What the fuck are you here for?” He could leave. It wasn’t too late. Devlin might taunt him that he chickened out, but what would that amount to? Maybe everything.

And that’s why he was here.

He checked his pockets, shut off the car, prepared himself for the dash to the lobby, then went for it, jumping out of the Qashqai, slamming the door and trotting to the awning outside Devlin’s apartment building.

* * *

They went up in the elevator without saying anything. Devlin was late for their meeting—a meeting that held Josh’s existence in the balance—because he was at the gym. Standing now in the elevator cab with his gym bag in one hand, texting on his phone with the other. He wore compression leggings and shorts, a couple layers of expensive sporty tops, and a jacket. Shoes were some high-tech Crossfit bullshit in neon. He smelled like cologne on top of male musk.

When the elevator doors opened, Devlin tucked his phone in his pocket and gestured for Josh to go ahead. When they were out and in the hall, Devlin said, “This is pretty heavy, huh? You’re not saying anything.”

Josh shrugged. “What’s there to say? Let’s just do this.”

Devlin nodded, parsing Josh’s answer, then going ahead to his apartment door, Josh following behind. Key in his door lock, he said, “I think there’s a lot to say, Josh. But we’re going to work this out.”

“Work out what?”

Devlin didn’t answer, just opened his door and again gestured for Josh to go ahead. He stepped forward, but then stepped back again. The apartment was dark. The situation foreboding. Devlin proved he hadn’t changed since high school. Rumble was in there. Rumble was in there waiting. Maybe Devlin’s new buddy Glenn, too. They’d punch him in the stomach and then tie him to a chair and they’d all cackle and guzzle beer as they forced him to watch some video of Devlin fucking Kimmy like a dog, the volume turned all the way up, neighboring apartments receiving the audio broadcast of Josh Waters’s wife cheating on him with his high school bully, crying out loud and crystal clear every time Devlin rammed his huge cock balls deep into her tight pussy.

Devlin eyed him like his behavior was strange, and he went ahead into the apartment. Josh stayed in the hall, arm out and propping the door open. Devlin flicked on the lights, kicked off his shoes, put his bag down, stored away his keys.

“Come on in,” he said, and went deeper into the apartment.

Josh followed, stuffing his hands in his pockets, keeping his jacket and shoes on like he could only stay a minute. He stood like that in the foyer until Devlin went into the kitchen and turned the lights on in there. Then he pried off his shoes and moved with caution into the kitchen, hands still in his jacket pockets.

Devlin pulled a blender out from where it was stashed against the tiled backsplash and plugged it in. “Just gotta make a quick shake. I’m running so late today. I didn’t even shower.” He grabbed some items out of his fridge and cupboards and arranged them by the blender. “You want a drink of something? You want a bourbon or Scotch?”

It was probably a dig, a barb meant to invoke how he’d passed out bourbon-drunk at Tiffany’s party, and how Devlin had forced himself on Kimmy and something happened that night that had sent his marriage away with one wheel in the gutter. “No, thanks.”

“Coke, pop, water? I’ve got some of those Bublys; cherry, I think, maybe strawberry, too...” He threw a banana into the blender and poured in some milk.

“I’m not thirsty. Can we just do this?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, tapping out two scoops of chocolate protein powder or something. Then it was like he realized he was being a jerk, and he turned, slowing down, leaning his butt on the counter and putting his hands on the edge. “Josh, look. I am sorry I’m late. We’re going to do this.” He jabbed a thumb behind him to the blender. “It was squats today, and I just, I gotta get some sugars, some amino acids. Timing is everything.”

Josh gritted his teeth. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Devlin turned back, set the blender to high and then stripped out of his top two layers, baring his hairy, muscular arms in a lycra tank top. He stopped the blender, poured the concoction into a glass, and took a long drink. He refilled it then, emptying the blender, picking up the glass and facing Josh. “Okay. You ready to do this?”

* * *

In the living room, Josh stopped and stared at the couch where he’d been arranged to sleep after the Jays game and where he’d found his wife’s distinct panties tucked in between the cushions. The lead ball loosened to a jelly sickness and the strong urge to flee raced through him.

You don’t have to do this.

Devlin emptied his glass and put it on a side table, opened the side table drawer and removed an iPad. He lifted the Pad to show Josh, a grave expression on his face that told Josh all he needed to know: the picture of his wife’s pussy was on that tablet.

His heart raced and his sickly stomach soured further. A sudden urge to retch toe-kicked him in the guts and he lurched forward like he might vomit all over Devlin’s floor. But it abated, and he held a fist near his mouth to quash it.

Devlin nodded like he understood how serious the situation was for Josh. He even said, “Yeah,” like he was acknowledging it.

Josh shook his head in slow admonishing wags. “Why do you even want to do this?”

“You deserve to see it. That’s why you’re here.”

“But fucking why? Why and how and what the fuck is wrong with you?” His voice held no anger, only whispered disbelief that a man could be so manipulative and cruel.

Devlin looked befuddled. “Me? Why is this all on me?”

“Who else?”

Devlin chuckled as if offended, but biting his tongue. He pinched the bridge of his nose like dealing with Josh Waters required patience. “I don’t understand you, man. I don’t get it.”

“What’s there to get? You’re fucking with me like you’ve always fucked with me. You’re trying to make me crazy—”

“I’m not trying to make you anything. What the hell are you talking about?”

“Sending me texts like a movie villain. Ooh, I have pictures of you wife. Like, get real. Who the fuck are you?”

“Movie villain? Josh, are we on the same planet? You want this. You told me you want this.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, panic seizing his breath, his eyes beginning to swell, his temples pounding. “I’m done, Devlin. I’m done. This is the sickest shit you could do to a person. You need help.”

Devlin chuckled. “Yeah, you and me both, man.” Then he said no more, just looking at Josh with his head cocked, lips pursed, a mask of sympathy.

It angered him. Fake. Fucking manipulator. “What if I went to the police or your dad or, or some kind of Ontario ethics board? I could ruin you. Kimmy would back me up even if you said it was consensual. I mean, we could sue you.”

“Josh, you think I don’t know that? Of course I know that. I’m taking a big risk here. I know you hold all the power. This was a big risk for me, a big gamble. You’re the dealer, the house, and it’s me who’s the gambler. This game is yours now.”

Josh chuckled. A real honest amusement. “What game?”

“Come on, Josh. Are you kidding me? I can’t tell when you’re sly or when you’re unaware.”

“I’m aware, trust me.”

Devlin straightened, put out a hand, five-finger pointing, a whole new sales pitch. “What do you gamble on?”

“Money.”

Devlin shook his head no. “Money’s boring, Josh. If money was everything, you wouldn’t be here, you would just sue me—or at least try to. Then you would have money. You’re here in my apartment because you know you want something more valuable than money. That’s what people gamble on. Stakes.”

Josh scoffed again and rolled his eyes. “What’s at stake?”

“You’re a heartbeat away from fulfilling every dark fantasy you think should stay locked up. But I’m here to tell you—to prove to you—if you have the courage, we can make the forbidden manifest. And no one gets hurt. No one is left out. And for the more sanguine, yes, there’s money, too. Lots and lots of money. You see why I’m gambling on you? You see why I might take this risk?”

Josh grumbled and shrugged his shoulders, crawling with irritation like he’d fallen into an ant colony, wanting to kick Devlin in the balls and race him as fast as his Nissan would take him. Put all of this behind him, leave it in the past. Never learn what Kimmy did behind his back.

His shoulders slumped, and his stomach sagged low and heavy and soggy. An unbearable, sad burden oozed over his back and shoulders, trying to crumple him in front of Devlin.

He looked at the couch. “I found Kimmy’s panties in your couch.”

Devlin was quiet a long moment and Josh said no more. Devlin said, “I know.”

The burden increased in weight, and his legs trembled to keep himself upright. Then flat and unemotional: “You know.” He nodded, onboarding Devlin’s first admission of a crime. “Did you hide them there for me to find?”

Devlin stared back. “You’d like that to be true, wouldn’t you?”

He rubbed his mouth, worked his jaw around, pulse pounding in his neck and temples. “When I met you at Updike’s for a drink before the Jays game?”

“Yeah?”

“You said your drink smelled funny, and you made me check it. Glenn, too. He said you’d fingered some skank.”

Devlin nodded, slow, eyes burning on Josh’s.

“Was that Kimmy?”

“Kimmy’s no skank, Josh.”

“Was that Kimmy?”

Devlin raised his eyebrows, looked away by a small measure. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, it was.”