by A A Bavar
Slowly, they made their way towards the kitchen and then left into the hall. The walls on either side of them were covered with framed photographs of landscapes, but with no apparent organization. Paul took advantage of their slow pace and allowed his eyes to roam from picture to picture, taking in the details. “Did you take these?”
“I actually did. I was… am, a photography enthusiast. My studio is in that room,” said Patricia, pointing at the door to their left with her free hand. “But let’s leave that tour for another day.”
“Sure, sure. Of course. But I do have to say that your work is impressive. I’m not a critic, but I can see that you have a unique eye. And believe me, I would know.”
“Thanks.”
They stopped in front of the door to Patricia’s room. It was half closed. Paul carefully pushed it open with his foot. Patricia noticed he was careful not to shift his weight towards her as they walked in and it made her smile. The bedroom was spacey, Patricia’s queen sized bed set against the wall immediately to the left of the door, facing a large window looking out towards the mountains. The cold, silvery rays of the moon washed past the curtains, falling over the bedcover, outlining the edge of the vanity and chair that were to their right by the bathroom door. Family pictures covered most of the wall beside the vanity mirror and adjacent wall. There were also three framed certificates, one for each of the levels she had mastered as a black belt in Tae Kwon Do.
Oh crap! Did I leave that stupid magazine on the table? she thought and tugged at Paul’s arm, pulling him forward. “Let’s sit at the foot of the bed. It’s the most wonderful view,” said Patricia.
They sat silently, the space between them small yet infinite. There was nothing to say, and for an ephemeral moment, the moon in all its majesty was nothing more than a lonely lover in the vast, dark sky.
“I see Artemis, the goddess of the moon, of chastity, of virginity, and yet, the perfect huntress.” Paul turned, his eyes meeting Patricia’s. “So, which of those are you?”
Patricia leaned toward him, reaching for his face, cupping it, holding him gently, her eyes fixed on his. “I don’t know… one and all?” she said as she put her lips on his.
Their kiss was long, soft, and unrushed. Like the moon, it was a moment suspended in time. Slowly, reluctantly, they parted.
“Thank you for tonight…” whispered Patricia, “and pasta primavera tomorrow sounds wonderful.” She paused just long enough to take in Paul’s amused look. “I guess the huntress has left, leaving behind all the rest?” she said with a giggle.
Paul nodded and stood.
Wendy thrashed from side to side, throwing the weight of her body against the wrist and ankle restraints that pinned her to the bed. Her Samantha disguise showed a withered, shattered image of a formerly beautiful and vibrant woman, now broken and on the verge of collapse. Her skin was pale, almost gray, and there were dark rings around her eyes, her once flowy and model-styled hair now lank and matted in an oily, disheveled mess. There was no escape from her cell – one of thousands of personal, miniature Auschwitzes found across the country – no one to listen to her heart wrenching pleas for help.
With a defeated grunt, Wendy dropped back, her chest heaving from the effort, her lungs gulping for air, the skin immediately above and below the leather restraints an angry red, almost raw. She closed her eyes, letting her head roll to the side, and let out an uncontrollable sob, leading to an ear-splitting scream. Her body started to shake uncontrollably as she screamed again and again, lips trembling, tears flowing down her cheeks like little streams. Her pillow was soaked, stained.
“So, we finally witness the fall of the mighty Samantha DesJardins.”
Wendy’s eyes snapped open, her head whipping around to face the owner of the voice. She hadn’t heard the door open, but then again, she seldom did in her continuously drugged state. “Jane! Please, you have to believe me. I’m not Samantha!” she wailed, biting her lip as she choked back a sob. “Can’t you see…”
Jane stood over her, her eyes cold, void of emotion. She held up a syringe and removed the cap, a faint, contemptuous grin on her face. “You know, I’m not sure if I like this new side of you. I mean, although I did hate your condescending in-your-face, I’m-gonna-rip-your-heart-out-and-feed-it-to-the-dogs attitude, I did respect it… it showed character. This new, nonstop grovelling you… is tiresome.”
Wendy looked up at Jane, her eyes welling with tears. “Jane, please, please believe me… I’m not Samantha. I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“Oh Sammy, Sammy Sammy…” interrupted Jane, flicking the syringe needle, prepping it. She looked down at Wendy and frowned. “What, no outburst, Sammy? No threats about what you’re going to do to me? How you’re going to feed me my tongue when you get out?”
“I… I… that’s not me! It wasn’t me who said that! I’m Wendy… if you look into my eyes you’ll see the real me. Please… believe me, what’s the harm?” Wendy strained her head up as far as she could, her eyes wide open.
“Maybe I should. No harm, right?” said Jane softly, almost to herself.
“Yes, please. Thank you… thank you,” said Wendy, her eyes hopeful. “Just focus, like when you’re trying to see those 3D images in books, and you’ll see it’s me, Wendy.”
Jane nodded, feigned bending over, but stopped. “Oh wait, the last time I got too close you clobbered me. Head-butted me so hard I actually got a black eye and bloody nose, remember? So no, I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her finger in front of Wendy’s face. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Well, I’m not that gullible.”
Wendy fell back on her pillow, her eyes on the needle, wide and full of fear. Jane grabbed her right arm and lifted the syringe, ready to strike. “Look, use the straps, tie me down across the chest… anything you want, but please give me a chance!”
Jane paused, then covered the needle and placed it in the metal pan resting on the edge of the bed. Without a word, she leaned over Wendy, reached under the bed and pulled out the chest strap, stretching it over to her side and into the buckle. With a short but powerful tug, she tightened it, pinning Wendy down.
“Thank you,” whispered Wendy.
Jane nodded, there was an unspoken understanding. “My momma used to say a snake in the grass is a lot more dangerous than a roaring lion, and I think you’re a king cobra,” she hissed, grabbing the syringe and removing the cap again. “Good idea about the straps. I’d forgotten about them.”
“No! Please…” pleaded Wendy. “Call Dr. Yurka, he knows. I beg you!”
Jane stopped and looked down. For a few seconds no one spoke.
“Dr. Yurka will know when he sees me. Just call him this one time. Please…” said Wendy, the last word almost a lost whisper.
“Sorry, can’t do that,” said Jane, her voice a monotone. “I would love to, believe me. If calling him to see you would bring him back…” Jane stopped, her eyes shimmering, then took a deep breath, straightened her back, and continued, “Dr. Yurka will not be able to come see you today… or ever.” She stared at Wendy, the hate almost palpable.
“What? What do you mean? Where is he?”
“He’s gone,” whispered Jane. “Dead.”
Wendy stared, blinked, then stared again. Suddenly, her face contorted into an image of despair. “No! No! No! This can’t be! God, no!” she screamed.
Jane shook her head and jabbed the needle into Wendy’s upper arm injecting its contents. “Nice try, Sammy. Nighty, night.”
“She’ll kill you too. You have to be careful,” Wendy mumbled, her eyes already glazing over. “Take the ring… my… ruby… ring… please…”
Jane glanced down, her eyes settling on the ruby ring on Wendy’s index finger. She leaned in, her lips practically on Wendy’s right ear, and whispered, “I love onions.”
Samantha parked her Porsche on the street in front of the hospital and cut the engine. It was late, almost ten. From where she was sitting, she could eas
ily cover the main entrance and locate her target as soon as she appeared. But it was too bright, too risky. An observant person might see her, identify her. More accurately, identify her current disguise, Wendy. She let her eyes roam the street, coming to rest on the streetlight in front of her. Almost immediately, with a soft pop, the bulb extinguished causing her to be almost completely engulfed in darkness. Samantha smirked, her eyes an expression of pure satisfaction.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she whispered to herself. “But I do know where you are, and I do know exactly when you’ll stick your pretty little head out for me to squash.” A gleeful but wicked laughter erupted from her mouth, and her eyes shone red, a feral cat in the night waiting for its prey. “Any minute, now.”
Samantha drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, the seconds slowly ticking by, her face complacent. She purred softly as the seconds turned into minutes. “No hurry, my unsuspecting friend.” Suddenly, the purring transformed into a growl, Samantha’s eyes closing into slits. “There you are, my little mouse. Time to play.”
Jane walked out of the front door of the hospital, the sliding doors closing behind her. She looked weary, her shoulders drooping, but her stride was purposeful. This was a woman determined to get home fast, prepare a quick dinner, maybe have some wine, and watch the day’s pre-recorded shows. She walked down the circular path around the patient and ambulance parking and headed for the street, a non-disposable grocery bag in one hand, her extra-large purse in the other, and her mind completely oblivious to the world.
“So, today we find out what little hole you hide in. This is so exciting,” Samantha said to herself, rubbing the palms of her hands together. She continued staring at Jane as she crossed the street, and then to her surprise, Jane turned right instead of left, and continued towards her. Samantha slid down in her seat and put her finger on the ignition. “I’ll run you down right here, bitch,” she seethed. “Squash you like the little rodent that you are, but that’s not what I want… it’s not fun at all. You need to suffer, to feel what it’s like to be impotent, watch as others take your dignity away day after day like you did to me.”
Jane continued her determined pace towards Samantha’s car, no other cars between them, her eyes focused on the light blue Porsche. She lifted her purse and put in on her shoulder.
Samantha sneered and pressed the ignition. The Porsche’s engine silently purred to life. She slowly pushed the stick into gear, savoring the firm resistance of the gearbox as it engaged, ready to pounce. She grabbed the steering wheel, her fingers wrapping tightly around the leather, her knuckles white from the pressure. Then, just as she was about to pop the clutch and release the metallic beast, Jane lifted her arm and pointed at her. Immediately, there were a series of beeps and lights flashed behind Samantha. Jane had unlocked her car.
Samantha followed Jane to her place which, to her surprise, was a neat little condo in what seemed to be a nice, well-kept community. She waited for Jane to open her one car garage and drive in before driving off. There were no other cars parked outside. “I’ll be back before you know it Jane dear, and then we can play. Tonight, I have a prior engagement. My deceiving husband will be arriving home soon, and I want to be there to greet him.”
The drive from Patricia’s to his place was a blur, literally. He had never pushed the Veneno so hard, taking corners like a razor, reaching speeds that were not part of any street race – not even clandestine ones – and requiring complete focus and skill in order to make it home in one piece.
Paul pulled into his space in the garage and stopped, the engine still running, his forehead covered with sweat. He looked at the console on his dashboard. The clock read 11:19 p.m. For a moment he sat there watching the seconds tic away, then turned and looked at the cars parked beside him, his face taught, eyes hard and determined. All of them were there, parked in their usual spots, even the one he was most interested in. He let his eyes follow the sleek contour of the Porsche all the way to the back. There was only one way to find out, check the engine for heat and then confront Wendy. He had to. There was no other way. Wendy was hiding something, or at the very least she knew something and wasn’t sharing.
“I know what I saw,” Paul said under his breath. “I would recognize that walk anywhere, it was—”
As if on cue, the lights started to flicker, sending flashes of white across the pitch-black garage, a man-made lightning storm.
“Goddamned lights. I thought I asked Wendy to have them fixed. What the hell is Johann good for anyway?” Paul sat back, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Take it easy… take it easy,” he said to himself, and took a deep breath.
When he opened his eyes, the lights were still flickering, but with longer periods of darkness, followed by sudden spurts of light. Paul suddenly felt exhausted, an inexplicable weight crashing on his head and shoulders. He shook his head, but the weight only got heavier, more oppressive. He could barely keep his head up, and his eyelids felt like they were being pulled down by anchors. He tried opening the door, but his arms wouldn’t move. His brain had no control over them. Then, as his eyelids slowly slid shut, he saw her. In the midst of the flickering light stood Samantha, beautiful as ever, deadly as ever. Her hair was long and hung loosely over her shoulders, billowing gently in a non-existent breeze. She was in front of the driver’s side of the car staring at him with a demonic smile, wearing the same white, sheer lace robe as before. She pointed at him and hissed, somehow her warm and humid breath on his neck as if she were right there beside him. He could smell the floral scent of her perfume.
“I saw you with that bitch tonight. Does she know about us? Does she know you’re mine? Did you tell her what I can do to her if she doesn’t stay away?” Samantha tilted her head to the side, an amused look on her face. “Did you really think I was going to let you go? That a makeshift prison could really contain me? How naïve.”
Paul groaned softly, his mind a haze, a tangle of unclear thoughts. But he knew he had to do something. He had to wake up and warn Wendy about Samantha. What the hell had gone wrong? How did she get out?
He tried moving his arms, legs, anything at all, but his body was no longer there. He had no physical control over anything, and soon his mind would also be totally submerged. The haze was turning into a cold numbness, a soft tingle of sorts that spread across his forehead. Time was running out. In a last effort he tried to call out, but all he managed to do was whine. Even to him, it sounded pathetic.
“Oh my poor baby, always the fighter,” whispered Samantha in his ear. “But there’s no point fighting this time, your life is in my hands now. And Wendy? She’s gone, you know that. And even when she was here, she was nothing but a contemptible version of me.”
Paul tried to open his eyes with every ounce of his being. He had to break through whatever control Samantha had over him and confront her. He felt his eyelids shudder and gritted his teeth, willing himself on. At first, he couldn’t tell if they were actually open or not, but then his eyes found the luminous light of the Veneno’s console. He looked up into the darkness, his heart tight with fear, waiting for the eminent flicker of the garage light, knowing that Samantha was somewhere out there. It didn’t take long, but what he saw caused him to gasp again. Standing beside the driver’s window, wearing that infamous white, sheer lace robe, her hand on the door handle, was Wendy. She was glaring, looking at him with steely eyes.
“Welcome back,” she said in a mocking, sweet voice and opened the door. “For a second I thought you were asleep or even… oh, let’s not even think about that!” Wendy reached in and grabbed Paul’s hand, encouraging him to get up. “You really shouldn’t sit in the car in the garage with the engine running. It’s very dangerous.”
Paul’s eyes were wide open, staring at Wendy in shock and disbelief. “What? No! It was Samantha! I saw her… she was here! She did this!”
“Poor little Paul, feeling remorseful and wanting to pay his penance. Death isn’t t
he answer, sweetheart.” Wendy giggled and forcefully tugged at Paul’s arm, almost lifting him off his seat. “It’s not that easy. Samantha has to forgive you, and for that you have to love her and keep her in your heart. You will understand soon, I’m sure.”
Unsteadily, Paul got his feet, using Wendy and the car door to support himself. “What the hell are you talking about? And why are you wearing this?” he said, motioning at the robe with his hand. “Where the hell did you get it?”
Wendy smiled, a genuinely flattered smile. “Oh, something I’ve had for a long time. As I recall, you like it. Remember?”
Paul bit his lips and squinted, his eyes hard, no longer betraying the fear and confusion he felt inside. “I do remember, but obviously not in the same context as you.” He turned around and turned off the Veneno, putting the keys in his pocket. “Who are you?”
Wendy smiled. “I am exactly who you think I am.”
Patricia hobbled out of the elevator and tenderly walked towards her soon-to-be former office. She stopped at the door and allowed her eyes to linger over everything – her beige office chair because her mahogany one was delivered to the wrong floor, her deep brown, wood desk with the scratch where her envelope opener had slipped, her four-year-old computer, the impeccably clean but utterly boring gray carpeting, the way she had positioned her framed landscape photographs around the bland but expensive corporate paintings, and her perfectly stacked books – and a feeling of nostalgia spread through her. But there was also excitement. A little flurry in the pit of her stomach that was fueled by the expectation of new and unknown possibilities, especially her relationship with Paul.
“Hey, what’re you doing here? I thought you were home resting. You know, letting it sink in, only coming in tomorrow straight to your new office,” said Anna from behind Patricia, a wide smile plastered on her face. “I even rescheduled your meetings. Can you believe Mr. Blast himself sent me a memo to get your personal belongings ready for the movers? Movers! Can you believe that?”