by Josie Brown
Norbert sighs loudly in offense.
“Excuse me, I should say Dr. Welles’s memory modification research is the most impressive tool in the Quorum’s super soldier shed.”
“Of all your captives, why use Gigi?” I ask. “She didn’t really look anything like me.”
“In height and build, she was passable. But what made her truly plausible was her DNA. The match was close enough for us to fake it. Rudy Brooks’ research gave us the key to creating a good enough fake, should the Feds find anything left to ID her—that is, you.”
“Gigi couldn’t have been the ‘Donna’ who hit Drucker’s motorcade with you,” I counter. “She was too conflicted to be a reliable asset.”
He shrugs. “You’re right. And from the look on your face, I see you’re now wondering how many other Donnas are really out there. Not to worry, wifey! I’m not out to build a harem—although the thought is tantalizing.” To prove it, he tweaks my nipple between his fingers. “For that little mission, Tatyana fit the bill. She wore a face mask—just as you did when you infiltrated our convention…Yes, we figured it out when you neglected to return with the rest of the group.”
He flips me onto my side in order to graze the base of my spine with his palm. “We had a hell of a time getting that tattoo off the base of Gigi’s spine. It was so painful! She cried for hours. All the while I thought how much easier it would have been if you’d had one too.” His hand roams to my left bum cheek. He grabs it, weighing in his hand. “I like the idea of branding you,” he proclaims. “But none of that hearts-and-flowers crap. It’s got to make a statement—say, my name, here”—he taps the cheek hard—“and again, here.” He smacks the other cheek even harder. “Like branding a cow. Hey, now that’s a great idea! I’ll use a branding iron!”
“Save it for the next victim,” I retort blithely. “I’m no longer your wife. Even before you died, I’d divorced you. Remember? If anything, it would be Jack’s initials with mine.”
He scowls at me, but his growl is meant for Norbert. “Get out. I’ll call when I’m finished here.”
“But…but we don’t have much time! Tatyana will be here any moment. She’ll hit the roof if she finds you with your wife—”
“Too bad. This job has so few perks as it is.” Carl whips around so that he’s facing Norbert. “Beat it, Dr. Frankenstein.”
He picks Norbert up by the collar and goose-steps him out the door, slamming it behind him.
So that’s it. Carl isn’t a ghost after all. He’s a super soldier. Like Salem, does Carl now possess super-human strength? It gives him the chance at his long-lived fantasy: he can rape me, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Not without a fight.
As I attempt to rise up on my elbows, Carl slaps me so hard that my head hits the table. Before I have a chance to gather my thoughts, he’s leaped onto the table and is straddling me.
He sits on his haunches, right over my thighs, so that my knees can’t bend. He bends over me. His tongue takes a slow, lazy path over my face. The damp trail it leaves behind tingles my skin. When he gets to my left breast, he circles it with his tongue. As his saliva hits the laboratory’s cold air, my nipple goes taut.
“Let go of me,” I growl.
“From what I remember, you like this kind of foreplay.”
“I draw the line at making whoopee with laboratory rats.”
His next slap is harder than the last.
My skin feels inflamed, but I bite my tongue as opposed to shouting out in pain.
“Beg me to stop,” he taunts. “Go ahead, Donna. All it takes is one word from you.”
“How…about…two? FUCK. OFF.”
“Oh, yeah, baby, I plan to do just that.” He fumbles with his belt. In no time, his pants are around his knees.
I see his fifth appendage…
Oh, my God—really?
It’s…TINY.
Let’s be clear here: I’m not talking short and stout, or just a mouthful. I mean maybe a thimbleful—and that is a really big maybe.
But his hands are so huge. Go figure.
My stare moves from it to his face. “What the hell happened? Do those things shrink in the afterlife?”
He slaps my face again.
I’d cry if I weren’t laughing so hard. “No, no, seriously, tell me: was it the ounce of flesh you gave when you made your pact with the Devil to come back?”
He hits me again.
I roll my eyes. “Well, now at least you finally have a reason for your Napoleon complex.”
The next time he strikes me, it’s with a full palm. “You don’t get it. I am Carl.” There is no doubt in his voice.
But the giveaway is his anger.
“Sorry, Whomever You Are, but the Quorum chose the wrong dude to play Carl. I knew Carl better than anyone. If you can’t convince me, you’ll never be able to convince anyone else.” I look up at him and smile. “Who are you? And why give up your life and take over that of a known terrorist’s? I mean, let’s face it: if you’re going to go through all that plastic surgery, why not get them to go the extra mile?”
Three slaps follow: openhanded, back and front.
Norbert runs in, screaming. Tatyana is at his side. “Stop it!” Norbert pleads. “If you keep bruising her, you’ll ruin the project.”
Fake Carl quakes with anger.
Tatyana moves in closer to assess the damage. “Not too bad,” she pronounces grandly. “I’m sure she deserved it.” As our eyes meet, she grins wickedly at me. “Ah, my twin! So happy to see you.”
“Your twin?” I glare at Carl. “What the hell does she mean by that?”
Carl shrugs. “Oh…didn’t I mention? Tatyana needs to disappear. For that matter, we all do. As for how it’s accomplished, well, the most public way to do so has already been demonstrated.”
“I’m to be a suicide bomber?” Like hell. “Sorry, I don’t do vests. Not very slimming.”
Tatyana giggles. “Not to worry. My one stipulation to using you of all people was that you’d undergo liposuction too.” She pats my belly. “I don’t know why some women let themselves go.”
She got too close. When my spittle hits her eye, she screams as if she’s been burned.
It can be arranged.
Carl sighs loudly. “Seriously, wifey, what does it matter what face stares back at you in the mirror? You won’t be wearing it long, anyway.” He picks up a syringe, tests the tip with a short squirt, then adds, “Look at the upside: you’ll be avenging my death yet again.”
What the hell does he mean by that?
As he heads my way, Tatyana blocks him. Seductively, she puts her hand over his—the one holding the syringe. “Why don’t you let me do the honors? After all, she’s mine now.”
He smiles lovingly at her as he hands it over. “If you insist, my love.”
Talk about a perfect couple.
But that’s just it: they aren’t perfect. They aren’t even honest facsimiles.
To test this theory, I taunt, “Hey, Tatyana, what happened to all your ugly facial scars? You know, the ones Jack gave you?”
Tatyana’s hands go to both sides of her face. “I…I never had scars!” Her eyes move frantically to Norbert. “What is she talking about?”
He takes her in his arms. “She’s just being cruel. You’ve always been perfect, darling.”
This bucks her up. In three strides, she is next to my table.
As she stabs my arm, she whispers, “Sweet dreams, bitch.”
My life flashes before my mind—
Or is it truly my life?
Yes, I remember how Carl and I met: at the shooting range. Falling in love came somewhere between allowing him to help me with my supposedly poor aim (he didn’t realize I’d faltered my shots to get his attention) followed by a heartfelt conversation about lives, goals, and dreams over a diner’s late-night special of eggs and fries; and ended with a walk back to my place, letting him undress me, then touch me; making love.
/> To me, it seemed as natural to me as breathing.
No, he wasn’t my first love, but as his wife, I always thought he’d be my last.
The many joys we shared now play out in my brain:
He is at my side at the birth of our first two children, patting down my feverish brow, holding my trembling hand, and cajoling me to push through the pain so that we can get to the fun part: raising them together.
What a great father he was. All those hours spent in the backyard, teaching our young son how to throw a baseball. Pushing our daughter on her swing set. Wearing them out with games of hide and seek.
After they’d fallen into bed, we’d do the same—not to sleep, but to make love. His passion, hardened inside of me, never disappointed. Afterward, when he curled up around me, I never felt safer.
I remember his anguished kiss when I told him I was pregnant with Trisha—and his final words to me before he walked out of the hospital on the day of her birth in order to retrieve the maternity bag we’d forgotten: “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll be back in no time.”
Only he didn’t come back.
Suddenly, another memory comes to me: Carl’s car, driven at a breakneck speed explodes: a fireball, lighting up an inky desert sky.
Where was I? Not there. So, how do I know this?
No matter. I know what I must do now: avenge his death.
I am a killing machine. A swallow who slits throats. A femme fatale who totes the most daring of all fashion statements: a semi-automatic.
All for the love of Carl.
How I miss my Carl.
How dare another man enter my bedroom and presume he can take Carl’s place: Jack.
I see the memories so clearly in my head:
How my children are wary of him—as they should be.
How he chides me with derisive taunts, and attempts to bully me into submission.
He doesn’t trust me. Well, tit for tat. I don’t trust him either.
Until…
When I am sick with a spiking fever, he is there, cooling me off, steadfastly at my side until I am well.
And when my children need a father, he is with them: making Trisha laugh, checking their homework, coaching Jeff’s games, taking Mary to the Father-Daughter dance…
He lives to hold me. To kiss me. To adore me.
He is always there for me, catching me when I fall. Pulling me out of harm’s way. Taking bullets for me…
Carl’s bullets.
Carl wants me to die.
For Tatyana. For his own glory.
Well, to hell with that.
I hear myself moan.
So does he. “She’s coming to,” Carl says to the others. “Time for the test. Leave me alone with her.”
“Some test,” Tatyana growls.
“The first of many, sweetheart. Hey, we’re doing it for you, right?”
The pause in the conversation is followed with a giggle.
Obviously, size doesn’t matter to her.
Me neither. But if I’m going to give it up, the guy has to at least want me to live afterward.
I wait until the door shuts tight and his footsteps bring him to my side before I fake a groggy groan, and then slowly open my eyes.
He waits until my gaze finds him and moves toward his face.
Seeing it, I blink once. Then once again.
And then I smile. “Oh…Carl…my angel!” As if unaware of my restraints, I try to rise. My eyes plead with him to explain. “Am I ill?”
Carl honors me with an ear-to-ear grin. “No, my love. Not anymore.”
He reaches over to unleash me.
Payback time.
“You came back to me.” Even as I gently touch the contours of his face, my teary eyes never leave his.
“Hush, baby, hush,” he coos. “We’re back together again.”
As if convincing myself that he’s right, I murmur, “How…why?” I look around. The operating cart is right beside us, bearing a mallet, forceps, ear wax excavator, surgical mouth gag, eye speculum…
Yeah, all good.
He sighs, as if our tale is sadder than that of A Dog of Flanders. “It’s a long story. You were taken in by a Quorum agent: Jack Craig.” He frowns. “Donna, I won’t lie to you. He made you do some truly awful things. I’m sure it was your way of living with his abuse.”
“Yes! I remember…” I shut my eyes, as if in pain. “The cruel words! The…the beatings!” I curl up in his arms, sobbing.
“He has our children, Donna! He took them away from you! But now that I’m here with you again, I’ll help you get them back.”
“Oh, Carl! Would you?” I lift my mouth, parting my lips just slightly.
He takes the hint. The kiss is chaste.
I sigh blissfully. “I’ve waited so long for that.”
My eyes sweep his face with my desire.
This time, his kiss goes deep.
My tongue moves through his mouth, inviting him to take a chance at something a bit bolder.
To appease me, he takes a breast in each hand, cupping them together so that his mouth easily moves from one to another.
My hands are busy too. The left one grabs the ear wax excavator: a tiny metal pick. The right one grasps the mallet. With my hands behind me, I lean back onto the operating table, as if enjoying all the sensations from his touch.
I doubt he’ll think the same of mine.
As he bends down in front of me, his mouth roams over my body in anticipation of my sweetness.
But before delivering, he looks up at me. Is he gauging my veracity?
He cannot doubt the look of ecstatic desire in my glistening eyes.
Finally, I whisper, “Yes...please.”
He bows his head to accommodate.
The first strike comes as he kisses me gently below the waist: the steel pick to the neck.
Blood gushes out one side as he falls to the other.
The beating, with the mallet, isn’t wasted on his face, but on the back of his head, easily crushing the motor nerves that allow him to breathe; and on the back of his neck, severing his head from his spine.
He is left face down, paralyzed and gasping.
But only for a few moments. As soon as his heart stops pumping, the blood stops seeping from his head and his neck.
Still, I feel his pulse, to make sure.
No need to say goodbye to Carl yet again.
While I’m at it, I take his gun.
I see my clothes, tossed on a chair in the corner. I slip them on and head for the door.
I open it slowly…
To a darkened hallway. No one is there.
I hear gunshots, coming from far off, down another hallway.
I duck when Norbert comes into view, wild-eyed and scared for his life.
One shot, right between the eyes, puts him out of his misery.
“That was for Gigi,” I murmur as I pass his body.
Two down, one to go.
Tatyana doesn’t know to look out for me. If she’d truly had any past experience with me, she would have known better.
From what I can tell, this is an abandoned office building. The halls create confusing mazes.
I use the sound of gunfire to find my way around.
I don’t have to go far. I find her with her back to me, peering around a corner. As a bullet goes whizzing over her head, I whisper, “Do you even remember your real name?”
Her head whips around.
Then it explodes.
Silence.
I hear footsteps: quick but cautious.
I’d know them anywhere.
Jack pauses before peeking around the corner. He’s crouched low, his gun held high, but ready to draw—
Until he sees me.
He runs to me.
There will never be a sweeter kiss.
As Ryan, Abu, and Dominic rush by us down the hall to the lab, Ryan shouts back to us, “Jeez, you two—get a room.”
Gladly.
But
first things first: tying up a few loose ends.
Chapter 17
Dead End
At some point, each of us discovers—and sometimes, much too late—that the route you took is really a dead end.
Should you should find yourself in the middle of nowhere, do this—immediately:
#1: Turn around. Don’t be hard-headed about it. Here’s the reality: you can’t get there from here.
#2: Just don’t back up. Going the wrong way on a one-way street will get you hit in the rear end every time. Think of the damage. Yes, it will cost you.
#3: Start over. No one else has the right to plot your course. Just because someone else “got there from here” doesn’t mean you will too. Time to throw away someone else’s road map, and take a road never traveled.
Starting to see a pattern here? Good for you!
And if you think I’ve only been talking about a failure in your GPS system, you’re wrong. We’re discussing your life. Remember, you only live once. Don’t spend it in some dead end. There is always a way out.
“A drone created all the nightmares for Trisha? Why didn’t I think of that?” Arnie is so angry with himself that he smacks his head with his palm. “I’ll bet it has a projector—you know like a hologram.”
“Only one way to find out.” I toss it to him.
Like a child with a new toy, he shouts, grabs his bag of tiny screwdrivers. and gleefully runs off to his cubicle down the hall in Acme’s vast offices.
