by M. S. Willis
CONTROL
By M.S. Willis
This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Control: Copyright © 2013 by M.S. Willis
Cover: ©2013 by Jason L. Lee
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced, scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN 978-0-9894479-0-4
[email protected]
Control is dedicated to John and Mary Ann Willis
They are loved and missed every single day
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Prologue
“Paige, baby, run outside and play for a little while. Daddy and I need to attend to our new guests who are arriving shortly. It’s best you remain out of sight.”
Those were the instructions given to me each time a new woman arrived to The Center – an abused woman’s facility operated by my parents in the Florida panhandle. They always attempted to shelter me from the sight of the new arrivals as they entered through the large double doors at the front of the facility.
My curiosity got the better of me after the first dozen times I was sent away; and on one particular day, I ignored Momma’s instructions and found a small hiding place in perfect view of the entrance.
When those large, foreboding doors opened, the sunlight flooded the entryway, backlighting the petite woman walking through. I was momentarily blinded by the change in light and I could only make out her silhouette as she entered. I rubbed at my eyes to adjust my vision and I gasped when she came into clear view.
Her head hung low and her small frame was folded in on itself. Her eyes were swollen and bruised and they held no life in them; almost as if her soul had left her physical body, leaving only a shell remaining of the woman she had once been. One of her arms was tucked into her body by a sling and my father walked in behind her carrying a single suitcase containing the only personal belongings she had left in the world.
My five year old eyes were opened wide at the physical marks she wore; reminders of a battle she had recently fought. My heart broke for her as I took in the sight. It was then that I noticed a smaller form tucked discreetly behind the woman’s legs. A boy who looked to be my age, or maybe a few years older, shyly glanced around at his new surroundings.
Momma approached the boy and held out a stuffed animal as a welcome. His little body tensed at her approach and I couldn’t understand why anybody would be scared of Momma. When his face came into view, I saw the reason for his hesitancy. His face and arms were marred with ugly bruises and I wondered how he had been hurt so badly. His mother’s good arm reached around to comfort him, to let him know he was safe and secure in their new environment.
“It’s okay Buddy. These people will help us. I promise we’ll be safe here.”
Buddy. I didn’t know at the time how much that small, shy boy would end up affecting my life. After his arrival, I left him alone for a few days despite my growing curiosity and want for a new friend. He warmed up to me eventually and soon, we clung to each other as only best friends could. Momma called us ‘soul mates’, but I never understood what that meant. All I knew was that in the short amount of time I had him in my life, I would have done anything for him. I loved him almost immediately when I met him. He teased me relentlessly as any young boy would do to a girl, but he never let me cry or refuse to fight back. In his own way, he was teaching me to defend myself, to guard my heart, to endure in a world full of pain and abuse; the only world he knew.
On my sixth birthday, Buddy’s mom died. The violent manner of her death was enough to traumatize any person, but especially a child. We clung to each other as we witnessed her death. But that wasn’t the worst part. Buddy was taken from me that day and I barely had enough time to make a pact that we would find each other again. I gave him the only thing I had as a reminder of our pact; a delicate dragonfly necklace that was a gift to me on what should have been a happy and special day.
My innocence was shattered that day and walls were built around me that would never allow another person close to my heart. The heartache was too much to bear. The loss of Buddy was too much to endure.
Maybe it was a mixture of that day and the constant reminder of pain that existed within the walls of The Center that did this to me. I never again allowed anybody close to me; never relied on another person for anything; never trusted that my heart wouldn’t be broken if it opened to another person.
The psychologists said that it was normal for me to hold onto Buddy’s memory as tightly as I did. They believed the trauma of watching his mother die was a turning point in my young life. They believed that I would eventually outgrow the attachment I had to him.
I didn’t. I carried Buddy’s memory into my adult life. I still hoped he would return one day to find me as he promised he would.
Maybe that makes me crazy. I don’t care. I’m safe. I rely on myself like Buddy taught me. If I fall down, I pick myself up and keep going. I don’t feel sorry for myself, but rather, I fight. No person can break me the way I’d seen those other women broken. Buddy is the person who I have to thank for those hard lessons about life.
I grew up independent. I grew up strong. I didn’t mind being alone because I was whole within myself. Except for that one part; the part that left that day with my best friend, with my only love, with my Buddy.
Chapter One
Well, well; check this jackass out.
I laughed to myself while I slouched down low in a company car and watched Mr. Marcus Weber water skiing on the lake in front of me. I pulled out my video equipment and began recording as he shot back and forth over the wake being kicked up by the boat; catching air and landing hard each time he crossed.
I’m working as a private investigator and I’m conducting surveillance on a trick skier who, according to his bodily injury lawsuit, should be laid up in bed with a neck brace while doped up on some pretty decent pain killers. This case is just one of the many I have performed doing contract work for an investigation firm in town. I enjoy the job but it isn’t one I ever imagined I would one day be working. While attending college completing my degree in humanities, I applied for a job with the company as a part time receptionist. I eventually worked my way up in the company to the intern investigator position. After two years of training, I was a full-fledged, licensed PI. I completed my humanities degree, but quickly learned that, in reality, the degree was worthless unless I wanted to spend my life traveling with the local renaissance fair. Since dressing as a wench and slinging beer to tourists wasn’t really my thing, I accepted the training and agreed to work for the company while I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up. Don’t get me wrong. For all intents and purposes, and according to Florida Law, I was 22 years old and considered an adult. However in my head, I was still as lost as a freshman on her first day of high school.
Being an investigator wasn’t bad. It paid the bills, I had a flexible schedule, and it fed the curious side of my nature
. There were days when I pretended like I was James Bond, and other days when I pretended I was a super spy ninja. I haven’t yet attempted cartwheeling myself in to get the money shot, but I have every intention to do so in the future. I’m just waiting for the perfect moment and I know that when that moment presents itself, I will miraculously not be a total klutz.
I set my small camera on the dash of the car and reached over for the burger I bought myself on the way over to the lake. I continued to watch Mr. Weber ski his little heart out. I will be the first to admit the guy is impressive. Even when he falls, he does so gracefully. I’m completely amazed that even with his back injuries, this guy is able to move so fluidly on the water. His physicians should seriously consider using this guy as a success story and flaunt his amazing recovery as a testament to their ability to heal.
This particular case is not so bad. It definitely tops last week’s case when I had the privilege to conduct a three day surveillance gig following a construction worker. At ten hours a day for three days, I calculated I got to watch thirty exhilarating hours of scratching. That poor man spent his entire day scratching; scratching his head, scratching his arm, scratching his ass and scratching his crotch. At one point he even pulled a wildlife move and scratched his back on a post. It was like watching the Discovery Channel. I was supposed to be looking out for a supposed shoulder injury suffered on the job. After the thirty hours were up, I realized Mr. Construction Worker was probably telling the truth about his shoulder. Only problem was, if his shoulder was actually injured, it had to be the result of the non-stop scratching. You don’t know how many times I had to stop myself from running over to the store and buying the man a little monkey backscratcher or a flea collar. But that would blow my cover. So I didn’t.
I ate my food and continued enjoying Mr. Weber’s acrobatics for close to two hours and decided to pack up and move along when it looked like it was time for him to come back to shore. I drove to my main office to drop off the equipment and car. Being that it was a Saturday, nobody was at the office and that was fine by me. Although I got along with my co-workers for the most part, I wasn’t feeling very sociable today. Scooting on out of there without having to hear about the receptionist’s boyfriend problems or having to side step the romantic advances of the new video editor was a plus.
After stowing away my equipment, I grabbed my helmet off my desk and made my way back down to the parking garage. I threw my hair back into a quick, messy braid, pulled on my helmet and climbed onto my bike. I turned the ignition and sat there for a moment warming up the bike and enjoying the echoed rumbling that spread through the deserted garage. I pulled out of the garage and turned left to go to the apartment I shared with my two best friends, Annie and David.
Fortunately for me, my apartment was only five minutes from where I worked and I was climbing the three flights of stairs up to our place in no time. The door was open and I pushed my way in to find Annie, David and my other friend, Alex, sitting in the living room arguing over what they should be watching on T.V. Annie was arguing her case for the latest reality show, while David was emphatic that he couldn’t miss the newest episode of one of his many fashion shows. Alex kept interjecting that Annie and David needed to let reality T.V. go and allow themselves to enjoy the zombie flick that was on the screen. Being that Alex held the remote, and the fact that he had at least 50 pounds of pure muscle on the both of them, Alex was clearly winning this argument.
“Damn it you two, can you shut your mouths for one second so I can hear what’s going on in the movie?!”
David turned to Alex with a scorned look on his face and then crossed his arms to emphasize his disapproval with Alex’s choice in entertainment. “Sure Alex, because missing even a second of this riveting dialogue and images of blown up body parts is really going to ruin the whole plot. I’ll tell you how it ends…they ALL die.”
Annie giggled at David’s remark and added “I mean really. There was a zombie apocalypse. Do you really think that even if they survive the fight, they aren’t going to end up dying later when they run out of food and clean water? It’s an apocalypse, there is no one left to maintain civilization. Do the main characters really think they are going to be able to survive for long?!”
Alex’s jaw dropped and then closed again. “See Annie, that right there is the attitude that will get you killed when the zombie apocalypse does happen. And when it happens, don’t look to me to save your ass because I can tell you now, I don’t need Mrs. Pessimism slowing me down.” Alex shot Annie one of his signature smirks and returned his attention to his zombie flick.
Oh. Dear. Lord.
My body started to tremble.
Not the zombie apocalypse debate. Anything but that. Horrifying images of the ‘Great Zombie Debate of 2012’ started flashing through my head. Five, count them, FIVE weeks of non-stop zombie arguments. Notes left on tables, marathon text messaging from across the room, shouting matches at 3:00 in the morning. The worst was when they got creative with the fake body parts left in showers and singing telegrams performed by the creepy zombie clown. I was the unfortunate victim of that particular message and to this day I have to restrain myself from hiding behind furniture every time someone knocks at the door.
I attempted my best invisible impression and started heading to my bedroom to get a shower, silently chanting my magical mantra as I went.
I’m invisible, I’m invisible, I’m invisible…
“Paige! You’re home!” Alex yelled. “Come here for a second, I need your help convincing our dear friend Annie here that she needs to seriously consider her plans for when the zombie apocalypse happens.” Alex shot Annie a pointed look.
Crap.
I turned back to look over at their expectant expressions and moved back towards the living room. Alex jumped up from his chair, grabbed me by the hips and pulled me back down to sit on his lap. I shivered when Alex wrapped his muscular arms around me and nuzzled his face into my hair. Even though Alex and I were only “friends”, our arrangement also included “with benefits.” We dated for a short period after meeting in college, but I had to break it off after realizing Alex was looking for an eventual housewife, and I was anything but that. Having been raised in the Center and with my past experiences, I had become cynical when it came to the idea of happily ever after. I held on to my independence like it was as necessary to life as breathing. But even though I knew I could never have a relationship with Alex, I saw no problem with continuing the “benefits” portion while we were not involved with other people. We’ve had these benefits for two years now and I’m very pleased with how everything has turned out. Alex is incredibly beautiful and he is somehow directly linked to my southern regions. If a girl has to have a benefits situation, having one with jet black hair, silver eyes, a chiseled jaw and a body that is so wonderful artists should memorialize it in sculptures, is a preferable situation.
“So, tell Annie and David here why they need to prepare for the upcoming apocalypse. I believe it’s safe to assume that the CDC is aware of this information but is hiding it from us for fear of starting a public panic.” Alex paused and looked up at me with a smile that could drop panties from here to New York City.
I shook my head and muttered “I’m not doing this Alex.”
“Why not?!”
I pushed myself up from Alex’s lap and turned to point to the three of them. “No! This is not starting again.” I was using my best authoritative voice for this speech. “Don’t you three remember last year and the great debate of which we will not speak? One of you,” I glared at Alex, “decided a zombie clown, a freaking ZOMBIE CLOWN, was a good method for passing along a message. And who was the innocent victim caught in the crossfire? Me! Do you know how much the therapy cost me? Psychologists aren’t cheap!”
Alex started to snicker and I kicked him in the shin. “Ow! What the hell Paige?! Come on, it was funny. Just admit it.”
My anger knew no bounds. I turned to Alex and started a full
on assault. Kicking, slapping, hair pulling, you name it. Alex just started laughing and things got serious. “That’s it Alex, I’ve had it!” I ran to Annie’s room, threw open the door and snatched the stuffed pig from her childhood collection. I ran back to the living room and threw the pig into Alex’s lap. Alex let out a scream that I wouldn’t describe as masculine and tossed the pig as far across the room as he could.
“Not cool, Paige! I have a phobia that I told you about in confidence, and then you turn around and use that information to torture me?” He let out an exasperated huff and ran his hands through his messy hair. “Seriously, you owe me an apology.”
My face must have been a scarlet red by this point. “I owe YOU an apology?! You?! I was musically assaulted by a ZOMBIE CLOWN!! That just happens to be MY phobia. What do you not understand about that?” I started pacing the living room to keep myself from continuing my former assault.
It was obvious Alex was trying to contain his laughter. “Number one, I didn’t know you had a phobia of zombie clowns and number two, the clown wasn’t intended for you and number three, it was funny.” He chuckled. “I can’t be blamed.”
I threw my arms up in defeat. “Fine. If you three want to argue over the stupid zombies again, that’s fine. Just leave me out of it this time.”
“So, why the fear of pigs, Alex?” David interjected.
Alex shuddered and sat back down in his chair. He sighed and then explained his traumatic story of being chased by a pig while visiting his uncle’s farm when he was a kid. One of the pigs had escaped its pen and for some reason it had a strange attraction to Alex. Alex apparently ran from the animal for a half hour straight before someone finally came out and saw what was going on. They thought it was the funniest thing in the world because they had never seen a pig chase someone like that before. Alex was never the same after that incident.
When Alex was finished recanting his traumatic tale, David and Annie were silent. Within seconds they burst out in coordinated laughter and tears ran down their faces from the force of it.
