“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Well, if you would have allowed the original plan to progress, you would be that…” he stopped short as he struggled with his own hatred and unreasonable jealously of Granger Mortenson. The man had everything he had always coveted. Vast fortune, power, and most of all, he had possessed Cassandra, a woman he felt should have been his. The original plan had been to deteriorate Cassandra’s mental state to the point where she would have been committed, and of course, he had planned to have her under his care, since he had became her doctor months before the attack. It was quite simple how he had gotten close to her to begin with. Martina had casually mentioned his name to Grace Mortenson, after the older woman had told her about the strange behavior her daughter-in-law had been exhibiting. Grace then told Granger that he should have Brett treat her, and from that moment, she became molding clay in his hands.
As a matter of fact, the plan had been almost too easy. What Grace Motenson didn’t know, was the fact Martina had paid a maid five thousand dollars to switch Cassandra’s herbal supplement for a drug compound he had developed that would cause psychotic behavior. The maid did as she was told, and her reward had been a bullet to the head, and her body being dumped in a drainage ditch. Martina had felt that if the maid would betray her employer, she would do the same to her once the five thousand dollars was gone. Perhaps squeal on her to Granger, or maybe even try to blackmail her. The plan had been running smoothly, until Grace had told Martina that Granger was thinking about having his wife committed so she could receive care. And, being as spoiled and impatient as ever, his hot-headed cousin couldn’t wait a bit longer to get her hands on Granger and his fortune, and that’s when she had brutally assaulted Cassandra, nearly killing her. Believing the woman was dead, she had wanted him to dispose of her battered body, and he was positive that if she had known, at the time, that the woman was still alive, she would have finished the job.
But then something strange had happened. For reasons he was still unsure of himself, he had found himself smitten with her out of the blue, and knew right then and there that he couldn’t let her die, so he slowly nursed her back to health. When Martina had found out the woman had survived, she had been livid, but he had managed to convince her that he could make sure Cassandra would never return to Granger.
Seeing that he still wasn’t willing to let the woman go, Martina sat back, crossed her arms over her chest, and stuck her lower lip out like a petulant child.
In spite of himself, he laughed.
“I had every right in the world to do away with her! I saw Granger first, I wanted him first! Everyone knew that Granger was meant for me! I want her dead, do you hear me?” she hissed as she leaned forward again. Looking around the room furtively once more, she looked back at him and demanded in a low voice, “Just kill her.”
His earlier mirth vanishing, he pinned her with a withering glare as his eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared with fury. “Don’t push it, Martina. I told you before, I won’t allow you to harm her, ever again!” he said through gritted teeth, as his gray eyes took on the look of a predator.
Taken aback by his sudden change of demeanor, she cast her eyes downward, uncharacteristically intimidated. With a hand that trembled ever so slightly, she picked up her wineglass and took a tiny sip.
After studying her silently for a few moments, his face softened. “After last night, she’ll remember only what I instructed her to remember. Don’t worry, I’ve made sure she’s absolutely terrified of Granger.” he said, basking in the knowledge of his own power, and proud of his work. He had manipulated her mind so that she would only trust him. Closing his eyes dreamily, his body hummed with pleasure as he remembered the feel of her in his arms, what it had felt like to kiss her, to hear her comply with his every suggestion.
Looking back up at him hesitantly, she saw his eyes open, eyes that shone brightly with a savage, inner fire. Excited, she gave him a girlish giggle. Leaning close to him, she asked, “What did you do to her? How can we be sure it worked?”
Just then the waiter came with their fresh drinks, and asked if they were ready to order their meal.
Not even gracing him with a glance, she waved him away as if he was an annoying housefly.
With a carefully neutral expression on his face, the man turned and left.
“So, tell me, how do you know it worked?” she demanded, her voice childlike. An evil, demented look came over her face, an expression that would have frightened anyone other than him.
Leaning back and crossing his arms, he sighed. If there was one thing he had always hated, it was having anyone, family, friends, or colleagues, questioning his abilities. Reminding himself that he had already hurt her feelings earlier, he remained calm. “ Several years ago myself and two other chemists made the perfect drug to use with hypnosis. What it does, it basically allows me to form Cassandra’s mind, mold it like clay." Giving her a smug smile, he proudly bragged, “I’ve been giving her low doses for three years, along with other drugs, in order to suppress her memory. Last night I gave her a large dose, and under hypnosis, I told her that Granger was the one who savagely beat her and left her for dead. And that she must stay away from him, at all costs, because if he finds her again he will kill her this time.”
In a good mood once more, he chuckled at his own craftiness. Picking up his own drink, he gave her the million-dollar smile he knew she loved so much, did a silent toast to her, and took a sip. She looked so happy, he feared if her smile grew any wider her perfectly made up face would crack.
Picking up her drink, she raised the glass and waited. “Here’s to our brilliant plan!” her bubbly voice rang out.
Raising his glass once more, he clinked it against hers. “Yes, here's to us, getting our perfect mates.”
Chapter 5
Raidon smiled at the thought of how much information the three ten-dollar bottles of ’Ole Granddad’ corn liquor had bought from the grounds keeper. After a few belts, the old man had spilled everything he knew about the woman (known to him as) Karen Washington, including the fact that she would be attending a street fair she and several others had put together, the proceeds to go towards the Children’s Home he was employed by.
He couldn’t believe the woman lived just twenty minutes from his own home in Coeburn, the fates must have meant for him to find her. Never before had he took on a job where he found someone quickly, and with so little trouble. In his mind, he already had a color picked out for that new Corvette….
Snapping out of his brief daydream, he scolded himself for the rare lapse in concentration, and paid attention to the business at hand. He was seated in his black Hummer, and was watching Cassandra and her female companion. They were looking at some colorful scarves being sold by one of the vendors. When Cassandra turned to speak to the man in the booth, he got a full frontal view of her, and quickly snapped several pictures with his digital camera. Connecting the camera to his laptop, he downloaded the photos. Opening his email account, he composed a brief message to Granger, Target found, uploaded the photos and attached them to the document, then clicked *send*. Closing the laptop, he looked at her once more, and planned his next move cautiously, keeping in mind what the old man had said about her losing her memory. He knew from experience that the best way to see if she really didn’t remember who she was to catch her off guard.
Getting out of the Hummer, he walked slowly in her direction, and stopped roughly twenty feet from where she stood. Her back was to him, as she continued to haggle with the vendor good-naturedly. Clearing his throat quietly, he called out “Cassandra Mortenson, is that you?” hoping that his tone sounded like one of pleasant surprise. Not only did she not turn around, there was no reaction at all from her, leading him to believe that she didn’t recognize the name. The friend that was accompanying her did turn and give him a strange look, however. Their eyes locked, and he slowly made his way towards them. Only then did Cassandra turn and looked at him, curious as
to what had captured her friend’s interest.
Stopping directly in front of her, and careful to respect her personal space, he looked down at her and gave her a pleasant smile, hoping his body language was as sincere as his true intentions of not wishing to alarm her.
She was looking at him uncertainly; while her friend narrowed her eyes and gave him a look that seemed to say, Don’t start any trouble.
Still smiling at the lovely woman, he tried again. “Cassandra, don’t you remember me? I’m a friend of Granger‘s, your husband…” he trailed off as a flicker of uncertainty and fear crossed her face for a brief moment, then was gone, replaced by a look of confusion.
Granger! The name rang through her mind. Fear, stark and vivid, suddenly glittered in her topaz eyes. Her heart began picking up speed, and a sense of dread washed over her like a tidal wave. Stepping back from him, she stammered, “I…I‘m…sorry. That’s not my name.”
Feigning complete astonishment and disappointment, he shook his head back and forth. “Wow, I can’t believe it! I really did think you were this woman I know, her name is Cassandra Mortenson. I’m telling you, you could be her doppelganger!” he said, dropping the name one last time to see if it would elicit a reaction.
“Look, she told you she wasn’t this …Cassandra chick. Step the hell off and leave her alone.” the friend said, stepping directly in front of her friend, ready to defend her; heedless of the fact she barely came to his chest in height.
Biting his lip to keep from laughing at the militant midget, he smiled down at her. He admired her chutzpah. Holding up a hand in a placating manner, he backed away, fearing any further contact could make Cassandra bolt. “Look, I’m very sorry ladies; I honestly didn’t mean to upset you.”
Turning to leave, he heard the friend ask Cassandra if she was all right. “That, name Granger…I…I feel somehow like I should know it.” he heard the woman reply.
Climbing back into the Hummer a couple of minutes later, his thoughts were troubled. When I mentioned Granger’s name, that was pure, unadulterated fear in her eyes, and it wasn’t my imagination. There’s more to this than a woman simply running away from her husband and child… he thought.
Grabbing his cell phone, he dialed Granger’s number.
*******************************************************
“Sir, this just came in from Raidon Bishop.” Malcolm said as he handed Granger a printed photo.
Taking the picture from him, he wilted back in his leather chair, his heart racing. It was Cassandra, all right. She’s still so beautiful was the first thought that crossed his mind, and following that, Oh, thank God nothing bad happened to her. She looked a little heavier, but from the looks of it, it only added and complimented her natural voluptuousness. Looking more closely, he noticed her nose seemed a little different, a little slimmer perhaps. He had been around enough women to recognize a nose that had been surgically altered. “Where is she?” he asked without even looking up, his voice rough with anxiety.
“Raidon didn’t forward that information, sir.”
Just as he was about to demand that he find out immediately, his cell phone rang. Snatching the small device off the desk he growled, “Yeah, Granger here.”
“Did you get the photos Mr. Mortenson?” Raidon asked as he followed Cassandra and her friend, careful to keep out of sight.
“Where is she?” he demanded harshly, not bothering to answer the man’s question.
“Sir, before I tell you, I feel I should tell you that, for whatever reason, your wife doesn’t know who she is. Who she was.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t want to hear that bullshit! Where-is-she?” he snapped, spacing his words out for added emphasis.
“She’s living and working in Windsor Virginia. She calls herself Karen Washington. What little I’ve found out, well, your wife may have not left you of her own free will.”
“What the hell does that mean?” he demanded belligerently, scowling more ominously than ever. Everything had always pointed to the fact that she had left of her own free will. She had left her engagement and wedding rings on the bedside table, packed most of her clothing, and had had her own savings transferred to an overseas bank account. There were no signs of any struggle, none whatsoever. She had left with everything she would need to live elsewhere, alone.
“It’s nothing concrete, Mr. Mortenson, just a gut feeling I’ve got, and my instincts rarely lie. Sir.”
“Just call Malcolm and tell him where the closest airport there is, private landing strip, farmer’s field, anything! We’ll be there before morning.”
Hanging up, he looked at his aide and said, “See to it that my plane is gassed up and ready to go on a moment’s notice.”
“Sure thing, Chief. And sir, for what it’s worth, I’m glad she’s Ok.”
“Me too, old friend, me too.” He grunted.
Turning, Malcolm left quickly and quietly.
She may not have left of her own free will? What the hell does that mean? What the hell happened!” he wondered as he looked at his wife’s photo, determined to find out exactly what had happened to her.
******************************************************
Cynne’ sat in front of her computer, chewing absently on a thumbnail. It was one of the rare occasions in her life that she had been shocked into silence. Looking at the missing person’s bulletin for the hundredth time in disbelief, she could deny it no longer. Her friend, Karen Washington, was, in fact, this missing woman who was staring back at her from the computer monitor. Cassandra Mortenson. The name that stranger had called Karen by earlier. She had sensed something out of the ordinary about the guy from the very beginning. Nothing threatening or sinister, just felt he had…been putting on an act. So she had committed that name to memory, and when she had arrived home, looked it up on a website designed to help locate missing persons. As it turned out, not only had her friend been missing for three years, but she was also married to a very wealthy man, Granger Mortenson, and they had a son. She had read about Granger Mortenson before, in a business magazine. The man was in the Fortune 500, and from what she had read, the man was a force to be reckoned with.
Getting up to pour herself another cup of coffee, she thought back to the conversation she had had with Karen (or Cassandra, as she was now firmly convinced) shortly after their encounter with the good-looking Asian man.
“Karen, you know, it’s a very real possibility that you could be this Cassandra he was talking about. After all, you don’t know or remember anything at all about your past. I really think you should check it out,” she had remarked casually as they walked back to her apartment.
“Cynne’, you’re forgetting that Brett found my identification, with my picture on it, at the scene of the…the attack. You also know for a fact that that private detective he hired dug up proof that I’m an orphan, and not married. He personally showed me the documentation.” had been her friend’s reply.
Clearly becoming agitated, Karen had then complained of another oncoming migraine, then dug around in her purse frantically for the prescription medication Brett had given her for that very purpose. Finding the bottle, she had smiled, tremendously relieved, and popped two into her mouth, followed by a swig of lemonade she had bought at one of the food stands.
But she herself wasn’t convinced in the least about the veracity of Brett’s claims, and specifically those of the private detective he had hired. After all, how difficult could it have been for Brett to pay the man to fabricate a false past, or identification? Hence her search online as soon as she had arrived home.
“Oh my God..” she muttered. Forgetting the coffee, she placed the pot back down and hurried back to the computer. Scrolling down the page, she saw, at the bottom, a contact number for Ms. Jocelyn Ames, Karen’s mother.
Grabbing her phone, she flipped it open and began punching the numbers in as she glanced back and forth at the screen. Her hands were shaking so badly by this po
int, she dialed a wrong number on her first two attempts. Cursing under her breath, she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths to calm herself, opened her eyes, and very slowly punched the correct number in.
“Hello….?” a woman’s voice answered after the third ring. She had a pleasant, southern, country drawl, much the same as Karen herself.
“Hi, I…uhhh…am I speaking to Ms. Ames?”
“Yes, speaking…“
“Ms. Ames, I’m calling you about your missing daughter."
“My daughter?” the woman answered in a much different voice that suddenly sounded lifeless and guarded.
Always quick on her mental feet, she was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that this woman had been searching, fruitlessly, for her daughter for over three years, and had surely suffered many disappointments. Quickly trying to reassure her, she blurted, “Ma’am, please don’t hang up! I assure you, this isn’t a prank, I’m your daughter’s best friend! I mean…I’m positive my best friend is your missing daughter!”
Remember Me Page 5