Page 50 of The Sound of Silence

Igripped the wooden paddle that had once given me so much pleasure and stared down at the bloodied naked body of my beautiful dominatrix. Cynthia’s lifeless body laid still, the blood from her wounds staining the pristine, white carpet of my West 4th Street condo.

She wasn’t dead—at least not yet.

“It’s your fault,” I spat out. “You just had to ask too many questions.”

“What happened to your wife, Ethan? Nobody has seen her in months. The Commissioner asked me about her. Why would he want to know where she is?”

Fuck her—which I did—and fuck the inept, my-daddy-got-me-the-job Police Commissioner Greyson. Why did they care about where Gianna was? Especially Cynthia. She was my mistress and should have no interest in my girl.

So many damned questions…

Now here we were.

I shook my head.

It was such a shame. I thought I’d have a little more time with this one.

The floral smell of Chantilly still lingered in the air as I tossed the paddle on the floor next to Cynthia’s head. The room was finally peacefully silent, a stark contrast to what it had been only moments before. Of course, she had screamed—they all screamed.

I shouldn’t relish in it.

But I did—just like I reveled in her pain.

It didn’t matter how loud she cried out for help. Nobody could have possibly heard her as long as we were in this room. My mother made sure of that many years ago when we’d moved here after that unfortunate incident with Jenny in Salt Lake City. Looking around at the white, soundproof walls, I could almost picture my mother standing by the door, shaking her finger at me.

“Cry and scream all you want, my boy. Nobody will hear you. Only He can hear.”

Then she would go and I would be alone.

When I first came to the White Room, I’d been eighteen years old. Long before spending time here, my mother tried to teach me the holy scriptures, but I’d been much too young and too head strong to truly understand. Societal influences were powerful—just as the lust I had for sweet, young Jenny had been powerful.

“That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart,” I warned my mother, reciting from the Gospel of Matthew just as she had taught me. The lust-filled temptations I’d had for Jenny were potent and my resistance was weak. But my mother didn’t heed my warnings. Instead, she advised me to avoid the girl and focus on my lessons.

But I didn’t listen—it had already been too late. Lust had wrapped a leash around my neck, leading me to take what I had desperately wanted.

Then young Jenny died.

Her parents sought vengeance for the unknown man who had defiled and killed their sixteen-year-old daughter. I had wanted to repent and turn myself in to the authorities, but my mother wouldn’t let me. Instead, we moved from our home in Salt Lake City and started anew in Cincinnati. She said my desires were the result of corruption that comes at all levels of society—it was a behavioral consequence of power and greed. The only way to escape it and fully embrace Him would be in the solidarity of the White Room.

So that’s where she sent me.

Two years after stepping into the White Room for the first time, I finally began to understand my mothers’ lessons, and I was never truly alone again. He was always with me in the windowless room where everything was white. A white comforter covered the white double mattress. A white dresser with drawers full of white sheets stood in the corner, with holy books wrapped in white dust jackets lined in a neat row on top of it. There were white lamps with bright, white lights.

So bright. All. The. Fucking. Time.

White carpet.

White frames that held no pictures hanging on the walls.

White, rubber chain links and shackles.

My mother loved white. She said it symbolized the purity and innocence she had been robbed of. The only thing marring all the white brilliance now was Cynthia’s body.

“Oh, Cynthia, Mother will not be pleased.”

I took one final glance at her mutilated face before closing the white door. I should kill her now and be done with it, but I couldn’t just yet. I wasn’t prepared. Had I known she was going to raise problems today, I would have planned things much differently. Now, I had to make a trip to Avondale to get what I needed. I would just have to hurry and make sure I was back before she woke up.

I walked down the hallway toward the front door. After lacing up a pair of Doc Martens, I grabbed my keys off the little table by the door and made my way to the elevator that would take me down to the lobby. When the metal elevator doors opened, I came face to face with Mr. Broderick, a building resident who lived on the second floor. He squinted at me for a moment before flashing a wide grin that revealed yellowing teeth. His eyebrows were bushy, and his nose hairs were in need of trimming, shooting out at weird angles from his nostrils. Disgusting. Someone needed to take him down the men’s hygiene aisle at Kroger’s and introduce him to Braun.

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