by Rod Harden
When she awoke it was morning. Somehow, she had managed to sleep the whole night in the chair bound and gagged. Mrs. Morrison was up and smoking a cigarette in her robe. The Senator was nowhere to be seen.
"Finally awake!” sneered Mrs. Morrison. She strolled over to the bound girl and dabbed a tissue at her chin. “Look at all this slobber. You're a very messy little cunt, Cunt. But as soon as Charles is done washing up, you'll serve us breakfast. And you'd better not get any of your disgusting drool on it!"
The older woman then loosened the straps that held Brenda to the chair. She also removed the leather sleeve in which her arms had been trapped all night long, but quickly folded behind her back and re-tied them.
Soon Brenda found herself shuttling between the kitchen and dining room with a tray suspended from her collar, not unlike the one she had worn on the plane as the hors d'oeuvres girl. The cook was male, and he seemed to think nothing of the fact that his fixings were being served by a bound girl.
After bringing out all the food and drink, Brenda's tray was removed and she was told to “park it” in the corner of the room. She had to face the wall and listen as the two of them ate. Mrs. Morrison continued to complain about her attitude. She also made snide remarks about Brenda's body, which she deemed too scrawny, and outlined various torments she had planned for her that day.
After several minutes of this, Brenda heard a doorbell chime, and a minute later, another female voice. “Senator, there's someone here to see you.” Brenda sneaked a peak and saw another young woman standing in the doorway dressed like she was in a frilly maid's outfit. But unlike Brenda, the other girl was not restrained.
"Tarnation!” exclaimed the Senator. “I'm not expecting anyone, am I?"
"No, sir. But the gentleman insisted that you'd see him, anyway. His name is Sanders. Thomas Sanders."
"Son of a biscuit! That boy is full of surprises. Did he go through the metal detector?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well ... Okay, fine. Send him on in."
"Yes, sir."
* * * *
Tom Sanders slept like a confident man with a plan. He woke up feeling well rested and ready to do what he had to do. As soon as he was dressed, he went up to his office and opened a hidden compartment at the bottom of one of his desk drawers. Inside was a small knife. He lifted it gingerly, as if it might spring to life when he disturbed it.
This will do perfectly, he thought. It was the very same knife he'd used to dispatch Harry Haller.
He slipped it into the sleeve of his suit jacket and headed out the door. The forty-five minute drive to the Senator's estate went by quickly, and he soon found himself inside the door waiting to be admitted.
When the petite maid returned, he followed her to the dining room, where the Senator and his wife were just now finishing breakfast. Morrison didn't even look up, but took another sip of his coffee and said loudly, “What are y'all doing here, Sanders? I told y'all my aide would call later about that trip next week."
"Well, Senator, I just wanted to stop by in person and tell you there were no hard feelings.” He took a step forward. With a slight twitch of her arm, he freed the knife from the strip of cloth that held it in place inside his sleeve. The handle now rested in his palm while the blade itself remained hidden.
"That's it? Y'all drove all this way just to say that? Now, here's what I reckon. I reckon y'all're thinking of trying to steal back your gal. But I hope that's not what y'all're thinking. ‘Cause you'd never make it out of the house with her, boy."
"Well, as a matter of fact, I was rather fond of that one ... But, no, I don't intend to ‘steal’ her back, as you say. However, if you'd oblige me, I would like to say goodbye to her, and perhaps ‘steal’ one last kiss."
Morrison chuckled. “Y'all are one strange man, Sanders. She ain't nothing special, as far as I can tell. But she's right there in the corner, as y'all can see. Go ahead and say your goodbyes. Knock yourself out."
"Thanks.” In order to get to Brenda, he had to walk just behind the Senator. As he did, he pulled the knife completely free of his sleeve, and then he made his move.
With a sudden bolt, he dashed to the corner, grabbed Brenda, spun her around and held her back against his chest with his free arm. The other hand held the knife with its blade pressed against Brenda's throat.
The Senator and his wife both rose in alarm at the swift movement. Mrs. Morrison and Brenda both let out quick screams when they saw the blade.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?” bellowed the Senator.
Sanders tightened his arm around the struggling girl. It helped that her arms were already tied.
"Mr. Sanders,” Brenda hissed nervously. “What are you doing?"
"I'm doing what I have to do,” he growled. “Senator, I hate to cause a scene in your own home, but there was just no way I could let you get away with what you did."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, there, boy. What's got into you? Just relax and put the knife away."
"No way, Senator."
"Hey, wait a minute!” exclaimed Morrison. “That's a knife! How'd y'all get that thing through the metal detector anyway?"
Sanders grinned. “Ceramic blade, Senator. Plastic handle. No metal parts to detect."
"Damn it, boy, y'all're just full of surprises. But even with that there knife, y'all can't get out of here with her."
"I told you, I don't intend to. At least, not the way you think."
"Now what's that supposed to mean?"
Sanders paused and glared across the room at Morrison. “Tell me, Senator,” he said, “is there an expression in that Texas lexicon of yours for this: ‘If I can't have her, nobody can!’”
The Senator said nothing. He stood there dumbfounded for once in his life.
Sanders tightened his grip on the knife. “I didn't think so,” he said. “Well, here's what I mean by it!"
With that, he pulled the blade away from Brenda's neck and immediately plunged in into her chest. Her scream was cut short by the impact, but Mrs. Morrison's was not. The older woman fell back in her chair fanning herself, while the Senator stood in mute shock.
Sanders held onto Brenda. He peered over her shoulder at the spreading red stain on her dress. She glanced downward as well, and then she turned her head and shifted her eyes to meet his. “Mr. Sanders...” she gasped.
He gazed at her, studying her face until he was sure she understood why he was doing this to her. Then he pulled the knife free and plunged it in again. Brenda's face twisted in pain. She gurgled, and became limp.
Slowly, he lowered her to the floor. Twin dark spots now quickly spread across the front of her dress. He wiped the blade across her belly and slipped it back into his sleeve.
Then he stood and glared at Morrison. “There!” he spat. “We're even now, Senator."
"Y—You killed her!"
"She was already dead to me, anyway, Senator. You saw to that. So now I've made her dead to you as well.” Sanders looked at the Senator's stunned wife. “Mrs. Morrison,” he said calmly, “if you'll find me an old sheet or something, I'll wrap up the body and dispose of it for you. No muss, no fuss."
The Senator nodded in agreement. “Do it, pumpkin. Get him what he wants. And if anyone heard y'all scream, just tell them I goosed y'all or something."
As Mrs. Morrison ran off, the two men stood in silence, glaring at each other. A soft moan rose from Brenda.
"She's still alive,” whispered the Senator.
"Not for long."
"We should get her to a doctor!"
"Now, do you really want that, Senator? Even with your connections, do you really want to call in the officials?"
The Senator averted his eyes, and shook his head. “No. No I don't. Just get her out of here, Sanders."
Soon Brenda's wrapped body was stashed in the back of Sanders’ SUV, and he was speeding down the road. He drove along, whistling, until he came to a deserted turnoff. He left the main road, and drove until he was well
out of sight of the rest of the traffic.
He parked the SUV, and then hopped out and opened the rear hatch. Reaching in, he tapped the shoulder of the body in the old white sheet.
"You okay, princess?"
From within the bundle came a reply. “Yes, sir. I'm fine."
Grinning, he climbed in and unrolled her. “It's all clear. Come on. You can sit up front with me now."
As he pulled onto the main road, Brenda's tongue was going nonstop about how horrible Mrs. Morrison was, but Sanders didn't even think about a gag for her. He was just glad to hear her voice.
Eventually, her babbling came full circle to the incident with the knife. “I thought you came to rescue me, and I was so happy, but God! When you grabbed me and put that knife to my throat I thought you had gone crazy, sir."
"I'm sure you did."
"But then when you stabbed me and nothing happened ... I mean, it took me a second actually, especially when I saw all that fake blood, but, well, I knew you had to be up to something."
"And I was sure you'd be smart enough to figure it out."
"So I did okay?” she said brightly. “I mean, I could tell you wanted me to play along, so I did, but I wasn't sure at first that you wanted me to die. Until the second stab."
"You were perfect, princess. In fact, you deserve an Oscar for that performance. They never suspected a thing."
"Yeah, they sure were surprised. But sir, do you always keep fake knives around just in case you need to pretend to kill someone?"
He laughed. “No, actually this is the only stage knife I own, and I've only used it once before. When I killed off Harry Haller."
Brenda gasped. “You killed Harry Haller! I can't believe—But wait ... How could you kill him with a fake knife?"
"Think about it, princess."
"Oh!” she gasped again. “You mean he's still alive? But where is he? Why would you pretend to kill him?"
"Pretty much the same reason I pretended to kill you. To get him out of trouble. As to where he is ... He's right next to you."
For the third time, she gasped. "You're Harry Haller."
"In the flesh."
"So you killed yourself?!"
"Pretty much. Made it look like an accident. A very public accident, to make sure it made the news. Followed by a convenient mix-up at the morgue, so I didn't end up in a casket six feet under ... See there was this homeless guy who just happened to die a few days before, and, well, anyway, the details aren't important."
"But how come no one recognizes you?"
"I changed my appearance. I used to have a beard, and longish hair, and glasses. It really doesn't take much to fool people. It's all in the attitude. People see what they expect to see. Harry Haller was dead, so how could the new guy be him? Even if there was a resemblance."
"Wow.” She sat quietly for a minute and then sighed. “You know, I kept hoping and wishing and praying that you'd rescue me. It was all that kept me going for a while. But when you did ... Wow! It was nothing like how I imagined it.” Suddenly, she giggled. “I guess I should thank you for killing me, Master."
"You're welcome!” he said, laughing. “Anyway, it gave me a chance to act out part of that book I'm always talking about."
"You mean ‘Steppenwolf'? How so?"
"Well, toward the end of the book, inside the Magic Theater, the fictional Harry Haller finds the girl he loves, Hermine, alone with this Pablo character, and he stabs her to death. Of course, it's a magic theater, so, as the book puts it, he actually stabs the reflection of a girl with the reflection of a knife."
"So you killed a reflection of me—and that's just how I felt in that awful house—with your own reflection of a knife. Cool!"
Sanders drove on for a while. “Hey,” he said with a start, “you called me ‘Master'..."
"Is that okay? I just started thinking about you that way when I was all alone and miserable, and—"
"Yes. Yes, it's fine. But try not to say it in front of new staff. I wouldn't want them to think I run some kind of slave camp."
She giggled and fell silent again for a few minutes. Presently, she said, “Mr. Sanders? Master?"
"Yes, princess?"
"You said that in the book, Harry Haller is in love with Hermine when he kills her."
"Yes, that's true. Why?"
"Well, I—I was just wondering, you know, if there were any other parallels between the book and, you know..."
* * * *
Brenda held her breath as she waited for him to answer. She saw his cheeks fill with color. It was the first time she'd ever seen him blush. His grip on the steering wheel tightened and for a long time he simply stared straight ahead as if his driving suddenly consumed all his attention.
She began to worry that she'd said the wrong thing, presumed too much again. She started to say something else to change the subject, or somehow smooth it over, but nothing she thought of sounded right.
After a minute, he turned and looked at her. His smile was faltering and sheepish. It lasted only a second and then vanished as he set his jaw and focused on the road again.
But she had her answer.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence. When they got back to Haller headquarters, Brenda changed quickly out of her “blood-stained” dress and joined Lindsay to learn more of her office duties.
Toward the end of the day, Sanders called both of them into his office. “Number Ten,” he said, “you're to come to my room this evening. You left the building yesterday without permission and must be punished for it."
"Yes, sir,” she sighed, lowering her eyes.
"Number Twelve, you will assist me with her punishment."
"Yes, sir,” grinned Lindsay with a wicked glance toward Brenda.
"And then you'll both stay and spend the night with me.” Brenda looked up and was greeted by a pair of smiling, mischievous eyes. “I have a little sleepover of my own planned."
"Yes, sir!" both girls giggled at once.
THE END
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