by Amarie Avant
“Did you go in?” Peter’s lips curved into a sinister smile. He held up an iPad. “This program helps me. It’s like a novel of your current memories. Usually there are prods attached to your skull, but I’m assuming Lyle did a good job the first week you were here, reconfiguring and connecting your psyche to my computer system. I know your memories. When they’re all erased, I’ll write a new set. Cognition and computer coding. It’s fun.”
She glared at him through tearstained eyes.
“But did you go in, Mary Jane? Bat those pretty eyelashes at ‘the good uncle’ and save your sister for the umpteenth time?”
Entire body tensing, she held still. A while ago, Mary Jane was certain. Anya Randolph was just a movie. She’d somehow dreamt the movie Peter told her about earlier. But, now she had to analyze the mind of Mallory Portman-Grienke.
Her memories end abruptly. The only adult memories she had were of an actress in a movie and those with Megan. The memories end at...the Chevron gas station around the corner from the good uncle’s house. She’d punched at the steering wheel with rivers of tears falling down her cheeks. Mary Jane bit her lip, pulling the puzzle pieces together. That fucking creep wanted her in a cage, and Beasley was supposed to keep her there.
“Did you knock on the door, say ‘hello daddy,’ because, honey, the man was not your uncle or just your mother’s next piece of shit boyfriend. He was her husband, your stepfather—just as taboo, right?”
He chuckled while waiting for a response. “It’s okay that you don’t recall. The memories at the forefront of your mind—the newest ones—are the easiest to erase for good. It appears they’ve been effectively erased.” He nodded to the iPad again. “However, it takes four entire weeks to cleanse the brain. You should be operating on middle school memories at best. Apparently, Lyle and Beasley aren’t doing their jobs.”
Instead of placing all her cards on the table, Mary Jane kept quiet. She needed Hurricane to return. This asshole was screwing with her mental stability. And out of all the thoughts swarming through her mind, Mary Jane knew one thing.
Hurricane could save her.
20
Two Hours Earlier
A brain-squeezing throb pulsated throughout Wulf’s skull. He lay on his left side against the broken window, fragments of dirt and glass embedded in his temple. Still in a semi-coherent state, he contemplated his last nightmare. What the fuck was that? He had to have dreamt it all. Some type of beast with a gnarled face leaned in the car.
Then there’d been shots fired. The sound was real, not dreamlike at all, but the bullets had buzzed past his face. Until a bullet pierced and exited his bicep. Then all the shooting stopped.
His eyes flickered open at the sound of footsteps echoing nearby. He wasn’t on the box mattress in his trailer. He tried to unlatch the seat belt to no avail. Unable to brace himself, he turned his head toward the passenger window and assessed that he was in a wrecked car. He looked out the window in the same position that he’d stared at the nightmarish monster. That wasn’t a hallucination. It was real.
With the Honda positioned onto the driver’s side, stars dotted the sky as he looked up. He wondered how long he’d been out. And since they were on a back road, how much longer he had before the authorities came. He didn’t have time to be stopped, because he needed to get to Mary Jane.
In the tight confines of the car, Wulf grabbed his knife from the holster and ripped the belt to shreds. Grimacing, he pushed with his legs until he had room enough to move away from the crushed dashboard.
After struggling out of the car, he took a deep breath, but kept his eyes peeled. There was no time to rest. He assessed that a truck had pulled up near the crash, and whoever was in it had taken Mary Jane. Wulf took off in a jog toward the bend in the road that linked up with the main highway was about two miles down. As he started jogging toward the main road, he dialed his own voicemail to find ten messages waiting. Quincy had called right back earlier this morning, around the time Mary Jane had him held hostage. The messages from Quincy became angrier and angrier.
“Damn, Wulf. You better be hurt—mildly hurt. Got your sister worrying.” Quincy sounded as if he had worried too. “If you aren’t here by this afternoon, I’m coming to Arizona to beat your ass.”
In the last message Quincy just gritted out that he was boarding a plane and would be at his crappy trailer house by eight. Wulf looked at the time. It was well after ten p.m. Hopefully, Quincy hadn’t left.
His trailer was on the way to Beasley’s. So he had time to stop and get Quincy’s help. but what about Mary Jane? Did she have time left?
21
Doctor Peter Grienke was world-renowned, though not as someone who fucked with people’s brains. He was a self-made billionaire in pharmaceutical-grade facial care. Not just cosmetics. He had created a revolutionary facial line that works with a person’s dormant ‘good’ genes. Peter had made a killing in the industry with miraculous skincare products treating wrinkles and age spots. Now the genius had other ventures, and Mary Jane knew she was one of them.
He said he loved her. She must've fallen out of love. With a damn genius. How could she forget what should’ve been the best day of her life? Sharing wedding vows with her husband. The memory she had was so tangible, so much more than being Anya Randolph. But where were the rest of the memories?
She’d been brainwashed.
“You’re done with me, aren’t you, Peter? I’ve done something unforgivable.” It was almost laughable to put his needs and desires before her sister’s safety and her own freedom. But she looked empathetic.
He gave a slight smile but shrugged.
Mary Jane continued with, “I’ve gone against your wishes one too many times, haven’t I?”
Peter rose from his chair. “Are you thirsty?”
She shook her head. “I want to talk about us.”
“There is no us.” His eyes misted as he continued to stare at her with a sense of longing.
“Please.”
“I’ve already unlocked as much of your memory as I’m willing to. Understand that all of them can be unlocked, with a little thought on my part. All until they’re fully expunged. For now, you know enough about who you are.” Peter pulled at his tie again, a sure sign that she’d gotten under his skin. “Enough to torment you.”
“Didn’t I make you happy?”
“For a time.” He took a sip before crossing his leg at the knee.
“What happened?”
“Your sister.”
Breathing slowly, holding onto the pretense of calmness, Mary Jane tried not to give into rage. He was angry about her sister? Oh well, her life had been awful, and it wasn’t much better these days. She had a lifetime of memories now. Yet, she did not know everything. There wasn’t a smooth chronological progression. Just bits and pieces of Peter playing the hero after her dysfunctional childhood.
“So, what did Megan have to do with us? I made a vow as your wife!”
“Megan,” Peter breathed out, and then clasped his hands behind his head and leaned back, indicating that the conversation was complete. He absentmindedly closed his eyes.
Not a sound permeated the air between them until someone knocked at the door. Beasley entered in a running suit. Hurricane stepped inside after him in overalls and no shirt, as if his disfigured face wasn’t intimidating enough. Jagged welts and burns, at various stages of the healing process, defined his body.
“Mary Jane, are you ready to die?” Beasley sneered, taking a seat next to Peter. At the snap of his fingers, a maid came into the room, pushing in a cart with every kind of torture weapon imaginable.
Hurricane’s hand grazed over a handsaw. Yellow, pointy teeth appeared as he grinned in delight. He flicked on the power tool, and it whipped to life. Slowly, he neared the cage.
Mary Jane’s eyes bore into Peter’s with a manipulative longing, oblivious to Hurricane’s crazed desire for blood.
“Stop!” Peter’s voice boomed over the s
ound of the saw.
Hurricane didn’t stop. The lock cracked and broke as he yanked the bar door away from its hinges as Peter repeated the command.
It took Beasley’s command for Hurricane to flick off the power tool and place it back on the table. His hellfire eyes turned toward Beasley, and Beasley shocked him with illegal high-powered animal Taser.
“You’ve been told to be patient, Hurricane!” Beasley warned.
She had anticipated that Hurricane was only loyal to Beasley. Mary Jane’s lips twitched then turned into a full-blown smile. She suspected that Beasley must’ve told Hurricane that Mary Jane belonged to him now. Which was a bit premature due to Peter’s ever-changing emotions.
“I would like a word with Mary Jane first,” Peter said. He smiled back at her, as if in the assumption that her cordial appearance was for his benefit. Again, his eyes glazed over with lust as she licked her lips, enticing him to come closer.
Peter beckoned her out of the cage. She stepped out of it but leaned against the bars casually glancing at Hurricane.
“Some dogs run wild with no masters,” she whispered to him, hoping that he could hear.
The large freak didn’t even look in her direction. He stood at the door, doused in jealousy, not too happy about the delay in carving her to shreds.
Beasley spoke in an annoyed, hushed voice to Peter. “You wanted to keep her in the cage and come save her,” Beasley said. “Then you wanted to kill her. Now, you want another conversation. Which is it?”
She didn’t have enough time to put together what Beasley meant about saving her from a cage, because she needed to persuade the animal.
“An owner loves his pet,” Mary Jane whispered to Hurricane as her eyes never left Beasley and Peter. She needed the animal to break those loyal ties.
“Damn it, there are girls at The Petting Zoo if you want fun tonight! Let’s get rid of MJ for good. I’ll have a slew of girls at your disposal!” Beasley said through clenched teeth. “You can start over with one of my cunts or go home and find a new girl to play with.”
Mary Jane stood, seemingly innocent, near Hurricane. “Dogs are a man’s best friend.”
Hurricane sniffled.
“Damn it, Hurricane, my skin is soft. Very soft. If you want to rip me to shreds, get rid of them. Peter wants to keep me for himself. Beasley listens to Peter. You listen to him. All you’ll get is another blast with that Taser!”
At her yelling, they turned to look at her. Hurricane leapt up. Hands balled together, he rammed them down on Peter’s head.
Mary Jane ran out as Hurricane’s wrath turned toward his master. She slid past the banister and took the stairs too hard. “Fuck.” Mary Jane gritted her teeth to the pain in her calf muscle. But she couldn’t fall, couldn’t trip.
She had to survive.
“Not so fast!”
Hands confined, Mary Jane shuffled down the last step and into the kitchen but stopped when a bullet whizzed past her shoulder. She placed her handcuffed wrists in the air and turned around slowly next to the refrigerator. “Peter?”
The sound of harsh screaming from behind him made the tiny hairs on her arms prick as Peter smirked at her halfway down the side stairs.
She asked, “Why don’t you go save your friend?”
“Who? Beasley? He worked for me, beneath me. Now, he’s dog food. So congratulations on advocating for that animal.” Peter chuckled.
Mary Jane almost felt shame. Beneath the scars, Hurricane had to have been human before. But she concentrated on that sadness and spun it in her favor.
“Why would you hurt me?” She needed to keep him talking while looking for a knife, any kind of weapon. However, the immaculate kitchen didn’t have one single item out of place. “I’m your wife.”
“Are you?” Peter cocked an eyebrow. “We know who I am, obviously. But do you honestly know your own identity?”
“I’m Mallory Grienke. Your wife. You wanted to have me brainwashed, and you’d come to Beasley’s home, to save me from some sort of cage. Be my knight in shining armor and take me home so we could start over, right? Why not kill me and just get a new wife?”
“You’re right about something. I’ve had a few wives. One was brainwashed and returned to her perfect state. Then she pissed me off in a moment of passion, and I wasn’t able to forgive her. But you, Mary Jane, were given to Beasley to clear out those memories in your brain. Despite whatever Beasley’s done to you to make you believe you were an actress, I had intentions of bringing you home. I love your temperament. Everything but temperament is unchangeable, because it’s a genetic predisposition. You’d be my amnesic wife. We’d start over. I’d train you in the ways I want you to be.”
“So, I’m your wife. Your zombie wife.”
“Don’t be so barbaric. I prefer ‘Stepford wife’ to the term zombie. And no, I didn’t put you through any trauma. Albeit, it’s clear that these idiots have. I couldn’t bring myself to brainwash you. You’re beautiful.”
Her eyes locked onto him. However, she didn’t miss the hanging copper pots above him in her periphery. They were the only weapon. “Humph. Oh, I’m sorry you felt so guilty about adding Beasley into our marital issues. But, I guess you thought I wouldn’t remember.”
“Perhaps…or is it that I’ve always been one step ahead of you, as always?”
She offered a lost-kitten look because she had no doubt that he would shoot her before she could grab a pot. “I did the jacket gesture and Mallory’s memories flooded into your mind. It’s one of those nostalgic things. Usually a remote control, but certain actions are able to bring about memories when the mind is stuck in limbo. Mary Jane, you are in limbo at the moment, because when I returned, we should’ve been redirecting your cognition toward making me the hero. You know, after such a horrible childhood, I’d be your hero again.”
“Okay.” She nodded slowly.
“But let me ask, Mary Jane. Do you remember how you got here? How Beasley came to chase you?” He stepped closer to her with each question. “When did you arrive at The Petting Zoo? No, I didn’t think you remembered. Tell me, what’s your last memory?” he asked, placing the gun at her forehead. “I asked you earlier, but you kept quiet. Now’s your time to speak!”
Mary Jane huffed. Her last memory was from searching for Megan, sitting at the gas station near Vin’s home. She’d felt so much hatred for the rapist.
“What if you’re Megan?”
“I’m not!” Mary Jane’s body prickled with hatred. “You just said I’m your amnesic wife! We had an entire discussion of how you saved me.”
“True. You have Mallory’s memories so obviously a discussion about said memories would be a logical progression,” he replied softly, slipping the barrel of the gun across the angle of her chin. “You bawled your beautiful little eyes out, wondering if your little sister would come home. Wondering why she abhorred you so much to leave you. After all you’ve done for Megan. You drove to the good uncle’s house. What all did he teach you again?” He sneered, eyes filled with lust.
Her mouth tensed. At every word he spoke, she remembered it.
“Fuck you, asshole. You’re just trying to screw with me. I don’t have Megan’s memories.”
He gave an obnoxious grin. “I’m sure you don’t want to be the bad sister. The selfish one who had the perfect boyfriend in high school, who had the perfect father. But alas, remember I said, I had the perfect wife and she ruined it. She ruined it so much so that I was unable to redirect her.”
“You killed—”
“I killed Mal, and you’re Megan.”
“It’s a lie,” Mary Jane gasped. “I won’t believe you.”
He held the gun toward her, and with another hand, placed the iPad onto the counter. Keeping his eye on her, he toggled with the touchscreen. “Maybe I killed Mal in a moment of passion. Found you. Redirected your memories, Megan. Redirected your thought process so that you’d be my doting wife. You look just like her.”
Mary
Jane gasped as her head began to hurt. She was plunged into another memory. This time, it was like being on the opposite side of the film. Recording it instead of acting. She was Megan, and she was watching the pain she caused her older sister. Receiving love from her new stepfather, being popular and having friends.
Then she was angry, so angry with Mal. Hating her luck, and her husband. Then Peter pulled her out of the torturous and disgusting memories.
“That’s enough brain activity today. Anymore and you might suffer an aneurism,” he replied. His lips thinned into a worried line as he touched her clammy forehead. “Now you’ve acquired every memory of Megan’s, right? Both sets end at pivotal points.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks at Megan’s ultimate betrayal.
“I’m not Megan. You are on a fucking power trip, asshole. I’m sure you get a kick out of the mind fuck. Well, I am not her!”
“No?” Peter asked. “Let’s consider the past couple of days. Have you been the mother hen—like the woman I loved—Mallory? Or have you been the selfish sister that I considered redirecting?”
I was going to let Glenn be killed by the larger twin at the motel when he came into the lobby looking for me. I left Wulf. I’ve been selfish.
“Stop it!”
“But you want to know, right?” Peter cocked the gun toward the side door and motioned for her to walk. “The brain works similar to a computer. We all have an organized set of schemas. A word, a scent, a phrase can bring about an entire array of feelings or emotions or past experiences. In a sense, your cognition was filed away only to be fully destroyed, I believe, in another week or two. I have a cognition-erasing system that wipes out everything. Let’s just call it your amnesia. It’s only safe after a standard month of hiding your memories and setting them aside in another schema—see my reference to computer and brain. Your brain is organizing and filing away new information into your memory. I’m extracting all of it. Then I turn you into a tabula rasa, just like that. Any time before it, you'd have made a good robot, nothing more. Trust me, I’m working on cutting down the memory filing system. But you just fucking piss me off too much to save you!”
