by Amarie Avant
“Well, I have Tylenol in my purse.” Megan started rummaging around and pulled out a bottle.
Her lips tightening into a line, Mary Jane snatched the two capsules from her sister’s hand. She swallowed a couple with a bottle of water, pushed the bottle over, and reclaimed Wulf’s hand again.
“Mal,” Keegan began, “remember when we came out here to plan for the wedding? We were going to get married in Cabo San Lucas, and then we were considering Puerto Vallarta. You do remember, don’t you?”
“No,” Mary Jane replied flatly.
As a body language analysis, Wulf knew she was lying. But Megan had photographic evidence of everything. His heart sank the moment she displayed a picture of the very painting Mary Jane bought from a vendor a few blocks away. It was odd enough for Megan to take a photo of a canvas on the wall, yet he understood her need to persuade Mallory and rouse her memory.
“How much did you buy it for?” Wulf asked, recalling that Mary Jane tried to pay the man too much for the canvas painting.
“Twenty bucks, why?” Keegan asked.
Wulf nodded. That was the exact amount that Mary Jane offered the vendor a few blocks away from their home, and the woman had laughed and said if they were in Puerto Vallarta, yes, but she gave them a deal instead Mary Jane had lied to him. She had to have recalled the amount she spent on the painting in the tourist area with Keegan. But Wulf was riddled with this question: why would she purchase the same painting over again?
Did Mary Jane purchase the painting while reminiscing about Keegan?
Or was it a subconscious effort and she did not recall?
Fuck! You’re reaching and being ridiculous, Wulf told himself. He tracked his hard gaze over Mary Jane for a nonverbal evidence of a lie.
“I didn’t know. Wulf, I did not know.” Mary Jane’s eyes searched his for a hint of softness. When his tensed jaw didn’t relax, she turned to their company. “Look, Megan, Keegan, this has all been too much.”
Wulf pulled his hand slowly from hers, and he took a sip of his beer. He tried to determine if Mary Jane was telling the truth, that maybe her mind had offered such a mundane part of her past. But it was growing harder to believe by the minute.
Keegan continued with, “We left the tourist site. Got a little place on Bogota Lane—I remember because that’s the capital of Colombia—and we stayed an extra week because you were mad at your dad. I think it’s around the corner from here.”
Bogota Lane was the same street where they currently resided. Wulf’s lips tensed slightly.
“I didn’t know, Wulf,” she whispered.
“But Dad wasn’t bad. He just didn’t think you two were ready for marriage,” Megan interjected.
Keegan continued at an attempt to jog her memory, pull her back to him. “Your mom finally talked you into returning, then…” His voice trailed off. Keegan realized he’d hit the end of the road and needed to make a U-turn toward cheerful times. “The happiest day of your life, I’ll never forget when you came home after…”
Wulf stood. “I’m going to let you all get reacquainted.”
“Thanks,” Megan said. “Maybe tomorrow we can all get together and watch the baby videos. Dad made them for every year of our lives. Every Christmas, Easter, our Christening, it’s all there.”
“That would be great.” Wulf gave a smile and walked toward the exit.
38
She cringed. She wanted to tell Wulf that her buried memory of being at Bogota Lane and the damn canvas painting didn’t come until this very moment. It was the honest truth that she’d just realized who Keegan was and how important he used to be to her.
Mary Jane listened as they continued to draw her back into them. Sucking the life out of her. They wanted so desperately for her to fit into an outdated model. All the while in the back of her mind, she recalled her family’s numerous attempts to visit her at the Grienke mansion.
After an hour of photos, with Keegan and Megan taking turns sharing the sappiest moments of her life, Mary Jane allowed them to walk her to her street corner.
“See you later,” she mumbled and waved them away.
“We’re staying at Aries Hotel,” Megan tried in a chipper demeanor. “Wulf knows the room number if you forget. Oh, gosh, I’m sorry—”
“Yes, if I forget, I’ll ask him, thanks.” Mary Jane nodded. In her heart, she knew Megan meant no harm. She gave a weak smile, walking backward then she brusquely turned around and continued down the dimly-lit street. When she looked back, they were still standing next to the T in the road, watching to make sure she was safe. Or maybe they wanted to ensure she hadn’t forgotten where she lived for the past year?
She continued down the street with a vivid image of Megan’s nose crinkling as she’d cursed. Megan didn’t like profanity. From the looks of it, and if memory served her correctly, Keegan wasn’t much for it either. Her memories of them hadn’t fully returned. However, with Megan’s probing by way of photos and videos, the truth was flooding back.
Flooding back so quickly that Mary Jane felt like sinking.
She bit her lip in anger, considering all the concern in their eyes. The pity. She hated the pity the most.
A rustling sounded behind her.
She turned quickly. Megan and Keegan were no longer standing under the streetlamp watching her. She peered into a dark alleyway between two units. The black sea and a figure.
An orange glow from the cigarette outlined the shape of a person leaning against the left house. The eeriness of it made the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. I’m not a super-agent. She recalled the bravado she had when first meeting Wulf. She was washed in illumination from the hood lights of a car navigating at a snail’s pace toward her. Mary Jane glanced back over to the house she had to pass before getting home, but there was no shadowy figure holding a cigarette. With quick strides, Mary Jane rushed down the street as a car proceeded down the lane. She hurried into her yard and looked back at the luxury car. In the dark she couldn’t see inside the shadowed interior. She glared hard, determined not to be afraid. Fear was reserved for nightmares.
There was a man and woman in the Mercedes, most likely coming home from a date or had lost their way back to one of the swanky resorts a few miles away.
She zipped up the stairs and felt for her keys inside her purse. Pulling them out, she quickly unlocked the door.
Once inside, she kicked off the shoes that had long ago sent a throbbing pain through her arches. Not the most comfortable knock-offs.
A bluish TV glow came from the bedroom. Her hands on her hips, she glared at Wulf as he slept propped up, the TV remote cradled in his hand.
She picked up a pillow and whacked him across the face.
He jolted awake. “What did you do that for?” he asked in a groggy voice.
“Have you lost your mind?” She stood tall as he got up from the bed.
Wulf combed a hand through his hair and glared down at her. “I reunited you with your family, Mary Jane. I should be receiving a grade-A blowjob at the very least.”
“I never wanted to see those people!” She pushed against his chest.
Unmovable as ever, Wulf cocked an eyebrow. “Why not?”
They…they want to change me. Her eyes slid away from him. She licked her lips and sighed. “I haven’t seen them in ages, Dylan. I wasn’t ready.”
“All right, MJ, I’m sorry.” Wulf tried to hug Mary Jane, but she sidestepped his touch.
“It’s okay,” she mumbled.
He stood just behind her as she prepared to undress for the night. Mary Jane held her head high, concentrating on the sound the zipper made as Wulf pulled it down for her.
Tell me you love me, Wulf. Please.
Her heart was weary. Of all the comfort he gave, all the friendship, and an open ear for her to vocalize her crazy life, he’d never given the thing she desired the most. Himself.
When she turned around, he sat on the bed and flipped channels.
I lo
ve you so much, Wulf. She picked up a pillow and the blanket from the bed.
“MJ, what are you doing?”
“Like you have to ask,” she retorted, heading for the living room.
“Come to bed.” He got up again and leaned against the doorframe as she made herself comfy on the entirely too short loveseat.
“I’m fine where I am.” She fluffed the pillow with heavy punches, just waiting for him to say he loved her. Instead, he returned to their bed. The threat Peter made about coming between her and Wulf took root. She gave the pillow one last whack. Much too stubborn to give in now. After all, this was a lover’s quarrel and Peter could only torment her dreams.
The next morning, Mary Jane pulled herself up into a seated position. In their bed. She glanced around and smiled while shaking her head. Wulf must’ve picked her up while she was in a deep sleep and placed her back in bed.
Now, his side was empty. A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand read that it was just about 7 a.m. and almost thirty minutes into their usual work-out regimen.
After a quick bathroom routine, Mary Jane pulled out a bra and short set for running. Instead of getting dressed, she impulsively scooped all of her undergarments and shirts. She dumped the clothing onto the bed. Mary Jane grabbed all the rest of the items from her side of the dresser. She yanked every item from her side of the closet rack as she tried to rationalize the thought that popped into her head.
Moving back to Los Angeles with Dylan Wulf. The ease of her sudden realization brought a smile to her face. Wulf had mentioned purchasing his first home in Claremont once. It was during a walk home, with the evening sun warming their skin. They’d just left an ice cream shop and a little girl chatted with them for almost an hour. Her mother had apologized and tried to get the girl to turn around in her seat, but Mary Jane was glued to the kid’s infectious laughter. Maybe she couldn’t give Wulf children, but he wasn’t talking about his abandoned, brand new home for no reason. He’d give her a future.
“Wulf.” She worked on how to persuade him with, “Those people belong to a world I no longer live in. I don’t know them. I don’t need to know them.”
Although, she’d unknowingly divulged untrue horror stories, he had to understand that all the memories of herself and her sister, the good—the truth—meant nothing now. And the bad—Peter’s invention—well, that meant nothing now as well.
We have us to consider.
Eyeing the pile of clothes on the bed, Mary Jane stalked to the closet and grabbed her luggage. The thought of her and Megan having lunch today, as her sister had requested, forced her to hurry and toss things into each case.
“Let’s get an RV and travel like Amy and Tom,” she told herself with a smile of contentment. “I love you, Wulf. Let’s just go traveling a little while longer. Maybe just another week before settling in Los Angeles. I’ll go home for you…because wherever you are, I am home.”
Mary Jane stopped packing her bags. The thought was profound. I don’t mind going back to reality for Wulf. He’s home to me.
“Yes.” She continued to work out her story for him. Listening to herself chatter on with no one around should’ve made Mary Jane feel bizarre and crazy. But it just felt like purging Mary Jane’s previous need to alienate herself from the world.
She stopped packing. “I love Wulf!”
Voicing it was new and the words felt like sunshine after the rain. Mary Jane slipped into a shirt and shimmied into her jeans before she rushed through the living room and to the front door.
The warm sun bathed Mary Jane and the bliss she felt grew exponentially as her bare feet padded along the cool sand toward the back of their home. Cupping her hands around her forehead, Mary Jane glanced around. There was a trio of surfers navigating the choppy, cold water off in the distance. A lone woman powerwalked near the edge of the water. It was too early for a swim. Biting her lip, she searched the miles of shoreline for Wulf.
They usually ran for about an hour and a half. Taking a few steps back, she meandered back toward the house. Determined to maximize her time, she headed for the closet to begin packing Wulf’s luggage.
In the living room, she left the screen door open to let in more natural light. “False past or not, I’ll have everything ready like Megan and Mal did when their mother was running away from another boyfriend,” she sniggered to herself upon entering the bedroom. She stopped and shook her head, laughing about how she had just referred to herself in the third person. “I am no longer Mallory Portman-Grienke,” she uttered her new motto.
A creaking from the front door made Mary Jane drop his rollaway bag in its spot in the closet.
“Wulf,” she started for the living room. “Let’s take a short road trip before heading to Los Angeles—”
“That sounds lovely,” said a beautiful stranger. After a moment, Mary Jane recognized her as the gorgeous Penelope wannabe from the bar, donning riding pants and very expensive leather riding boots.
“Who are you?” Mary Jane’s skin prickled.
The woman removed a light pink silk scarf from around her neck and began to twine it around her finger. “I much prefer the Glades during this time of year, Lalina. It’s very beautiful, though you won’t ever get a chance to venture there. That is, if you haven’t already.”
This is not happening, Mary Jane told herself as she kept her eyes trained on the woman who seemed at ease in her home. Danger burned like hot goose bumps along her forearms as she stared at the frightening woman and the humongous man from the bar last night. He was the one who’d stopped her when this woman standing before her now had taken a seat next to Wulf. The man was menacing. He was tall and huge and reminded her of Santo Cruces City.
“Who are you?” she murmured again, inching toward the bedroom door as they blocked the exit from her villa.
“My name is Soledad,” the woman replied with a soft smile. “This is Canelo. He plays nice if you do.”
Canelo leaned against the wall with his ankles crossed next to the kitchen door. There was something in his gaze that told her he’d rather be a thousand miles away. Had Soledad screwed with his mind? Was he just a vessel? A means for Soledad’s safety or defense such as the role Hurricane once played for Beasley? Of all the times to fight or flight, Mary Jane’s mind was her biggest threat again.
In two strides, he towered before her. His voice was a mask of sincerity when Mary Jane knew it was all a lie as he implored, “Come willingly, Lalina.”
Of all the possible options at her disposal, Mary Jane closed her eyes. She willed some of Anya’s defense skills to wash over her.
Nothing came.
Shit, shit, shit, she told herself. A slight trick of the mind would have left Mary Jane feeling more than competent at saving her own life, but she knew the truth about Anya, that she wasn’t real, so Mary Jane no longer had the confidence to react.
“Lalina.”
“What are you saying?” Her eyes snapped open.
“Lalina, you’re—”
“I am Mary Jane.” The inherent need to continue with the same identity urged Mary Jane to react. With right leg anchored back, Mary Jane tossed a forearm punch as if she were aiming to punch through her target. Not only did she want to break his nose, but to obliterate Canelo’s entire face. Her knuckles slammed against his bridge.
When her leg flew up, knee ready to slam against his cock, Canelo pressed his hands against her chest with such force. The air expelled from her lungs. Fire burned down her spine as the base of her skull crunched against the wall. Losing all the power in her legs, Mary Jane sank to the floor, her vision hazed with spots from the blow. Her enemies became shadows.
“Okay, Lalina. You’ve proven your point,” Soledad said.
In a daze, Mary Jane’s gaze followed the voice. Her blurred vision came to as Soledad held a gold-plated nine-millimeter at her side. Eyebrows kneaded she glanced up at Canelo. With her vulnerable position on the floor, he could do virtually anything he wanted to her.
He pinched his nose and hardly looked in her direction.
“Canelo, do not get any blood on the floor. We don’t want our little bad girl’s friend to worry too soon. No struggles.” Soledad arose. She moved toward Mary Jane. “Hmm…”
Mary Jane looked upward, trying to stand but couldn’t. Soledad was over her, but not paying her any attention. The woman was analyzing any signs that Mary Jane caused damage to the wall.
“No issues there, good. He won’t know.” Soledad headed for the bedroom. “Oh, great, she already packed her things. Were you going home, Lalina?”
Soledad’s laughter was rich from the bedroom as Mary Jane placed her palms and knees on the floor and groaned. Canelo had walked away. She heard the sound of flushing. He was probably disposing of tissues.
When he returned, Mary Jane was willing herself not to cry. Placing one foot before the other, she mentally told herself to move toward the kitchen, but the man had knocked her lights out and half the spirit in her too.
Grab a knife, kill these motherfuckers. She forced one foot after the other. Before her feet could pass the threshold for the kitchen, Canelo grabbed her around the waist.
His hot breath assaulted her ear as he whispered, “Better for you to just—”
“What the fuck is going on? Why am I carting her luggage while the two of you tango?” Soledad whined from the bedroom door.
“Just do nothing,” Canelo finished with a low murmur. He then tried to grab Mary Jane’s luggage from Soledad.
Mary Jane glanced at the bitch and her lap dog, then back toward the kitchen. The knife was in the butcher block about five yards away, but Canelo’s legs were almost double the length of her own. And could she survive another one of his hits? As he hefted her luggage, Mary Jane felt something sticky and wet slide down the nape of her neck. She reached a hand back and touched the warm liquid. Blood.
Soledad shoved the scarf at her chest. “Take this. Keep it.”
Their eyes connected, both women obviously full of rage. Soledad regarded her the way Beasley and Peter had, as if she owned her.
