She huddled in a corner, her three-hundred-dollar silk skirt bunched up around her thighs, her back pressed against the wall, remembering. She was fifteen again, hidden in the cramped closet of the empty house, peering through the inch-wide crack between the door and the jamb. Waiting. Heart thundering. Afraid. Excited. She moved closer to the sliver of space, anxious to catch a glimpse of him, Mr. X. She trembled. She prayed, the waiting interminable. Finally, she heard his voice. David’s voice. Deep and silky smooth. Powerful. Raven’s heart leaped; she pressed closer to the door. He had come. The woman was with him. He told Mrs. X what he expected her to do, quietly, brooking no disobedience. The rope awaited, its end tied into a noose. Beneath it a step stool, her lifeline. Mrs. X was naked. Blindfolded, her hands bound in front of her. Raven saw her trembling. She pleaded for mercy. David told her again what he wanted, this time sharply, as if annoyed. Mrs. X stepped onto the stool, sobbing now.
