Remember Me

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

  Senses fully alert, he made his way quickly, yet cautiously down the foyer when he heard the moaning again, only much louder this time, and what sounded like someone gasping for breath. It seemed to be coming from his living room.

  Suddenly fearful for his cousin's safety, she was obviously still there, she owned only one car, he dropped the bag he was carrying and sprinted towards the room, calling her name loudly in desperation.

  “What the fuck?” he heard an unfamiliar voice cry as he rushed into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks, as if pole axed. In the dim light, he saw the two of them. In front of the roaring fireplace, lying on top of his expensive, genuine bear skin rug, Granger, that barbarian, had his beloved cousin, who was naked as the day she was born, pinned beneath him, legs spread, and he had caught him mid-thrust. Completely enraged, he saw that her wrists had been bound together with what looked like her pantyhose, then had been stretched above her head and secured to a firewood holder that was bolted to the hearth.

  With the fury of the righteous, he rushed forward and snatched up a fire-poker, with every intention of caving the man's skull in. Brandishing it over his head, he was just about to deliver the blow when Martina screamed, “Brett, DON'T. It's not HIM, I know what you're thinking! STOP!”

  Her words finally sinking in, he faltered for a moment, then looked down into the panic-stricken eyes of a man slightly younger, and of smaller stature than Granger, but one who bore an uncanny resemblance to the man just the same. His hairstyle and most of his facial features were nearly identical, and it had been nearly impossible to tell the difference between the two men in the dim light. Lowering the weapon, he laughed briefly, realizing how close he had came to braining the wrong guy. That would have made for yet another unpleasant loose end to wrap up these days. “My apologies, didn't mean to frighten you.” he chuckled as he placed the fire poker back in its stand. Glancing back at the Granger look-alike, he smirked and said, “We've got business of another sort to attend to, Martina and I, so what say you pull instead of push?”

  “W...what?” the young man stammered in confusion, obviously still very much shaken.

  “There's still dew on the lily.” Brett replied, and looked pointedly in the appropriate direction.

  “Oh.” the young man stammered as he withdrew his suddenly shriveling manhood from his erstwhile client and began to pulling his jeans on with great haste.

  “Money's on top of the dresser, guest bedroom, the one we started out in.” Martina said.

  “Yeah, right. Listen, I don't mean no offense, but I'm retiring, as of right now. Consider this my going away present, it's on the house.” the nervous young man mumbled without looking at either one of them. “I'll see myself to the door.”

  Brett watched as the man grabbed his shirt, his socks, and finally his shoes, then turned and left. Only after he heard the front door close did he turn to face Martina. “I only saw your car out front. I had no idea.”

  “He came here in a cab. I suspect he's probably taking the shoe leather express home now, running style.” she chuckled.

  “I thought he was, well, you know who, and it looked like he was forcing himself on you.”

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “Are you going to untie me, or do I have to wait for Captain America to come bungling along?”

  “Oh.” he replied absentmindedly as he averted his gaze, then removed his overcoat and placed it over her. Once that was done he leaned over and untied the pantyhose, freeing her hands.

  Standing stiffly and wrapping the coat around herself, she began rubbing her wrists.

  “Sorry for the interruption.” he mumbled. “I mean, I know it's my house and everything, but Jesus, couldn't you have at least put a note on the door or something?”

  “Well, since when do you ever come home this late? I thought you had either found the little bitch and talked her into leaving with you, or you had received an emergency call from out of town. I got bored and lonely. Well, not that it makes much difference anyway, I was getting tired of him. Too much of a softy, and no imagination at all. Even when I asked him to tie me up, and told him I liked the rough stuff, he still kept stopping and apologizing every time he saw me flinch.”

  “Christ, why are you even telling me this? What makes you think I have any interest in your...private habits at all?” he demanded irritably.

  “No need to get testy about it, Jesus.” she muttered. “I'm gonna' go get dressed, be right back.” she sulked, then stomped off.

  After she had disappeared from sight, he walked into the foyer, retrieved the bag he had dropped, then returned to the living room, turning the lights up a notch in order to see better. Placing the bag carefully on top of his expensive aquarium coffee table, he made his way to the bar, the same one Martina had served their late private detective from only days earlier, and grabbed a bottle of Seagram's finest. Unscrewing the lid, he tipped the bottle to his lips and took several long gulps, which would have shocked anyone who knew him, including his dear cousin.

  Suddenly seized by a fit of coughing from the burn, he lowered the bottle and closed his eyes for a moment, willing his churning stomach to not expel his dinner of fried shrimp and clams. When the queasiness finally passed, he opened his eyes and mumbled, “Brace yourself old boy, you may really, really need this in a few minutes.” That said, he tipped the bottle to his lips once more and took several more slugs. They went down easier this time, and he felt a pleasant heat rising in his belly.

  Screwing the cap back on the bottle, he placed it back on the bar and made his way back to the coffee table. Picking up the bag, he peeked inside to make certain the contents were still there. Satisfied, he grunted just as Martina returned from the guest bedroom, dressed in knee-high black leather boots with high heels, a black leather mini skirt, and black leather vest. It was undoubtedly attire she had handpicked and worn here to excite her paid lover/role playing boy-toy earlier.

  “What's in the bag?” she asked as she adjusted her cleavage in the low-cut vest.

  “Never mind that now. Right now I want you to go into the dining room and bring one of the chairs from the dining room table in here.”

  “What for? You said we had business to attend to, why can't we just sit on the sofa and have a drink?”

  “Just do it, PLEASE?” he answered in a weary voice.

  For a moment she simply looked at him as if he had lost all his marbles, then shrugged and made her way into the dining room.

  Bracing himself for what was to come, he stood and waited, contemplated having another quick drink, but decided against it. He wanted to be numb, but also needed to be in possession of at least most of his faculties to pull this off, to persuade her. Otherwise, he feared she would refuse, claiming it was just the liquor talking.

  Walking back inside the living room and carrying the requested chair, she stopped and looking at him questioningly.

  “Just put it over there, in the middle of the room, I don't want it anywhere near my aquarium.” he said as he pointed to the spot he had in mind.

  Shrugging again, she lugged it over to the area indicated and put it down.

  Picking up the shopping bag, he took a deep breath, then approached the chair and sat down heavily. Reaching inside the bag, he pulled out two pairs of regulation police handcuffs, two sets of keys, and handed them to her.

  “What on earth are these for, what do you want me to do with them?” she asked.

  Putting both hands behind the chair, he replied, “I want you to handcuff both my wrists to the spindles on the back of this chair.”

  “What?” she gasped.

  “You heard me. Do it. Do it NOW!”

  “Brett, I...”

  “Look.” he interrupted, “I'll explain everything in a moment, Ok? Just do it, please.”

  With a doubtful look on her face, she stepped behind him and went to work. As she did as he asked, she couldn't help but giggle and tease him in a
low, husky voice. “Why Brett, if we weren't cousins, I would swear you had something kinky in mind.”

  “Martina, this is serious.” was his only reply.

  “Oh for the love of...” she stammered, clearly exasperated. “I was only joking, why are you such a Gloomy Gus today? Where's your sense of humor?” she asked as she finished and stepped around to the front of the chair, awaiting further instructions.

  “Now, look in the bag, pull those gloves out, and put them on.” he instructed.

  Grabbing the bag off his lap, she reached inside and pulled the gloves out. They were black, and he thought it was a bit ironic that they matched her sexy leather ensemble perfectly.

  Pulling the gloves one by one onto her slender hands, her eyes widened in shock. “These things are heavy! What are they, and why...”

  “They're police saps.” he interrupted. “Steel lined. Some policemen use them on unruly, out of control, violent criminals in close quarters, as an alternative to using their firearms.” he answered.

  “But why this? I mean, the chair, the cuffs, what do y...?”

  “I want you to beat me up.” he interrupted again.

  “WHAT???”

  “You heard me, I want you to beat me up. And I want my hands to be restrained, in case I instinctively try to defend myself.” he repeated patiently, as if instructing a small child.

  “What for? Brett, what's wrong with you, have you lost your mind?”

  “Martina, listen, you'll be doing me a favor, believe me. It may be the only way I can win my Cassandra back.”

  “I don't understand.” she replied, genuinely confused and concerned for her cousin's sanity and wellbeing.

  “Martina...” he sighed patiently, “As you're well aware, Cassandra has been under the hypnotic suggestion, for the past three years mind you, that Granger was, Granger IS, a dangerous, violent man. The one who attacked her. But with the medicine I’ve been giving her, I have to be around to reinforce the suggestions, and she's been spending more and more time alone with that...that lout who calls himself a decent husband. That makes it harder to keep her under suggestion. Especially after she found out about the brat they had together. While I'm willing to put up with the brat, for her sake, I want him out of the picture, completely. Granger, I mean.”

  “Brett, please don't hurt him, I'm begging you. Besides, how will me beating you up take him out of the equation? As far as she's concerned, he...” she trailed off suddenly as understanding dawned on her.

  “That's right!” he replied with satisfaction. “I need her to be mortally terrified of him again. I want, I need, for her to believe once more that he's capable of anything! And after his barbaric behavior at the hotel tonight, she'll have little trouble believing it.”

  “But, but, what about Granger? I assume you'll be filing charges against him for assault?”

  “Now now, don't you worry, men as wealthy and powerful as he is never spend any time behind bars for assault. Murder or tax evasion maybe, but never assault. And look, we'll both win in the end. Cassandra will see what a brute he is, and want nothing else to do with him. She would undoubtedly sue for custody of Regan, too. Think about it. Granger, disgraced and publicly humiliated by the assault allegations, would stand an excellent chance of losing Regan in a custody battle. And if that happened, on top of his wife....sorry....I mean Cassandra, wanting nothing else to do with him, he'll crumble! He'll come running back to you for certain, and you'll have the added bonus of not having to raise his little snot nose! It's brilliant, you can't lose!”

  Smiling dreamily, she said, "And you'll have what you want as well. You two were actually going out on dinner dates together before Granger came back into the picture, weren't you?” she exulted.

  “That's right!” he hissed with satisfaction. “Now do you see why I'm asking you to do this?”

  Looking back down at him, she frowned again, and asked in a small voice, “But, isn't there any other way? I mean, I love Granger and everything, but I can't bear the thought of hurting you Brett. I love you too, we're the only family we have left, you and I.”

  Beginning to lose patience, he snapped, “Goddammit, Martina! Don't you think if there was any other way I would have thought of it already? I mean, Jesus Christ, it's MY ass that's going to be getting kicked here, not yours! Desperate times call for desperate measures! Now suck it up and punch me!”

  Tears beginning to trickle down her cheeks, she made a tiny mewling noise, like a kitten, and swung her right hand, landing only a glancing blow to the bridge of his nose.

  Eyes watering, he said, “Again, harder!”

  “No-ooooo..” she cried.

  “Do it!”

  Closing her eyes, she swung blindly, and incredibly, the sap still managed to land a square blow to his nose.

  “Again, only higher this time!” he commanded, sounding less forceful and enthusiastic.

  Eyes still closed, she swung wildly and felt her right fist connect again, but this time she heard no follow up command. Opening her eyes, she saw through her tears that blood was pouring from his nose and onto his lap. His eyes were glazed over, and she realized he was punch-drunk. Her last blow had landed on his right eye, which was beginning to swell already.

  Shaking his head back and forth, he seemed to regain his senses. “Now, the mouth!”

  “I can't do this anymore!” she wailed, then reached out with her trembling left hand and touched his swollen eye tenderly. “Oh God, look at your lovely face!”

  “Martina, do what I told.....”

  'No, no, NO, that's enough!” she interrupted with a hoarse, braying sob.

  Suddenly furious, and wanting desperately to get it over with, he screamed, “DO WHAT I FUCKING TELL YOU! When you nearly killed Cassandra, who was the one who protected you, HUH? Who was the one who diverted the police's suspicions? ME, that's who! YOU OWE ME!”

  “I can't, I can't! Cassandra was different, I hate her, she took my Granger away from me! But YOU? I just can't, not to you, Brett.” she pleaded.

  Suddenly, through his haze of pain, inspiration struck him. Leaning over and snorting a trickle of blood from his nose onto the carpet, he looked at her and sneered, “Well, alright then, have it your way. Take these handcuffs off.”

  With a hopeful, wan smile on her face, she sniffled twice, then wiped the tears from her eyes with the back of the heavy gloves and began babbling, “This will be enough to convince the police! If not, we'll think of something else, we always do. You and I, we make such a great team, I swear we do. Sometimes I....”

  “No wonder Granger doesn't want you.” he interrupted so quietly that she stopped mid-sentence, unable to believe what she thought she had just heard.

  “Wha...what did you say?” she asked, barely above a whisper, her voice still hitching from her earlier crying jag.

  Looking her square in the eye, he repeated himself. “I said, no wonder Granger doesn't want you.”

  “Brett, what do you mean, how can you say such a thing to me?” she asked in a hurt, bewildered voice.

  “Do I have to draw a picture for you? With crayons? Granger is a wealthy, powerful, yet ruthless man. He's always stopped at nothing to get whatever he wants. What could he ever see in you?” he replied, as if asking the question more to himself than to her. “Seems to me he would only be attracted to a strong woman as well, not to a weakling like you, Martina. This was just a waste of time. Now undo these cuffs.” he finished, as if his mind had already been made up.

  Ignoring the command, she whined, “That's not true, I'm strong! I'm ruthless! I would do anything for him, ANYTHING! And he knows it!”

  “Evidently not anything, dear. I mean, here I sit, I've been begging you to do the one thing I believe could help you get him back, and you can't even do that! And it's ME who's feeling the real pain, not you! I'm not only trying to help myself, but you, as well. You're pathetic. You're not as strong as...well, never mind.” he smiled, almost apologetically.

  “Wh
o? WHO? I'm not as strong as WHO, Brett?” she demanded, beginning to grow angry herself.

  Encouraged, he pressed his advantage. Leaning forward, he said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Cassandra, of course! Who else? And do you want to know why? Because she has fought bravely through amnesia, has lived in mortal terror of the man for three years, but as soon as she found out about their son, she made the decision to face her worst fears. Now THAT is a gutsy woman, Martina! He admires that. Hell, so do I! It's probably the only thing on the face of this earth that that asshole and I would agree on! And here YOU are, you can't even throw a few punches in order to land the man of your dreams. Put in the same situation, I would dare say Cassandra would do it. For him, or for Regan. She wouldn't like it, but she would do it!”

  “Stop it stop it stop it.” she moaned monotonously as she backed away slowly, what little color she had in her face draining.