Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  Hello, Officer Dylan Wulf. I can only assume that your first intention was to disregard me as you’ve previously done while screwing MY wife. Before you allow your impulses to take control, it would behoove you to continue with this letter. The package includes the contents of my journal, which outlines the few precious years I’ve spent with my sweet honey pot, Mallory.

  Now as to why you’ve been included into the equation, it is obvious.

  At the current time, you are alone. That should be insufferable enough, right? Having loved Mallory and her leaving you. Yes, I know your plight. Isn’t living without her unbearable? I’m not sure how I sent her away for memory extraction without my heart breaking for good.

  I’ve been told Mallory is now referred to as Mary Jane “Doe”? Our sweet Mal has declined my name. I hear she’s also declined her maiden name (for logical reasons). Please excuse the ramblings—

  “It took all of my strength not to devour her at first sight.” Shelly scoffed.

  Wulf glanced away from the delusional asshole’s letter to see his sister holding the journal and reading from it.

  “This sick fuck probably has a healthy diet of his own urine.” She continued to scan.

  Bile burned at his throat considering how Grienke and Mary Jane crossed paths. “What does it say?”

  “The young Miss Portman, with her pristine education and numerous accolades, was not as I’d anticipated when she came for an interview. Her demeanor soft and polite to the point of being weak. When I stated my interest in another laboratory assistant, she came to life with a vigor that prompted me to act. Without another thought, I gave Miss Portman the job.” Shelly pushed the book across the table. “I can’t read any more of it. Okay, I literally hated her for taking you away from the family longer, then for leaving you. You’re my brother. I have to look out for your best interest, but—you must find her.”

  Wulf shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m working on it.”

  He scanned over the concluding remarks of Grienke’s letter: Dylan; my objective is to bring you up to speed. In which, I chose to include this letter to prompt you to continue on with reading my journal. Therefore, allow me to get back to the topic. Mary Jane is gone. – Peter Grienke.

  46

  “I’m not a big fan of beef stroganoff,” Jake gritted out the words as he sat at the kitchen table. He glanced to his left where Tom sat and received no response. The man was bad company, but not as bad as his wife. Her throat had been slit as she sat tied to her chair straps. She’d been the one with a mouth. He’d smiled as the three sat earlier around the table, while he inquired about Mary Jane. Talkative, just like my MJ. However, as his knife coasted along her jugular, she’d tipped her chair backward. She’d gone falling to the floor, while tied to the chair. As Amy lay dying, her head lulled and cheek kissed the floor. She bled out on the travertine tile.

  But Tom had only been beaten with a meat tenderizer to the abdomen. And so he was better company when Jake decided to eat the dinner Amy had prepared for them.

  “Well, I reckon I’d rather eat my meal with a lovely woman,” he told himself, grabbing Amy’s chair from the floor with her in it. Her body was stiff, rigor mortis forced her hands to clutch the armrest after only an hour. He picked up the chair with her dead weight. Her stiff body sat straight up, blood drying in her hair that was draped over her shoulder. With the way her face had been positioned on the floor, Jake had to turn her chair a little to the right, so that she’d be facing forward. Satisfied with her positioning, Jake pushed her in and on second thought, snatched a bright yellow towel from the counter behind her, and placed it around her neck.

  “Better, don’t you think?” His southern twang would’ve been soothing had Amy not been a corpse.

  Five minutes later, Jake had warmed the beef stroganoff on the stove. He then sat with Tom to his left, Amy across from him, and steaming plates of food before them all.

  “Y’all gonna bow your heads?” He chuckled. He knew they couldn’t respond. He was just excited about completing his mission so that he and Mary Jane could start their lives.

  He prayed to his God, thanking Him for keeping Mary Jane safe wherever she was, thanking Him that she’d always been such good company. “Unlike you motherfuckers,” he finished off and began to shovel food into his mouth.

  “Wowwwwy!” Jake hooted. “I have never had food so good. And I have never really liked stroganoff.”

  Music from his iPhone broke through Jake’s happy mood. He picked up his cell phone and placed it on speaker. “What?”

  “Don’t you fucking what me, Jake,” Linda Curbelo growled.

  “All right, bring that ass here, sweetheart. I’ll do it to your face. How ‘bout that?”

  “Have you found her?”

  “Have you?” he shot back.

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve found another MJ for you. You’d like that wouldn’t you, Jake? What do you do after you kill them?” She gave a sinister chuckle. “Fuck them?”

  “Free ‘em,” he mumbled. Desire began to consume him; he glanced at Amy’s lovely face and said, “Tell me about this MJ. Where can I find her?”

  Linda sighed through the phone. “I’m not sure if Peter wants that, Jakob—I mean, Jake.”

  Jake’s eyebrows pinched together. Words began to formulate in his psyche. Jakob. Jakob… Jakob W… Something in his mind was triggered and for a second, Jake attempted to recall just what kept popping into his psyche. It was no use. Concentrating on the present he asked, “Where the fuck is Mary Jane, lady?”

  “Listen, I haven’t been able to speak with Peter to gather more orders. And when you headed down to Mexico, he was so pushy, I had to tell him that she’d been found. He’s gotten obsessed with her and that damn cop.”

  “Fuck that cop.”

  “I agree. Peter was overzealous and prematurely wrote Wulf a letter and sent it to me. He was fixated on having us kidnap Mary Jane and screw with Wulf’s mind. For now, continue watching Wulf since he returned to Los Angeles. Those idiot agents are hounding him. But we have to stay a step ahead of the game.”

  “Rodger that.” He shrugged, shoveling more food, half listening.

  “Jake, we have a great life ahead of us. Once we find Mary Jane and return her to Peter. My ex stated he’s willing to give me the computer codes to take over his share of our company. I just mailed him proof of sending a package to the girl’s cop friend. For all intents and purposes, Peter should receive proof that the package was mailed to Dylan Wulf, at which time he will believe you have Mary Jane. Maybe that will suffice, and we’ll be done with Peter altogether and get what we need from him. If not, we just have to figure out a plan to get you to take her to Peter or break him out to get to her—whatever. He’s a dog, with its tail between its legs. And I suppose, being in prison, he has nothing left to live for. Nevertheless, this entire scheme to ruin the woman’s life is beyond me. I don’t care as long as we get the computer codes, and then we can be done with Peter and his little puppet.”

  Jake laughed. Right, return her to Peter. Linda Curbelo was confused. Jake worked with her because Peter said so. Now the bitch thought she was calling the shots since Peter got locked up. Well, she had another thing coming.

  Linda wanted to use Peter’s obsession with Mary Jane for her own gain. She assumed Jake worked for her. No, he still worked for Peter Grienke. Albeit, he was compromising the task since he had an allegiance with Mary Jane as well. He allowed the woman to continue chattering while scarfing down food.

  “I cannot use the system without him, Jake. Hopefully, the FedEx shipping proof will be enough for Peter to provide me with the codes. If not, Jake, I need you to continue searching for her and work harder to find her. Because as soon as Mary Jane is in his hands, Peter will give me the information I need to continue running our billion-dollar industry. We’ve got a buy-in in the Middle East. But I don’t fully trust the guy, so I’ll need you to assist me with running the deal. You’ll be promoted, like
Lyle. You’ll get to help make the world a better place. You’ll assist in teaching chosen people to be more compliant. How does that sound?”

  Jake was a loyal man, through and through, but that loyalty ended the second his eyes set on Mary Jane. No one in this universe loved her as much as he did. “Whatever you say, honey. I’m gonna go fuck with the cop, see what he knows.”

  “But the Feds are watching him, Jake. You’ve been told to watch from a distance. Use those good recon skills.”

  “Whatever you say.” He clicked the off button. There was one last order on the table. Peter Grienke wanted him to do the unthinkable. Jake wasn’t quite yet ready to follow through, and he sure as fuck wasn’t following Linda’s orders.

  The music rang out again. Linda was calling back. He pressed the away button and concentrated on eating. After a good nap, Jake had a bull to wrangle with.

  47

  20 YEARS AGO

  Seven-year-old Canelo pushed his nine-year old brother out of the way as his mama marked his height on the clay wall next to the tiny kitchen door.

  “Oh, Canelo,” she chided. “No mango for you, my son, if you don’t play nice.” She put the black marker in her apron.

  “I’m taller?” he asked, his eyes wide with hope. Canelo loved sweet fruit, but nothing meant more to him than his desire to grow an inch or three.

  “You are…smarter, my son.” She chuckled softly and continued to help two preteen daughters make masa.

  “Mama,” he implored, “did I grow?”

  “No!” One of his sisters laughed while placing rice into a serving bowl for dinner.

  Before he could push her, the front door opened. Three older brothers strolled into the house with their father. They placed their boots by the door and closed it, taking a seat at the table. His sisters set utensils on the table for dinner as his father popped the back of his older brothers’ heads.

  “You just came from the field! Go wash!” he ordered, following them into the only bathroom that the family of ten owned.

  As the nine of them sat down for dinner, the front door burst open. The intruder interrupted their prayer. A young Canelo sat in shock, gawking at the richest man on the entire universe. In his short life, he had never seen someone dressed in a suit that hadn’t frayed. This man had on gold rings and a necklace. The man had big, mirror sunglasses. Canelo admired the Mexican’s white suit and cream shoes.

  “Get out of my house!” His father took a stand.

  “Have you taken into consideration our business proposal?”

  “No!” Mama stood. Her wood chair fell back and tumbled to the floor. Her hand went to the gold cross around her neck as she spoke, “We will plant food and only food!”

  The dignified man picked up her chair slowly. “The entire town is complying with my wishes, so allow me to be foolish enough to provide you with one more chance.”

  His smile indicated for her to sit. Canelo looked at his father. For a moment, Papa’s head dipped into a nod, but Mama frowned and voiced, “No!”

  “All right.” The man gave a whistle. Two armed police officers swarmed into the tiny hut. The well-dressed man circled his finger in the air and the two cops took action. One kicked the dinner table. It flung into the air, sending food and dishes crashing to the floor. Canelo and his younger brother pushed their chairs back closer to the walls, since there wasn’t much room. A cop slid the table out of the way. Now the family of two daughters and five sons faced each other.

  The man in charge picked up a gasoline can from near the front door.

  “Call me crazy, but I forgot your answer.” The wealthy man, with a determined expression, calculated his movements as he went toward Canelo’s father.

  “Juan Junior.” He smiled at the first-born son. “Please tell me what your father and mother have decided?”

  Juan Junior’s head was held high, eyes tearing up, but he said not a word.

  “Look at those strong legs.” The man signaled and the two cops poured fluid onto Juan’s lower body. Toxic gas began to clog the room.

  “We—” Juan Senior began in a voice of defeat.

  “We said no!” Canelo’s mother argued. She had more convictions in her pinky finger than he had bones in his body.

  The man pulled a small silver case from his pocket. He unlatched it and pulled out a cigar. He let it dangle between big, white teeth. While one officer tied Juan Junior to his seat, the other swiped a match, holding it up for him. “Thank you.” He nodded, while taking an inhale of the sweet concoction.

  “Juan Junior, I’m nervous. Very nervous. Are you?” he asked, worried mocking expression of concern on his face as he puffed on his cigar.

  “Mama!” Juan Junior screamed as the lit match fell onto his left leg. The orange-blue and red flames instantly engulfed his body. Fire licked around him and his upper body wriggled with agony. An ear-shattering cry tore through the tiny home.

  Canelo’s eyes were glued to Junior’s. There were flames in the black depths. Fear clamped his throat, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.

  “Forgive me, Maria,” the man shouted over Juan Junior’s sobs. “You are a close family. I should include everyone in the festivities. Where is the baby? There are eight children, no?”

  When Maria didn’t reply he told the cops, “Tie and gag everyone but Mrs. Maria,” as he disappeared down the hall. He came back with four-month-old Bernice, cooing innocently.

  “You are the devil!” Maria spat just as her husband cried for her to agree.

  Canelo’s brothers and sisters quietly sniffled, each one trembling in their chairs.

  “Then where is your God?” The man sneered as he continued to hold the baby in his arms. “Oh, the baby, pretty girl. You’re hungry. Pray to your God, Maria. See who the provider is. Me or Him,” he said, pulling out his gun. Maria broke down crying, yet he placed the tip of his Magnum in Bernice’s mouth. “No worries, Maria. Let me see if the baby’s hungry.”

  “Stop, please, we agree!” Juan Senior shouted.

  “We will not.” Maria shook with rage. “Our God will avenge us.”

  The sadistic man ignored her and chuckled. “Well, she is sucking. Rather a bullet than…” He sat the child in her mama’s lap. Maria held the baby tightly, whispering a prayer in Bernice’s ear.

  Canelo finally looked back at his eldest brother. He hadn’t noticed the cries die out. The noise still rung in his ears, but as he stared at Junior, his brother’s eyes were closed, mouth shut, all so peacefully despite the charred lower half of his body. Canelo’s ears would forever be tormented by the sound.

  The entire family was doused in gasoline. Canelo stared across at his mama as he choked on the bitter taste when he went to scream. His eyes snapped back to the man.

  “Now, being that I’m a fair man, who shall we save, Maria?” the man questioned, walking around between them. He stopped to eye each child intently. “Maria, you were so vocal a minute ago. Which one of your children should live?”

  He nodded for one of the two cops. The butt of a shotgun went to Maria’s mouth. She held the baby tightly as she fell to the floor.

  The rich man stopped right before her. As blood and spit was spewed in his direction, he backed away for a second. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to Maria. “Wipe your mouth. Since you’ve been so persistent, please inform me as to who of your children you wish to spare?”

  Juan Senior shook his head ‘no’ as Mama’s eyes held the first glint of hope. Her eyes connected with Canelo’s as she struggled to get up to her feet.

  Before he knew it, his mom screamed his name.

  “That sick bastard could’ve saved your baby sister.” Mary Jane rubbed the tears in her eyes, sitting Indian style on her bed.

  Canelo continued to pace back and forth.

  “So, your tormentor had mercy?” Mary Jane held in her emotions as he told his story. At first, she searched for a connection. Something to manipulate him, probably not on the level that Hurr
icane was molded, but something. Now she was engrossed in the life that had been wrenched from him.

  “Mercy? A lifetime of torment is more like it,” Canelo replied. He nudged his square chin to the oily bag he’d placed on the tiny bedside table. “Now eat your dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Aye, Dios!” he snapped. “You promised to eat if I told you how I know so much about nightmares.”

  Sympathy and trust were on two different playing fields for Mary Jane. She asked him, “Your abductors let you live. I’ve asked you a thousand times, what you want from me, Canelo. Why you and Soledad abducted me. You won’t say a thing. So now, I’m beseeching you to allow me to live.”

  Canelo stopped right before her, yet his eyes didn’t meet hers. “They won’t kill you.”

  “They? Who is they? You’re lying to me!” Mary Jane shouted. He ignored her and walked out of the room.

  48

  The police database system did not pull up any information on either abductor’s identity. Quincy and Shelly reluctantly left that night, since she was a frontrunner for the Chief Nursing Officer position at the hospital where she worked. They’d promised to be back in a few hours. Wulf did his best playing with Bryan and Ryan to the bone, so he could return to the journal to see if it would provide more information. Bree had gone to sleep promptly at nine.

  But it was almost a quarter to eleven and the boys weren’t having it. “How long can you stay up again?” he asked them while his thumbs worked the PlayStation controller. He was totally and utterly consumed with the journal and with Mary Jane’s safety that it almost hurt. With each play, Wulf concentrated on any clues Peter’s words offered.