by Tim Kizer
On the last Saturday of her life, Judy woke up at half past eight in the morning and left her apartment for her regular five-mile run around a quarter past nine. She was unaware she only had fifty five hours to live.
2.
There was another benefit to jogging besides a slim sexy figure: it reduced the risk of a heart disease, which was nothing to sneeze at. Judy was a long-term thinker and a healthy heart occupied one of the top positions on her priority list.
As she ran down the street, in the cool shade of poplars rustling in the wind, she was thinking about her beautiful legs, which could be seen in all their glory since she was wearing short shorts. Every man, woman, and child in close vicinity had an opportunity to observe her spectacular calves and thighs, and some of them might have developed a habit of watching her run through their neighborhood every morning.
Judy used to envy those fit girls on the cheerleader squad during her high school years, but now she who was the object of envy of countless females and this fact made her proud. She had already noticed four XL sized women shoot jealous looks at her in the last ten minutes. By the way, one or two of them might have been lesbians, not that it mattered. There would be a dozen more by the time she finished this run.
As Judy scanned through her mp3 playlist, searching for a song suiting her mood, she felt a stare from a cute thirtyish guy that was watering his lawn with a hose. Their eyes met, and Judy smiled at the man, feeling her self-esteem swell one notch. She quite enjoyed male attention and was not ashamed to admit that.
When Coldplay’s Every Teardrop Is a Waterfall began to play in her earphones, Judy slowed down to even out her breathing. Breath in—breath out, breath in—breath out. Her mind was clear and serene. She thought about Ted Wiley, her sex buddy, who was coming over her place tonight. She was looking forward to his visit because Ted made love like no one else she knew; he also had a large penis, an integral part of his charm if you asked Judy. By the way, Ted was a big fan of Coldplay, although he had never listened to them in front of his jock friends.
Judy glanced around, ascertaining her location. She was about a mile and half from home. As usual, she intended to make a left turn a block from here and run another mile before turning left again. The rest of the route depended on whether she would want to drop by the grocery store.
Picking up speed, she noticed a grey Nissan Sentra parked on the side of the street a hundred feet ahead. The hood of the car was open; a man in a brown jacket and black jeans was standing by the left front fender, with his arms crossed. As Judy got closer to the Sentra, she had a sudden attack of curiosity and slowed down in order to take a better peek at what had happened to the car. Besides, she felt like giving this unfortunate guy an opportunity to marvel at her athletic body. Let him cheer up a bit.
Judy had prepared to run past the man with all the grace she could muster when he motioned her to stop. She was in no hurry, so she decided to grant the fellow a minute of her time. Once she pulled the earphones out of her ears, the man said, smiling, “Excuse me, could you please do me a quick favor? I need someone to turn on the ignition. I would much appreciate it if you could do that for me.”
“Okay,” said Judy. Considering that the man looked clean and sane and had a positive, non-creepy vibe about him, she saw no harm in helping him out. Besides, this good deed was going to net her a few easy Karma points.
“Thank you so much! I owe you one.” The man opened the door, letting Judy take the driver's seat.
“Tell me when.” Judy glanced at her watch. She had logged sixteen minutes of running this morning so far. Half an hour from now she would be home, taking a nice long shower. Judy loved the way her skin felt and smelled after the lavender body wash she had been using since February and couldn’t wait to get into the shower cabin.
“Just a second, Miss,” the man said from behind the hood. Moments later he appeared by the driver’s door. “I’m sorry, I forgot something.” The man clumsily reached towards the glove compartment, causing Judy to jam herself into the back of her seat. “Just one second.” With these words, he pulled a white handkerchief out of his right jacket pocket and quickly pressed it to Judy's nose and mouth.
Breath in—breath out, breath in—breath out. Just when Judy Timmons had finally realized that she was being kidnapped, she fell asleep, all thanks to the chloroform that soaked the hanky.
3.
The girl would wake up a few hours later, but at the moment she was lying in the back seat of the car, with a brown fleece blanket thrown over her. All rear windows of the Nissan were tinted, which made the woman’s presence even more inconspicuous: the man, who turned out to have only been pretending to have a car trouble, had always tried to minimize risk as much as possible.
As the man picked up the syringe filled with a sedative, he thought about the inequality between men and women that had caused him to put up this charade: Kelly would have never had to use chloroform to get a man in her bedroom. Yeah, those guys had followed her like dogs follow a bone. Well, even Josephine, who was far from being a spring chicken, could score a man without breaking a sweat.
The man carefully stuck the needle of the syringe into Judy’s left arm and pushed the plunger. He needed Judy to stay fast asleep for at least two hours so that he could bring her to the end destination without any drama. The car was a rental, and the last thing he wanted was to have its interior damaged by a frightened woman trying to escape. The man strived to be meticulous when it came to leaving no evidence behind. He had rented a clean car from Avis, and he would return a clean car. This was one of the unwritten rules of kidnapping. In case any blood was spilled, the man had put plastic sheets on the back seat and the floor. Fortunately, the chloroform had knocked his target out in seconds, and the sheets had not had to serve their purpose this time around. He figured the chick must have been out of breath and had inhaled a lot of ether very quickly.
The man tossed the empty syringe into the duffel bag on the front passenger seat and started the car. So far, so good. As usual.
He had rented the Sentra the night before and was going to return it the next morning: he planned to take the car to the carwash later today and have it thoroughly steam cleaned and vacuumed. As he stepped on the gas pedal, he thought about the HIV express testing kit sitting inside his bag. A fun idea had been circulating in his head since the woman had fallen asleep: what if he screwed this hot chick before Tony had his way with her? It wasn’t like one quick fuck would ruin her vagina for Tony, you know. The test was necessary because the man wanted to skip the condom and didn’t feel like contracting AIDS; he could test her while she was asleep to save time. Would he wait for the woman to wake up before having sex with her? He hadn’t decided yet; both options had their own charm.
As he turned into a major street, the man noted with satisfaction that his trick hadn’t caused any interest with the neighborhood residents, half of whom must still be in their bedrooms, waking up, yawning, scratching themselves, taking a shower, and doing other things people typically do on a lazy Saturday morning. And why would there be any interest? Nothing extraordinary had happened. A young woman stopped to chat to some guy in a Kia—or was it a Toyota?—and then continued to run. People had more important stuff to care about on weekends than some random jogger.
By his estimate, he was twenty five minutes away from his final destination. He certainly could have gotten there faster, but he intended to drive the limit in order to avoid the risk of being pulled over by a cop. He was in no hurry, so he could take his sweet time
The man smirked. This chick must be a big fan of healthy lifestyle; he personally preferred to sleep in on weekends as did the absolute majority of people he knew. What he liked about runners was the fact that you were almost guaranteed to meet one if you waited long enough on a quiet residential street. The man was highly pleased to have laid his hands on such a hot piece of ass. Today had to be his lucky day.
Yeah, this girl shouldn't have talked to a strang
er. Had she forgotten what her momma had taught her? If she hadn’t tried to be a good Samaritan, she would have been home now, gulping some tasteless health shake. As they say, no good deed goes unpunished. In this chick’s case the punishment happened to be rape, death, and, possibly, dismemberment.
Staring dreamily at the road, the man pictured himself carrying the woman from the garage to the basement. The thought of being alone with the girl in a sound-proof location quickly gave him an intense erection. He seemed to have made up his mind: he would fuck her while she was asleep. There was something irresistible to him about having sex with a woman in an unconscious state; he couldn’t put his finger on what it was exactly.
His cell-phone vibrated twice, informing him that he had received a new text. After checking the message, he looked in the rear view mirror and saw a police cruiser pulling into his lane right behind him. He nodded with satisfaction: his escort had finally arrived.
Chapter 3.
JOSEPHINE
1.
Howl. Howl. Was ‘howl’ the important word he had to remember? He believed that word had an ‘h’ in it, but it was not ‘howl.’ He should keep trying; the word might pop up eventually.
2.
How were things going? How was he?
Things were not good. A car crash. Yes, he had been in a car crash. It had happened somehow, even though he’d always been very careful. Had he gotten in the accident because of the safe? That thing weighed nine hundred pounds, you know. Actually, he had indeed wondered what would happen if you hit the brakes when driving sixty miles per hour with a nine-hundred pound safe in the trunk of your pickup truck.
He could lose a hand. Or a leg. Or half his brain would stop functioning. Yeah, he would hate that. True, he felt okay at the moment, but he was not out of the woods yet, not by a long shot.
A car crash on a highway. Why? Wife. Sister-in-law. Mister Fowler. Where was he going when he got in that accident?
Mister Fowler. He was on the way to recovery, that was the good news. He had to recover as soon as possible because there was an unfinished business he had to attend to. He also had to remember that damn word; it was a matter of life and death.
An innocent victim. He was a victim of an accident. He had caused that car crash. And his wife? What about his wife?
3.
“Frank. Frank... Wake up, it’s me, Josephine. Frank, wake up. ”
He unglued his eyelids but refrained from opening them wide.
And pain... He was suspended inside a thick layer of it, like a prehistoric insect frozen in a boulder of ice. The pain held him firmly above the bed, straining every single muscle in his body. But he had been learning to cope with it. Those good doctors supplied Frank with enough analgesics for him not to writhe in agony. He was floating in pain and knew he was alive because dead people feel nothing.
“Frank, wake up.”
Wake up... What for? It was so pleasant to sleep. To see those weird dreams, which he couldn’t remember right now. He was not sure how many dreams he’d had since he’d fallen asleep. He thought he’d seen a one-legged man in one of them, but it might have simply been a false memory. A fraction of a second ago, he had known why the one-legged man was important, but this piece of knowledge had just treacherously slipped out of his brain. If he stayed asleep, he could probably have that dream again and find out why Josephine was so dangerous. Dangerous to whom, by the way? And who was Josephine?
“Frank, it's me, Josephine.” The voice was pleasant. It was a pleasant female voice. God, what a pleasant voice! Keep speaking! Don't stop, woman! Such a pleasant voice!
“Doctor Raynolds, are you sure he can hear me?” asked the woman.
‘Are you sure he can hear me?’ Doctor Raynolds, are you sure he can hear me? Are you sure? Sure? Oh yes, he was sure he could hear her... But he was not Doctor Raynolds, she was not asking him. Who was she asking? Who was Doctor Raynolds?
“Yes, this morning he came out of a coma. I even talked to him,” a male voice answered.
An alarming thought swiftly glided through his mind that he ought to be afraid of Josephine. Why?
She is insane, buddy, she is batshit crazy.
This thought was absurd because Frank couldn’t reconcile it with Josephine’s lovely voice. The thought vanished and never came back.
This morning he’d come out of coma. This morning... Morning... What time was it? What day was it? What month? Daughter? What daughter? Or son? Did he have a son? Or wife? This morning Doctor Raynolds had talked to him.
“Mister Fowler, if you can hear me, please move your right index finger,” said the man.
Move a finger? Sure, he could do it. He would move his right index finger for the good doctor. What a pleasant voice that woman had! Frank had heard this voice before. Was she a relative? Who was she? What was her name again?
Frank opened his eyes. A woman. A nurse? Was she a nurse? The woman wasn’t young. She appeared to be in her mid-forties, but her actual age could certainly be as old as fifty five if she’d been able to afford facelifts and Botox shots. Her neatly arranged brown hair was immaculate, which gave him a warm feeling inside: she had bothered to spruce herself up before visiting him.
“Frank, it's me, Josephine,” said the woman, bending over him. She was wearing an ambrosial perfume; probably some expensive fragrance from France. What a wonderful smell it was. And her voice sounded beautiful. Or was it just painkillers talking? “How are you feeling, Frank?”
Her eyes. She was touching them with her handkerchief. She’d been crying, he guessed. Josephine sobbed and gave Doctor Raynolds a hopeful look.
“Who are you?” asked Frank.
The woman startled, froze for a moment, and turned her face to him, taking the handkerchief away from her eyes that were full of tears. There was a mixed expression of sadness and surprise on her face.
“My Lord, he's going to be alright!” she almost wailed, letting her tears loose.
“Mister Fowler,” Doctor Raynolds said. “Your sister-in-law is here. Can you speak now?”
Frank looked at the doctor inquiringly and asked, “Who is she? Who is this woman?”
Raynolds raised his eyebrows in slight amazement.
Josephine? Sister-in-law? Josephine... Josephine... The name didn’t ring a bell at all.
“Mister Fowler, your sister-in-law has come to visit you. Would you like to speak to her?”
Josephine... Josephine... Josephine... Still nothing.
“Frank, do you recognize me? Do you remember my name?” the woman asked with a tinge of hysteria in her voice. “Do you have a headache? How are you feeling?”
Josephine... Frank... Yes, his name was Frank Fowler. He was sure of it now. The good doctor called him Mister Fowler. And Josephine called him Frank. Frank Fowler. Had he really forgotten his own name a while ago? Nonsense.
So who the hell was Josephine? And what was he doing in the hospital? He must be in the hospital, right?
“I’m okay. I can hear you very well, you don’t have to shout,” Frank murmured. He was mesmerized by these two names spinning in his mind: Frank, Josephine. Josephine, Frank.
Frank... Josephine... He didn’t know Josephine. And he still needed time to get used to his own name. Frank Fowler. Not as cool as, say, Cassius Clay or Chuck Norris of course, but he could live with it.
“We were all so worried about you.” Josephine took his hand, squeezed it, and gave him a significant look as if she was going to tell him a very big secret. Or as if they shared a mind blowing secret and were members of some underground society chartered to protect it.
She kept squeezing his hand. Her grip seemed to have grown tighter, unless he was hallucinating that.
Frank... Josephine... Frank and Josephine.
“You were in a coma for thirty six hours, Frank. We all prayed for you,” the woman named Josephine went on. “How are you feeling, Frank? Please, say something.”
Who was she? She was his sister-in-law, accord
ing to Doctor Raynolds.
“I have no idea who are you, Josephine.” Frank disconnected himself from his surroundings and dove into his memory where this damn name, Josephine, had to be stored. He scanned the name index inside his head as thoroughly as he could and came up empty. It was as though all memories of his sister-in-law were buried under a skyscraper the size of the Empire State Building, and Frank was unable to budge this monster and look what it was hiding underneath it.
Frank Fowler and Josephine. Josephine was Frank's sister-in-law. She was Frank’s wife’s sister. Frank did not remember he was married either. What was his wife’s name?
“It appears Frank can't recognize you, Missis Buckhaus,” said Doctor Raynolds. “He doesn’t remember you, I’m afraid.”
4.
Frank really couldn't recognize Josephine. Her face was completely strange to him. He saw that woman for the first time in his life.
“Why?” asked Josephine in a concerned voice. Her eyes shifted from Raynolds to Frank and then back to the doctor. “How could he forget me? We just spoke two days ago.” She sounded indignant now. “What does all this mean, Doctor?”
Raynolds frowned but remained silent. He probably believed that frowning made him look empathetic and cerebral.
Josephine Buckhaus... Okay, enough memory trawling; this name had vanished into thin air. He would just accept that Josephine Buckhaus, a woman in her mid-forties, was his sister-in-law. He saw this lady for the first time in his life today, but he had talked to her only a couple of days ago, if she was telling the truth. He must have lost his mind.
“What do you mean he doesn’t remember me?” asked the woman. “He has to remember me, Doctor.”
“Ask him yourself, Josephine,” said Raynolds. “Memory loss is not uncommon in cases like this.”
