by Tara Brown
I gulp, remembering the first one we ever did. They were a male and female. She was a victim and he was the perp, possible Russian mob ties and human trafficking. The girl had been missing from a small town in Russia, possibly having been sold. She was seventeen, just a child. My head still cramps with what feels like a brain freeze when I think about the case. I tap my finger against my thigh and nod, smiling. “Okay, I guess—I’m excited.” I can’t remember my reaction. I think I was balls-to-the-walls amped about finding answers in the girl’s head.
I don’t feel that way now, mostly because I know what’s in there. Now it feels scary and horrifying. I remember the way the girl was taken and the way she was kept. I can never forget the acts inflicted upon her just so she might eat and not have to shit in a can. The image alone of her losing her virginity scarred me for life.
But instead of being out of character and saving myself the misery of a second time in the dying girl’s head, I turn and walk with Angie. “What happened?” I ask because it’s what I would do. I don’t want Rory to know I have snapped back in control.
“There was a car accident in Mexico, near Monterrey. Feds are bringing them both in right now by life flight. She’s not stable, but he is. He’s being drugged to mimic a coma; remember, we talked about this. It’s not as easy as it is when they are in an actual coma. Rory will have challenges with this one. We need to ensure it’s done with the utmost care.” She hurries along.
I keep up, but I am bothered. I can’t even pretend not to be. She’s in love with him here; she’s passing him into the program because of it. I know this.
Surely some of the weird stuff has shown up since Rory started playing in people’s heads. And Angie let him in hers. I can’t even imagine what that was like.
I don’t really recall Dash’s when I was in the real world. I only have Rory’s twisted version of it, but I’m certain there was something about us playing cards and visiting a park he liked as a kid. Dash letting me in his head was soft and sweet.
We hurry to the lab, where a stretcher and a team of medics await. There’s a girl on the bed and Dash is leaning over her, listening to her heart. He gives the man next to him a look. “She needs life support. She’s going fast.”
I stay in the background as they hook the young girl up. She’s got blonde hair and a pretty face, from what I can see. She’s thin, too thin, and leggy. She looks older than she must be, but the halter top and pink lipstick smeared with blood might be making that so.
She’s a child. My skin crawls and my mind aches, but I watch and pretend I am excited and scared in an exhilarated sort of way.
I’m not. I’m upset and angry. Making a decision I shouldn’t, I back from the room slowly, glancing about for Rory. The halls are chaos as the fat Russian mobster is wheeled along to the other room. Rory strolls behind him, looking smug. He pauses, giving me a look. “Ya ready for this?”
“Born ready.”
“See ya on the flip side then,” he chuckles, and continues strolling after his patient. But I don’t go back into the room. I stay in the hallway, watching him get hooked up as the door closes. Then I hurry along the corridors, searching for the elevator or the stairs or little Rory.
I stop, letting my mind clear from the trap and the memories Rory is trying to create.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
When I open them I’m standing in front of the elevator. The hallway is dingy and gross again, except when I look back. Then it’s clean and white and full of the people I am leaving in this part of his memory. Just before I step onto the creaky elevator, I see me. The memory, or the vision of me, is there. She walks to the room where the Russian girl is and gets hooked up. The door closes before I can see any more.
I press the next floor, staying inside the elevator when it stops, and I see it’s Rory and Angie again. I press the next floor, a bit afraid of what’s in his mind. He kisses Angie as she yells at him for something, but his eyes dart to me. I just catch it in the crack between the closing doors.
My heartbeat speeds up when the elevator stops next. I take a breath, shivering and cold suddenly. I know where we are before the doors even open.
Rory’s standing at the door, in a white dinner jacket. His dark-blue eyes are lit with sarcasm and curiosity. He offers me a hand. “Hello, Jane.”
I stay in the elevator.
“Ya know this is the floor ya were looking for. Ya know ya want to know why and how. So come on out, have a visit.” He looks like Jack Nicholson in The Shining, grinning like a madman and talking to no one. I am the ghost in the machine, not a person at the party.
But I step forward, taking his arm. The brothel ski lodge looks exactly the way it did when I was here before, only now it’s full of people.
“This is the time to visit a place like this—our season runs January, after New Year’s, through to May. By June the snow is gone and the weather is warm, and everyone disperses for the rest of the year. We find not being here really makes ya miss it.” Rory has gone mad.
He leads me down the hallway, stopping and smiling at an old man with a bobbing head between his legs. “I have to admit, the cells are fun, but this really is the Disneyland for horny men.”
We reach the bar—he still has not touched me or tried to hurt me. The bartender gives me a wry grin. “Is she having a drink then?” He’s got a thick British accent and a bit of stubble on his chin, but I would recognize him anywhere. He’s the UK’s bad boy of boy bands. His name is Winston Beauchamp. He’s only twenty-five, if he’s a day.
“She is having a drink with me. She does love a nice glass of dry red.”
Winston nods, giving me another look. “Ya got two different-colored eyes, ya aware of that?”
I rack my brain trying to remember if this boy was ever at the lodge or if this is part of the game in Rory’s head. I don’t recall Winston’s name being on the list of men who frequented the brothel. Were some people’s names missed or is he trying to make me think that?
“She is. She’s not a big talker.”
Winston gives me a disappointed look. “That’s a pity. She’s got the sort of puffy lips ya like to see wrapped around the big chief, eh?”
Rory laughs and passes me my large glass of red. I lift it to my lips, not even caring if it’s poisoned. At least if I do die here, the wine is delicious. I can’t fault him for dreaming about amazing wine as a means to kill me. But I know I won’t be dying in here.
“How and why? Am I right?” He asks after a moment of creepy staring.
I nod, scanning the sea of faces. I recognize too many to keep track of them all.
“That man there, right there.” He points to an old man pawing a young girl. I know them both. The girl is Amanda, the younger version. And the old man is Old Dick, Amanda’s adopted father. He pulls her down into his lap and speaks into her ear. Her lips tighten, but she agrees and gets up, hurrying from the room.
“Old Dick was the Russian’s contact. My very first mind run, you remember that one.” Rory says it like he doesn’t care that I know this. “The girl in the accident with the Russian was coming here. They’d bring them into Mexico and cross the border at a certain spot. The Russian had been here loads, loved the place. He supplied all the European girls. When he was in that accident in Monterrey, the Feds in Mexico got there before any of the Russian’s contacts. He didn’t know he was under surveillance. When I did his mind run, my very first one, I got his version of this place and I knew I was working for the wrong side.”
He gives me a look. “Ya know, our side never has any of the good stuff.”
I don’t know whose version of “good” this is. It’s not mine.
He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me down the hall, away from the bar, waving good-bye to Winston. “We never get to just do the things we really want. We save the world over and over, and no
one even thanks us. They don’t even care. The normal people don’t even know we did anything. Here, every woman cares about whatever the hell ya want to tell her. This place is exactly the sort of place we need in our part of the world.”
“You force sex on them. The girl whose mind I went into was a child. Like Amanda, and like quite a number of these girls.”
“’Tis true. We have to cater to it all, and by ‘all,’ I mean all. Some blokes just like a young girl.”
I try not to hear that last comment and change the subject. “How did you find the cells?”
He turns and gives me a blank stare, like he’s disappointed. “The Russian. Why aren’t ya paying attention?”
“The Russian knew about the torture cells?” I seem to be lost.
He laughs. “They were training cells. The girls were there a month before they transferred here. And only the girls who needed some coaxing and training went there. The eager ones came straight here. We can’t have a bunch of upset little girls running around, can we?”
“So the Russian would drop off the kidnap victims at the cells? To Old Dick? That explains why I never saw the cells in the mind of the girl on my first run. She hadn’t made it to the cells yet because she was in a terrible accident.”
“Look at you, all Jessica Fletcher.”
I choose to ignore him. “But how did you get Old Dick to show you the cells?”
His eyes sparkled. “That is the information of the season. Ya want this.” He strolls into a room with a fancy four-poster bed and closes the door. He leans his back against it. “I followed him there and then I killed him. I made it look like he was badly injured in his tragic accident. Then I started using the cells for myself. He had a few girls in there, but they weren’t my type. So I had them sent over here.” He looks me up and down, licking his lips. “Ya, however, are my type. Ya were the moment I met ya.”
“Did you ever love Angie?”
“She’s a fiery redhead in a doctor’s coat. What’s not to love? Plus she was as gullible as they come and likes to takes things to the next level. I’m all about the next level.”
I fill with disgust, staring about the room. “This isn’t real. You can force me to have ‘sex,’ but you’re not seeing me naked. You’re not inside me. It isn’t real.”
He holds a finger in the air and paces. “Ya know the fun thing about ya, Jane? Yer very susceptible to the world we build. That’s what happens when the past is shite and there are holes in yer memory. Ya let people fill them up.” He laughs like he’s got a joke on the inside I can’t see or hear. “I like the fact ya get lost in here so easily. And I know it’s what makes ya good at this mind-running business. Ya come in, all weak and confused, and within the first seconds of contact, that other person believes they are you and you are them. It’s a real gift.”
I feel like he’s stalling or planning something by distracting me.
He continues. “But I am not susceptible like you. It’s harder for me to become them, so I become their best friend. We kill together, we fuck together, we fight together, and we eat together. They tell me secrets and I tell them lies. I get my answers, just not the way ya do it. My version of a mind run is a mind fuck.”
“So the Russian told you everything in the mind run, you killed Old Dick, and started up with the cells. And then the ever-disgusting children of Old Dick wanted to sell the place.”
His lips are coated in saliva. He’s getting excited. “Aye, I let them take me to their mansion there in the city, let her tie me up and shag me. The weird brother jerked himself off the entire time. It’s a bizarre setup, that is. She’s a fatty, but I find they always try harder. Anyway, I found the will and made myself executor. A very prominent lawyer in Seattle had a reason for it to all work out. He was a member of the naughty club. He witnessed the change in executor. I knew then that Amanda was my best chance to fix it so the cabin was mine. I’d seen her fucked enough times in the Russian’s head to know she was a broken little bitch. I did all the things I needed to do to make her trust me. Once she contested the will, everything was tied up in the courts. I knew the judge, the lawyers, and everyone I needed to know to make it all go in my favor. I told Amanda my only fee was that cabin. It worked perfectly.”
“Why are you confessing all of this?” I can’t put together his plan or why he’s telling me how it worked.
“Jane, I’ll never leave this country again. I won’t be tried in the public. I’ll be locked away forever. I’m an Irish citizen, so I think it might not be easy to end me without paperwork building up, but they can’t just attach me to the international courts for this. I was an agent in the mind ruins, that’s top secret. So I will rot away or die in this coma they have me in. My best chance at happiness is right here in this room with ya. And here ya are. They sent ya right to me.” He takes a step closer. “My own little fuck puppet, isn’t that what ya called it?”
I flinch as he gets close enough to run his hand down my cheek. “Let Dash and Angie have each other. Stay here with me, stay in the warmth of this lodge. Every day will be a new and exciting one.” He leans in, lowers his wet lips on mine, spreading his disgusting sloppy kiss across my mouth. “I love ya, Jane. Ya make me want to be a better man.”
My knee comes up fast, driving into his groin. The moment I feel his stomach tighten at the impact to his balls, I shove him back and open the door. I run down the hall, hearing his laugh in a creepy echo throughout the halls, but I don’t stop running.
I sprint until I end up back in the bar. When I look down, I’m wearing a genie costume. Several men glance over, giving me a weird look. It isn’t the expression I expect. When I look down again, I realize the scars on my stomach are showing. My hands instinctively cover them.
Amanda and her adopted father, Old Dick, walk up the stairs to my back. I turn and follow them. I don’t think there is anywhere to hide in Rory’s mind. He’s fully in control. My best bet is killing him in here.
12. ALL NIGHT LONG
The dark of the closet I am hiding in, trying desperately to focus, feels safe. But I doubt I am safe. I close my eyes and try desperately to see Binx. I call him to me in soft whispers.
The air is cold, so I know I’m still in the brothel in the mountains.
“Binx, please come to me.” I whisper it again, but I don’t hear his little feet on the hard floor.
Instead I hear a heavy tread. I take a deep breath, willing myself to see that it is not real. He can do whatever he wants here, including raping me, because it’s not real. He is not touching me, nor is he hurting me.
But as the door opens, it’s not Rory I see. It’s Dash. He grins and I realize I have made him the bad guy in this mind run. Out of desperation and a lack of better options, my chip has kicked in my usual suspect. Dash, or rather Derek—the name I use with Dash’s mind-run identity—has joined the fucked-up world of Rory Guthrie.
He reaches down, dragging me from the closet. “Found you!” He glances back at a large man with three young women trailing him. “You go on ahead. Rory said I could have this one.” He slams the closet door and turns, not even speaking to me.
He pulls me to the door of the room with the Arabian theme, the one I recall with the girls dressed in genie costumes. The video I watched of the surveillance makes me shudder as Dash shoves me inside the room. His smile is wicked, evil even. Rory has let him in, not realizing the main reason Dash always plays the bad guy in the runs.
I cannot fear him.
Even now as he locks the door and cocks an eyebrow. “Remove my clothing, genie.”
I look down, almost rolling my eyes at the outfit I am still wearing. It might have been a sexy outfit on a normal girl, but a woman who is ex-military doesn’t usually have the flawless skin of a secretary or even an actual genie.
I walk to him, unbuttoning his dress shirt and loosening his tie. I drag it off and drop it to the flo
or. With him I can play this game, and right now he’s a sight for sore eyes.
“Rory said I have to be extra hard on you. You’re new.”
I nod, not sure what that means, but it doesn’t stop me from wishing I couldn’t feel pain here. Because it doesn’t matter how hard you tell yourself it isn’t real; when it hurts, it feels as if it is.
He pushes me to my knees. With trembling hands I undo his pants and drag them down. I don’t remove his underwear. I don’t want to see him naked here. I don’t want Rory to see him naked. I pull off his shoes and socks, stalling.
“Pull them down and put it in your mouth.” The outline of his massive erection is not hard to miss. I hate that I know what Dash looks like naked and I am going to impose that on Rory’s mind.
My hands tremble more, but I slip my fingertips into his waistband and drag the briefs down over the top of the erection that’s sitting at attention and brushing his stomach.
He moves it forward, shoving it near my face. I close my eyes and pretend we are home and this is normal. I grip the shaft firmly, sliding my hand down before parting my lips slowly and placing them on the tip. His hand drops into my hair as he thrusts.
I struggle against his thighs as he pumps into my mouth, choking me and yanking on my hair brutally. I gag and sputter. No matter how hard I fight him, he forces himself into my mouth.
He pulls back after a moment, leaving me gasping for air. I realize then I have been tricked again.
He’s got the subtle hint of a scar on his knee. I cringe as he laughs, and as fast as I was stunned by the sight of Dash, I am now stunned by the laughing face of Rory. His still-erect cock is bouncing as he steps, laughing and pointing. “I got ya.”
I jump up, running for the door. With his underwear halfway down, he can’t move as quickly as I can. I’m out of the Arabian room and running for the stairs when he finally screams my name, “Jane!”
My feet ache in the little genie shoes, but my pounding heart and dry mouth distract me. I’m certain I’m covered in a look of terror as I race down the stairs to the basement. I hurry for the room I never did see inside when I was in the real world.
