by Britney King
* * *
Well, then, I am getting along pretty well now. The skull fracture and the horrible burns I sustained when I jumped out of the window of my hotel when it caught on fire shortly after my arrival are pretty well healed. I only spent two weeks in the hospital, my vision has almost returned to normal, and thankfully, I’m only getting those terrible headaches once a day.
* * *
Fortunately, the fire in the hotel and my jump was witnessed by a man on the street near the hotel, and he was the one who called 9-1-1. He visited me in the hospital, and since I had nowhere to live because of the burned-out hotel, he was kind enough to invite me to share his home with him. In actuality, it’s a shrine to his dead wife, but it’s kind of endearing. He is a very fine man, and we have fallen deeply in love and are now married. I realize you might have appreciated an invite to your only daughter’s wedding, but it had to take place before the pregnancy began to show. Yes, Mother and Dad, a real shotgun wedding in the family. I could hardly believe it myself. At any rate, I know how much you are looking forward to being grandparents, and I know you will welcome the baby and give it the same love and devotion and tender care you gave me when I was a child.
* * *
The reason for the delay in contacting you is your biggest client, the one who fired you, apparently had a minor skin infection, which I carelessly caught from him. In addition, unbeknownst to me, my new husband is involved in a massive cult, and they have placed me in a mental asylum. They call it a ‘rejuvenation center’ so it sounds better, and I am assured it’s all on the up and up. Here I have undergone surgery to my nether regions to ‘make me whole again.’ I have also learned the sixteen levels of mastery and had a fancy introduction into shock therapy. It’s my understanding there are future surgeries coming, and I guess the other stuff kind of makes up for not having to pay out of pocket for bettering yourself. No matter that my husband’s first wife died after a botched surgery. I figure it’s kind of like all that bad stuff you had to say about those people in favor of the Affordable Care Act. Who cares if they kill you off in the end or manage your care to death with denials, so long as it’s free, right?
* * *
Now that I have brought you up to date, I want to tell you that there was no hotel fire, I did not have any burns or skull fracture, I am not pregnant, I am not infected. However, I will soon be homeless once again, and I want you to see this in its proper perspective. Now, can I come home? Your loving daughter, Melanie
I don’t know how many days I’ve been here. They all run together like a string of bad dreams. I’m fed a healthy dose of pills, which are supposed to help me sleep but really don’t. The sounds in here when the lights go out aren’t the falling asleep kind. People go mad in the dark. We all have our terrors, Vanessa said, and it turns out she was right. The woman two doors down is convinced her bed is covered in spiders. It may be, for all I know.
On the other side, a woman weeps for her children. Robert and Catherine. I’ve learned their names. Everyone on this wing has.
And somewhere at the end is “Screaming Sheila.” You don’t want to know what they do when she won’t stop. I beg them to put her in solitary so I can sleep. So we can all sleep.
Mrs. Elizabeth says there’s no lesson in that.
Speaking of lessons, I didn’t meet my weigh-in yesterday. I haven’t a clue as to why. I’m still on a liquid diet, and sometimes I can’t stomach even that. I haven’t earned cafeteria privileges yet on account of being on the diet plan.
“I’m not overweight,” I said to my advisor.
She only smiled and said, “You’re not under, either.”
Mrs. Elizabeth said I have to cut weight this week. “If I lose a few pounds, do I get to go home?”
She shook her head. “You have to recover.”
“I feel very recovered.”
“You can’t be sexually active yet.” I could see that she doesn’t like having to spell things out, which is exactly why I make her do it.
“That’s fine.”
Mrs. Elizabeth looked at me crossly. “What good are you, if you can’t perform your wifely duties? Your husband doesn’t deserve a broken woman. That’s why you’re here.”
Bingo. I got my answer. Not only did Tom not want to put up with me after I lost our fake child, after he found out I wasn’t as flawless as he’d thought, but he was callous enough to send me here. “How can I get unbroken?”
She glared at me with her squinty eyes. “This is a large organization, Mrs. Anderson. People get lost in bureaucracies like this. Trust me, you don’t want that to be the case where you’re concerned... ”
“I meant… what do I have to do to go home?”
“You can start by cutting weight.” In order to make this happen, I am told an aide will retrieve me from my room.
“Let’s get you thinned out,” the woman says when she finally comes. I’m relieved to get out of there. I’m relieved to finally see another face, and I don’t even like people.
I ask the aide if I am getting lipo.
The woman doesn’t answer. She leads me to the shower instead.
The bathrooms here are quite nice, actually. If sparsely decorated and plain white happens to be your thing, then everything is nice.
Usually, I am allowed one private shower once a day. I had mine this morning. Normally, the aide stands outside like the bathroom attendants at my favorite bars. Only different. But sometimes I pretend.
“Undress, please,” the aide orders. She is an older frail looking woman, with thinning gray hair and deep-set green eyes. I imagine she might have been pretty once.
“I’ve already showered today.” I choose my words carefully. The aides in this place don’t like to be corrected.
“Undress, please.”
“What for?”
“For your shower.”
“I already had a shower.”
She points to the door. “This is a bath.”
“I’ll just undress in there.”
“This isn’t the spa,” she tells me, and then I watch as she pulls a small device from the belt around her waist. “Have you ever been tased, Mrs. Anderson?”
I shake my head.
“Well, I assure you, it’s far less pleasant than taking off your clothes. Something I’ve heard your quite good at.”
So, I guess not that frail at all. I hate to be wrong.
“Welcome to your first ice bath.”
“I’m not allowed baths on account of the surgery.”
She smiles widely. “Your physician has okayed it.”
I peel my hospital gown off and let it fall to the floor.
“I see they haven’t helped you out up top.” She laughs. “Don’t you worry, love. I’m sure that will be next.”
We stand there for a long time, waiting. For what, I haven’t a clue, but eventually the door opens. It’s a tiled room with nothing but a round porcelain tub in the middle. “Well, go on,” she says.
I walk slowly into the room. The chill hits my bare skin immediately. There are few things I dislike worse than being cold.
“In you go,” the woman says, ushering me into the full tub. The water is frigid. “It’s temperature controlled,” she tells me. “Good for inflammation. Good for healing.”
I bring my knees into my chest and huddle into a ball.
They will not break me. They will not break me. They will not break me.
Buckets of ice are lined against the wall. One by one, she pours them over my head. I could put up a fight, protest even a little. But I’ve heard the cracking that takes place down the hall where “Screaming Shelia” resides. I’ve seen her in casts. In circle time, I’ve studied the patterns of her bruises. Suddenly, an ice bath doesn’t seem so bad. There are seven buckets total. I count each one as it’s poured over my head. The cubes pelt my body. I force my eyes to focus on the red welts they leave up and down my arms and in places I can feel but can’t see.
“Your body is yo
ur temple,” the woman whispers. She shakes her finger at me. “You young ones, you never learn.”
The next time there’s a weigh-in, I come in under. I’m rewarded with a day at the rejuvenation center spa. I get my hair done, a massage, facial, mani-pedi, body wrap…I pretty much get it all.
The following morning after circle time, my advisor calls me in her office. I’m not surprised. I assume they’ve read the letter to my parents. I was looking for trouble, after all. Anything to ease the boredom. I figured they’d read it. This place is enough like prison, so it would make sense they’d read all outgoing mail. That was at least half the point. I just wish they’d found it sooner. I assume there’s a lesson in this. The ability to delay satisfaction is important in all manners of seduction. Make no mistake, this is why I’m here. And this is how I’ll get out.
“Good news,” she tells me. My worries went unfounded. “You’ve performed very well lately.”
I nod.
“With the shock therapy. With your weight loss.” Her smile widens. “Your latest scores are excellent.”
She’s referring to our daily tests on the agreement and the code of honor. “In fact, yesterday you earned a perfect score…”
“That was only yesterday?”
She cocks her head. “Are you having trouble keeping track of your days?”
“No, I’ve just been busy…reading and studying…you know how time can get away from you.”
She seems as pleased with my response as I knew she would be. “Guess what else?”
I eye her expectantly. At this point it could be anything.
“You earned yourself a ticket home early.”
All of a sudden I feel like one of those pageant queens whose name has just been called and now I’m forced to act surprised when really I saw it coming all along. I knew my parents would come through. My eyes widen. “I’m going home?”
“That’s right. Now go pack your things.”
I practically hurl myself out of the chair.
“See you soon, Melanie.”
I don’t ask what she means. I probably should have. But revenge comes to us all, eventually. I slap a smile on my face. “Not if I see you first.”
It isn’t Tom who comes to pick me up. It’s Beth. Mrs. Elizabeth sees me out. When she opens the door to Beth’s brand new SUV, the first thing I noticed is she has seat covers.
“Hello.” I scoot into the passenger seat. “Long time no see.”
“Good to see you, Melanie,” she tells me. She sounds like a robot.
“I’m all good down there now. You wouldn’t believe it.”
She sort of does this thing where she half deadpans, half flinches. “That’s great.”
“Really, my vagina looks brand new. They work wonders in that place.”
Beth looks over and offers a small smile, but I can see she doesn’t think it’s funny.
Mrs. Elizabeth touches my hand before closing the door. “Serve your leaders with unwavering devotion,” she says, which I now know is law number six in the code of honor.
“Of course,” I nod.
She puts her hands in the prayer position and bows her head. “See you soon.”
She should really hope not.
“I would like to go to the airport, please.”
Beth puts the car in gear. We drive without speaking. I’m surprised to see we’re actually in Austin. Having been heavily medicated when I was brought in, I had no idea. None of the other women in there did either.
As it turns out, the rejuvenation center is smack dab in the middle of the city.
“I am taking you home,” Beth tells me. “Your husband is anxious to see you.”
“Is he tied up?” I ask as I stare out the window. It’s good to see sunlight and clouds, normal things. Things like traffic and people in clothes that aren’t hospital gowns.
Beth looks over at me. “No. But I wanted a chance to speak with you. How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“I hear you did well in there,” she says. When I glance to my left, I notice her expression has turned sympathetic. “I know you feel like everything is up in the air.”
“Not up in the air,” I say. “A mistake.”
She presses her lips together. “It’s normal to think that. With the miscarriage, I’m sure your hormones are all over the place. Don’t worry. These things take time. I know Tom isn’t great at communicating his feelings. But I wanted you to know, he’s still very much committed to making this work.”
“And if I’m not?”
“There are things we can do.”
“Things?”
“It’s in the agreement.”
I’m just testing her. I know what’s written in that agreement. None of it is in my favor.
“The truth is, Melanie, you’re one of us now. You’ve proven yourself.” She glances over and eyes me from head to toe. “And you look amazing. Really.”
“Proven myself how?”
“With what you’ve endured, you’ve proven you can be a leader. Tom needs you. We need you.”
“Who is we?”
She white-knuckles the steering wheel and grins all the while. “The church, of course.”
Chapter Eighteen
Tom
I’m on my way home from my run, just two streets over from the house when a car pulls up beside me. I know it immediately. It’s Mark’s. “Get in,” he says when the window is half down. “I’ll give you a lift home.”
“This makes no sense.” I motion toward my running shoes. “The point of this,” I say, “is to exercise.”
“It’s about Melanie,” he tells me, and that’s all it takes. I know I’m getting in that car.
The next thing I know, we’re sitting in my kitchen. “Have you been working out?” he asks, nodding at my upper body.
“A little.” It’s a lie. I’ve been working out every spare moment I have. I want to win Melanie’s affection. I want her to forgive me for sending her away. I want to show her I have rejuvenated myself, too.
“Melanie will be pleased. In fact, the reason I’m here is to tell you that she is on her way home.”
I don’t know what I’d expected, but it wasn’t this. I need to shower. I need appropriate attire. Mark has to go.
“I hope you’ll excuse me,” I say to him.
He takes the hint. “I’ll get out of your hair in just a moment. First, there’s something I want to discuss.”
I check my watch and calculate the time it takes to drive from downtown at this time of day.
“The women are not responding to plastic surgery well after June’s death. Plus, with Grant not around…they need someone they can trust.”
I don’t see what this has to do with me; I am not a physician.
“What makes older women feel inferior more than anything?”
I have forty-five minutes. Max. Mark doesn’t notice I haven’t responded and he doesn’t wait either. Thankfully. “The answer is, a younger, more attractive woman thrown in the mix.”
I still don’t offer anything up. I want him to keep talking, which he does. “I have a plan for Melanie.”
“A plan?”
“A recruitment plan.”
“Hmmm.”
“We need more young women in her demographic.”
“Was this your idea?” I have to know.
“Of course.” He lies, which can only mean Beth didn’t tell him it was mine.
“I see.” It’s nice to have reassurance the game you’re playing is going the way you want it to.
“Well,” he says, throwing up his hands. “What do you think?”
“If it keeps us in the black, what do I care?”
“Ah, Tom.” He stands, finally. “You’re always such a good sport.”
I walk Mark to the foyer, where much to my annoyance he pauses. “Now, listen,” he says, his expression turning serious. “I need you to fix this with her.”
“And if I can’t? I don’t kn
ow what they did in there. I don’t know how far they took it…with the reprogramming.”
I’m fishing for answers, but he doesn’t take the bait. “Whatever you did the first time…do it again.”
“It was illicit then. That made it more appealing.”
He shrugs. “So, make it that way again.”
I have no idea what he means.
“Oh and the other reason I came—I need an update. How’s the plan to take care of your wife’s past coming?”
I take a step toward the door. “I’m working on it.”
He smiles and holds my gaze. “Work harder.”
Mark tells me to make it illicit, and so I do. First, I hop on the internet and buy Melanie the car I knew from her browser history she had been eyeing. A Maserati. With her life more or less still on the line, I went with the lease option. I’m all for practicality.
Then, as the church accountant, I set up an expense account in her name, which I plan to call a recruitment fund. Surely, Mark will understand. I’ve seen his wife’s, so I have a healthy understanding what she spends on upkeep. Melanie will need money for a new wardrobe, a personal trainer, and a chef, all things I know Melanie has had her eye on. I assume these are the kinds of things all women have their eye on.
Next, I book us round-trip tickets. I email Mark and tell him he’s right. When you mirror your enemies, doing exactly as they do, they cannot figure out your strategy. This mocks and humiliates them, which causes them to overreact. By essentially holding a mirror up to their psyches, you seduce them with the illusion that you share their values; by mimicking their actions, you teach them a lesson.
I write that I plan to “make it illicit” with a second honeymoon. I explain that Melanie and I will be gone a week. Everything is in order on my end. He can take that to mean whatever he wants.
This leaves just enough time for a quick two-minute shower.
Then I sit back and wait for my bride to come through the door.
