I let myself glide on the current to the shallower end of the pool. I tear my goggles and swim cap off and throw them onto the pool deck. My fist smashes the surface of the water in a hit that feels woefully unsatisfying.

I wouldn’t have done what she did. I wouldn’t have tapped out.

I walk to the infinity edge of the pool and grip it as I look to the windows where the arboretum is blanketed in shadow. Peering into the darkness, it’s intriguing trying to imagine what it would feel like to put my trust in a man like that. I wonder what would happen if I let him wrap his hands around my neck and take me as far as he wanted.

Maybe it’s not him I don’t trust. It’s me. And he must have sensed it the first moment we met. His instinct told him that I would kill him if he tried.

I turn around and rest my back against the cool tiles, sliding down until my head lays on the edge. When I close my eyes, those images are still burned there. This time, however, I grab hold of them. I make them into something new. I imagine that it’s me starting the recording, me backing up on the bed with lust-filled eyes as Kaplan crawls up my body like a starving leopard, ready to devour me in his lair.

My hand drifts down my body, over my stomach, pressing on my pelvis in anticipation before my fingers slide beneath the elastic hem at my thigh. I rub my clit in a slow circle and lean my head back as I imagine Kaplan’s weight settling on my body as he pulls down my bra and sucks on my breast. He shifts to make room for his hand and he dips his fingers beneath my black panties, and he fingers the swollen bud with the same gentle pressure as I do now.

I imagine Kaplan sliding his fingers through my glistening folds. I push two fingers into my pussy as I hear his low voice, so rich and warm with approval. Wet and ready to take my cock. Do you want it? And in my fantasy I nod, pressing my palms into his muscled shoulders.

I work my clit in harder circles and pump my fingers into my sheath as I imagine Kaplan sliding his erection inside, gliding in steady strokes. But in my fantasy, he thrusts harder than he did in the version I saw. He rails into me in my dream. He fucks me raw. And I beg him to put his hands around my throat.

“Tap your hands on the mattress three times if it’s too much,” he says, just like in the video. But there’s no way. I won’t stop.

My fingers are thrusting into my pussy and bearing down on my clit and I’m so close. I imagine Kaplan squeezing. Praising. Thrusting. Good, Bria. Take it like a killer. I will fuck you exactly how you need me to. You’re so perfect, Bria. 

I drift away from the edge of the pool and take a deep breath and submerge myself. I rub and pump and circle and grind my fingers until my lungs burn. And I come hard. I come imagining Kaplan squeezing my throat until I’m desperate for air, until my vision darkens and pleasure coils in my belly as tight as a striking snake.

I burst from the water and suck in a heaving, cleansing breath of air. My heartbeat drums in my ears. I stand for a long moment in the water, waiting for my muscles to cool and my lungs to settle, hoping my mind will calm down too.

But it doesn’t.

By five o’clock I’ve slept only a fitful hour or so. When I open the random picker app on my phone, it picks number one.

Breakfast.

Goddammit.

I progress through my routine. Running. Yoga. Meditation. Shower. Feed cat. Breakfast.

I open the app again and it chooses the number five.

Oatmeal.

…Disgusting.

I sit in my robe and scowl through every bite.

When I’m done, I make my coffee and get dressed while it brews. It’s another sweater and jeans combo, and I top it off with minimal makeup. And then it’s off to Cedar Ridge to get my shit back on track.

Music flows from the common room, deft fingers dancing over the keys of a piano. I know the piece. I know the player. Samuel, and his favorite composition of his own creation. The beat is a little slower than it used to be to make up for the weakened left hand, the melody of those bass notes simplified from how I remember the piece from years past to compensate for the damage inflicted by his stroke. But Opus #139 is still as rich and haunting as the first time I heard it.

I wait behind Samuel as he finishes the last notes, then lay a hand on his shoulder. His glare softens a little when he realizes it’s me.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?” Samuel asks as I wheel him to his preferred table near the window, the only one that’s empty. I wonder if he kills off any old folks who try to take it from him, and that’s why it’s always free. It would not surprise me. At all.

“No class today, Uncle,” I say, giving a kiss to each of his cheeks before positioning his wheelchair where he can watch the entrance behind me. “I’m going in later for a meeting, however.”

“Kaplan?”

“No.”

We fall into silence as I set up the backgammon board. I win the roll-off and start the game.

“You look unwell,” he says.

“Define unwell.”

Samuel shifts his gaze across my skin, gathering information, analyzing. “Like you haven’t slept properly. And your blood pressure is high,” he says.

I press the squiggly vein on the side of my forehead. I know that’s what he’s seen.

“What’s going on,” he says. It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

“Kaplan. He’s going on sabbatical at the end of the semester. It hasn’t been announced. My meeting today is with Kathryn Fletcher. She’s replacing him during his leave. I’ve met with her once already. She’s going to be my advisor.”

“Fletcher…the one from UCLA?”

“Yes. She presented that paper last year at the Contemporary Issues in Forensic Psychology Conference last year. The one on charismatic authorities expanding their membership base by using divisive topics to mobilize their followers as agents within online subcultural communities.”

Samuel nods and hums a tone of agreement. “I remember. It was a good paper. Her reputation is strong, her research that I’ve seen is solid. She should fit you well as an advisor.” His eyes narrow as he rolls his dice and moves his checkers across the felt. “But Kaplan’s sabbatical is not the only issue, is it. What else.”

“Kaplan is working as an expert witness for a certain federal organization and we don’t want to play in that sandbox. He has ex-Legio Agni followers lined up to interview. He’s going for my prize.”

Samuel’s gaze snaps to mine. I hold his unwavering stare and his expression darkens. “His time frame is slower than yours. His sabbatical doesn’t start until the semester is finished. If Kaplan’s conducting interviews and research now, they won’t move to final pursuit until early next year. You can capture your prize faster.”

“I know. But there will be more eyes on Legio Agni, including one who knows me now.”

“There were always going to be eyes on Legio Agni. You know how to camouflage. If you do what you do best, he will never know. And speaking of which, I found the information you were looking for on Praetorian. Log in and it will be there.”

I nod, adding it to my mental to-do list to access our shared, secured server and retrieve whatever coded information Samuel has sent later tonight.

I win the game and we set it up again, rolling our single die to establish the first player. Samuel starts the play and we roll dice and shift checkers in silence. His words repeat through my mind, a confirmation of my own thoughts.

“Are you having a crisis of confidence regarding your plan?” Samuel asks.

“No.”

“No,” he agrees. “Such a challenge normally excites you. So what is the problem? There’s something else.”

I press my molars together and glare at the board. If I don’t spill more, Samuel will probably find a way to sneak out of Cedar Ridge and break into the house. He’d happily dose me with amobarbital while I’m sleeping to wrench the truth out of me. When I look up, I can tell that’s exactly what he’s thinking.