What Goes Around

July 27, 2019

Karma Lowe resisted the urge to tap her steel-tipped stiletto, or fidget, in any way. With ‘resting bitch face’, she sat next to the defendant, and to all outward appearances appeared confident.

Across the aisle Crown Counsel, Ignacio Noble, reeked of smugness and Old Spice. He’d gutted her two star witnesses after lunch, leaving her case disemboweled. What did they have on her ageing, well-to-do client that they could actually pinch him with? Circumstantial evidence at best, as long as the murder weapon, or his wife's body, didn't float up the Thompson. Or so she’d thought. With the day adjourned, Karma snapped her Saffiano briefcase shut and rose. She’d barely taken a step before Iggy blocked her path.

“Care to discuss your options over a stiff drink?” His grin was predatory.

“Yes,” she said sweetly, “but not with you.”

“Sore loser?”

“Oh, I’m just getting warmed up,” she shot back, smile bubble gum sweet. “Time for a comeback.”

“You always did like defending the hopeless cases, Karma,” Iggy sneered. “Maybe it’s that soft spot you’ve got for dropouts and degenerates.”

Brushing past him, hips swaying, heels clicking on marble, she felt his gaze trail down her pencil skirt like a wandering hand.

“Aren’t you coming, Ig?” she tossed over her shoulder.

“Not yet,” he murmured.

Karma chuckled. She enjoyed turning him on. At 32 years old, she had worked hard for her trim figure and didn't particularly feel like wasting it on one man for the rest of her life. All her friends were getting hitched, and she was damn sure that she, also, deserved the wedding of her dreams. Only she didn't exactly have the man of her dreams to go with it. Oh well, Karma shrugged dismissively, one out of two ain't bad. She was determined to stick her marriage out at least one year with Johnny. That way she wouldn't have to give the wedding gifts back.

Outside, the hot, dry summer air shimmered. She descended the courthouse steps, replaying the day’s losses, already plotting her next move. Distracted, she slid into her Porsche 911, impervious to the man hiding in the backseat. A gloved hand clamped over her mouth. Cold metal pricked her neck.

“Drive,” a low voice said.

“Okay,” she breathed, hands frozen in mid air. “Just — please don’t kill me.”

“Turn right. Drive easy.”

She caught the glint of a Buck knife in the rearview mirror. Her heart hammered as she steered onto Highway 5, northbound toward Jasper. Forty-five minutes passed in silence.

“Next right,” he ordered. “Off-road.”

The Porsche groaned over roots and potholes. “I’m a pretty, high profile lawyer,” she said evenly. “If it’s money you want...”

“I don’t want money.”

“Someone will notice I’m gone. Take the car. Just leave me.”

“You aren’t giving the orders, baby.”

The trees opened into a tree-lined clearing. A cabin squatted in the center like a forgotten dream. The knife to her neck again as the Porsche came to a stop.

“Out.”

Karma moved fast. She kicked off her heels and bolted, screaming for help. But her voice was swallowed by the forest. He caught her effortlessly, one arm locking her wrists behind her as he steered her forward, stumbling.

“Like to fight?” His breath was hot on her ear, raising gooseflesh. “You’ll get your chance.”

The masked man followed her to the cabin door. He gripped her arm roughly, bruising. Karma gasped as he shoved her inside and swiftly locked the dead bolt. It smelled of dust and old smoke. A six-point deer rack hung above the dusty fireplace like a silent witness.

“Walk to that back room," he said gruffly, "and, wait.”

Karma’s eyes darted, frantically, searching for a fireplace poker or any makeshift weapon, but the cabin was bare. The back room was a sparsely-furnished bedroom. Hope left as her stomach dropped.

“Oh God, please help me,” she whimpered.

Now naked behind her, except for a black balaclava obscuring his face, he instructed her to remove her blouse. Trembling, she undid three buttons, fingers shaking as if they belonged to someone else. The silk slid off her shoulders onto the floor, skin prickling under his gaze.

“And the skirt.”

She hesitated.

“Now.”

Her breath caught as she unzipped. The skirt fell, revealing garters and thigh-highs. His eyes darkened.

“Now this,” he said softly, “I’m going to enjoy.”

“Go to hell,” she spat.

He shoved her onto the bed. A thick rope tightened around her throat until she gasped. Clawing at it, Karma felt like she was floating outside her own body. Cold steel traced her skin. Down her chest. Her stomach. Between her thighs. Every nerve screamed confusion, and terror heightened her senses. The noose cinched tighter, cutting her breath short. Darkness crept at the edges of her vision like a TV screen in Poltergeist.

Then — just before blackness came release.

Air flooded her lungs. Blinking, she refocused—her mouth dropping open in astonishment. Her assailant’s face, unveiled.

“You?” she choked.

“Me,” grinned her 25 year old boy toy, Gabriel.

“Gabe!?” Her brain refused to compute. “You—kidnapped me?”

“You mentioned that “little fantasy” last week,” he said, sheepish now. “Authentic, hey!?”

“Authentic?” Her voice broke into a hysteria, “You nearly killed me, you lunatic!”

“It’s better to ask for forgiveness than permission,” he laughed.

“For the love of…,” she seethed, rolling her eyes back to her optic nerve.

She yanked her skirt from the floor, shaking with fury and adrenaline. “I’m married, you idiot! My husband’s probably filed a missing person report. I’ve got court in two hours. Where’s my f-ing phone?”

He held it out like a child offering a broken toy. She snatched it, glaring daggers. “We’re leaving.”

Outside, the forest buzzed with late-summer insects. Karma stormed to the Porsche. Gabe followed. Her pulse hadn’t slowed. Rage, relief, and a dangerous thrill tangled inside her. She slid behind the wheel, slammed the door, and exhaled hard.

The man was batshit crazy.

And she’d liked it.