Killing Mary Jane: A Dark Romantic Thriller

by Amarie Avant

  Ryan said, “We can stay up till—”

  Bryan elbowed him.

  Wulf’s eyes narrowed as he paused the game. “What time are you supposed to go to sleep in the summer, guys? Because I know for a fact that heads would be rolling if this were a school night.”

  “Midnight,” Bryan said.

  Wulf was up in seconds, Bryan over his shoulder, as his knuckle ground into the kid’s ribs. “Midnight? You sure?”

  Bryan laughed and screeched at the same time. “Tha-that hur-hurts!”

  “What time!”

  “Ten!” Ryan caved.

  He tossed the oldest son on the couch. “You, I’m going to punish you more tomorrow.”

  Bryan held his side, his face a mixture of pain and excitement. Ryan ran up the stairs as Wulf turned to him. Bryan then took off like lightning after his little brother.

  Wulf checked the locks and went to the downstairs bedroom. A blue light was aglow. Wulf tapped softly on the door. He entered when he heard no sound. Brenda was propped up on feather pillows, the remote nestled at the tip of her fingers. She slowly opened one eye.

  “Mom, you should turn off the television.”

  “But I’m not sleepy.” She sat up.

  “You’re not sleepy?” He cocked an eyebrow.

  “No. This is the good part,” she mumbled as he gently shut the door.

  In the boys’ bedroom, the championship snore-games were going on in the top bunk. Wulf shook his head at how quickly the kids had gone to sleep. He settled in the bottom bed, pulled out the journal and the flashlight on his iPhone. Give me a clue, you sick fuck, he told himself. Tomorrow, he’d head back to Mexico. He’d search for a clue and that clue would lead him to Mary Jane, and he’d kill any man in his path to keep her safe. She deserved it.

  Today I sat and watched Mallory through a one-way mirror in the laboratory. As of recently, I’d spent much more time in the States than usual, intrigued with a woman for the first time since Linda. She worked on a set of compound functions for the newest facial cream And stopped to answer her cell phone. Thinking everyone was gone for lunch, she put her sister on speaker phone.

  Megan attempted to interest her in coming to dinner with her parents. Her father did not agree with her choice of fiancé. It curdled my stomach as Mallory mentioned requesting time off from her internship for marriage and possibly for pregnancy. That beautiful mind of hers deserved more than being entrapped with a disgusting disease. People call children bundles of joy. I call them useless parasites.

  As they giggled and chatted, Mallory paused mid-conversation. I heard the sound of a printer and became infuriated. She had crossed the line. The chem interns had signed a contract. No Grienke materials were to leave the office without being signed off—which would never occur. Just as Mallory told her sister she’d have to give her a call back, I stepped out of the private room.

  The beautiful bird trembled when she saw me. Schemas firing off in her brain as she worriedly attempted to explain that there were vast errors in one of my chemical compounds. Little did she know, that day, I had specifically exchanged the interns’ usual curriculum for that of an older model compound for my beta brain blocker.

  I explained to her my brilliant plan and how I’d rewritten the formula which initially caused cancer. She did not understand when I mentioned that the decreased timeframe I now used on humans was a lot safer since its invention.

  Wulf stopped reading.

  Skin cancer.

  He continued to read each word of Peter’s convoluted story. If Mallory hadn’t the intelligence to understand the dangers of his initial brainwashing program, Peter would’ve never seen fit to make her his wife. The man spared no expense with detail. Making it seem as if he were saving Mallory by brainwashing her. They were supposed to run his empire without the assistance of his silent partner, Linda Curbelo. He anticipated that her ability to make said inferences meant she could assist him in creating an even better version.

  However, Peter’s Mallory became depressed after her so-called drug addicted sister continued trying to see her. The beautiful wife that Peter had groomed became unwanted. He sent her to Beasley, the man that orchestrated his entire scheme of brainwashing affluent women. This time the genius thought he’d eradicate all her memories and save her from Beasley. Mary Jane never gave her husband the chance to screw her over again.

  But all things considered, Peter Grienke had ruined her entire life.

  It was a little past midnight when Wulf’s cell phone buzzed. He knew he needed to stop reading the journal for the night and prepare for a drive down to Mexico. He got out of the bed quietly so as not to ruin the boys sleep, and then answered it while checking in on Bree.

  “What’s up?”

  “We’re stuck in traffic. Been about an hour,” Quincy grumbled.

  Shelly chimed in, “You know how the construction workers like to further convenience people in the day. Well, they chose to shut down the entire freeway connector tonight, so we’re taking the streets.”

  “All right, everything’s good here.” Wulf closed the door to Bree’s room. He finished sweeping the entire upstairs. When Wulf ambled down the stairs, he noticed the light was on in the kitchen. Brenda’s bedroom door was cracked, the television still on. Maybe she’d had a late night craving. He remembered how uncomfortable he felt each time he went to a stranger’s home as a child. She’d been the only foster parent to actually not argue with him for staying up. She’d warmed him milk as he regarded her with an attitude.

  “It’s a given that you couldn’t keep MJ safe,” Jake said, placing Brenda’s homemade cookie back onto the napkin as he sat at the breakfast nook. He rose from his comfortable position. The blood splatter on his boots told its own story.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Jake?”

  Jake shrugged. “I’ve decided to tie up some loose ends before saving MJ.”

  “And what makes you think she needs saving?” Wulf asked. On the inside, he was trembling with a plethora of emotions. Did the blood on Jake belong to his mom, Brenda? He warned himself to distance any emotion and use strategy. He’d go the old question ‘em route. The shorter man was of a stockier build. Jake had the upper hand of being fully dressed. Those boots were a weapon in their own right. Jake could possibly conceal weapons too, while Wulf was in basketball shorts and a wife beater.

  Jake shook his head. “My Mary Jane. She was just foolish enough to run off with a man that couldn’t save her. How the heck did she end up with those two fuck-offs?”

  “Who?” Wulf growled. The two people who abducted her?

  “Tommy boy and my girl, Ames.”

  Tiny ants swarmed over his body. “Where are they?”

  “The more appropriate question is where is MJ? At the moment, the Blackwoods are being processed in the county morgue. I have three minutes.”

  Three?

  When Jake lunged at him, Wulf grabbed the wood dough roller off the table. He hadn’t even laid eyes on it in Jake’s presence. Knowing the crazy psychos Beasley had on payroll, Wulf had to stay one step ahead. He bludgeoned Jake over his left temple. A blow that would send any normal being unconscious. The roller broke in half and only angered Jake. The stocky man bent low and went in for a body shot, ramming Wulf into the countertop. He railroaded into the edge of the granite, which sent a spasm of fire down the nerve endings in his spinal cord. Wulf double-fisted Jake against his lower back.

  They separated, catching their bearings.

  Fist met fist as Wulf’s right knuckle slammed against Jake’s left. Pain radiated through Wulf’s fingers. Jake wrung his left hand with the same bone crushing sting.

  Wulf went in for a power kick that dropped Jake to his knees.

  “Wow, this motherfucker is getting active!” Jake laughed, holding onto his gut. Blood spat from his mouth as he winked. “Is your motivation the fact that MJ is mine, or are you fighting for your old Mama in the last room on the left?”

  “What
did you do to her?” He lunged toward Jake’s throat. At the sound of sirens, they both turned around. When he went in for the kill, Jake was slipping out the back door in the kitchen.

  Wulf ran out and down the two-step porch. His hands slammed against the cinderblock wall. He was over it in seconds.

  Bright lights lit up the place and flashlights, laser beams from rifles pointing at him. The defense team was more than professional and accompanied by LA’s finest.

  His hands went up. It was dark enough that they couldn’t see him clearly, probably mistaking him for Jake.

  “Stand down,” came the soft and commanding voice of Special Agent Ariel Juarez. “I take it Jake got away.”

  Wulf finally slumped, feeling like he’d been run over by a semi.

  “Search the fucking perimeter, guys,” Agent Robertson ordered. He then flanked Ariel’s left as their unit retreated to search for Jake and the LAPD officers slowly observed the surrounding areas.

  “Congratulations, Wulf,” Robertson said. “You’ve fought with Jakob Woods and lived to tell the story.”

  “Yes. Tell us the story?” Ariel asked with a raised eyebrow as she followed him toward the backyard door. They entered the grassy area and up the porch steps, back into the kitchen.

  “Wulf, you need to sit with us and talk!” Robertson shouted.

  Now, Wulf was not only plagued by tiny little, flesh eating ants, but a sinking feeling clinging to his gut. Images of a lifetime with his foster mom flashed through his mind as he hurried down the hall. The day he’d committed the ultimate no-no and he’d assumed she’d tell him to kick rocks… Tears formed in his eyes thinking of that day. He could care less that two FBI agents were trailing him as he turned the knob to her bedroom door.

  “Don’t ask me what I was doing. You know I was getting ready to steal your money, Ms. Miller. You going to send me back now?” Thirteen and reckless Dylan asked. All he wanted to do was go to the group home, but his social worker continued to refuse.

  Brenda stared at him as he stood next to her purse on the nightstand of her bedroom. The clouding of her eyes, he’d never seen before. It finally registered; Brenda looked at him with disappointment. He’d never seen it before.

  Shelly stepped into the room. “Brenda, please don’t send D back.”

  “We are having a discussion, Shelly. Leave the room please,” Brenda finally spoke, never turning around or taking her eyes off him.

  Wulf’s other foster brother shook his head as he and Shelly made their retreat.

  Chin high, chest puffed out, he was ready to tell her he didn’t give a damn where she dropped him off. His lips bunched together as Brenda’s eyes watered.

  “Dylan, I apologize that you even think you’d need to take without asking. Son, how much money do you need?”

  “What?” Dylan asked.

  “You heard me correctly.” She took the purse from his waiting hands and pulled out her coin pocket. “How much and what for?”

  “Nothing,” he hastily replied. Yeah, he’d seen this before. One of the foster kids at a few placements prior to Brenda’s told him the game about the foster parents that played nice. They’d turn right around and accused her of stealing money. “Man, I don’t need anything from you.”

  “But that is where you are wrong,” Brenda said, looking him straight in the eye. “You need money for the football team. I’ve been waiting for you to ask. Next time you will, won’t you?”

  He glared at the money that she tried to hand him. Brenda knew the exact dollar amount for new cleats. Still his face was hard with disinterest. Why did she care?

  She cleared her throat.

  “Thank you,” he mumbled, taking it and shoving it into his pocket. He turned to pass by her, but she stopped him with a hug.

  “More than money, you need to know that you are cared for and you are loved, son. You can’t give out any more love than you’ve received…I plan to change that.”

  Wulf’s heart raced. He pushed the door open. Every fiber in his body screamed to murder Jakob Woods as he looked inside. Seated in a rocking chair, Brenda gave him a look that could kill.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to knock before coming in my damn room! Oh,” she paused. “I thought you were Bryan. Ryan learned his lesson one morning before I had put on both my bras. But we both know that you know better, Dylan. And who are these people?”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” He quickly closed the door.

  She continued to gripe as he escorted the two back into the kitchen. He took a seat on the booth at the breakfast nook, trembling like a boy.

  Juarez snapped, “We have a situation, Mr. Wulf. You and Ms. Portman-Grienke were to keep in touch. Now—"

  Wulf asked, “What happened to the Blackwoods? Jake said he had approximately three minutes.”

  “Jake called the cops while from outside of this house about murdering them. He has this fetish with being truthful to dispatch. Now, where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Woods has killed six women with the given name Mary Jane. Each murder has escalated. There’s only a matter of time before he strikes again. Why don’t you tell us what happened to her?” Juarez asked.

  Wulf glared at her. While he felt sorry for the other woman, something in their demeanor wasn’t right. They planned to feed Mary Jane to the ex-militia wolf to stop the bastard from killing more women, with her given name. Feigning disinterest, he mumbled, “We parted ways.”

  “We have six Mary Jane deaths on our hands. Should the next Mary Jane’s death be on your hands, your conscious? ‘We parted ways’ is not going to cut it, Wulf,” Robertson warned. “The Blackwoods just came home from Mexico. I’m betting that is where you and MJ were on a short honeymoon of sorts. Pardon me for coming up with my own conclusions. Oh, let me warn you. If I have to resort to figuring out everything on my own, this team we have going won’t be a pretty one.”

  “Team?”

  “You’re coming with us.” Juárez nodded.

  Before his brain had a chance to formulate a reply, Shelly’s screaming broke through the night as she shouted for her mom and children. “Where are my kids? Where is my mom?”

  She, along with an arsenal of uniform cops and Quincy, came through the door.

  “Touch me and I’ll beat your ass,” Shelly screamed at the officer who wanted to keep a barricade.

  “It’s all right.” Ariel nodded to the cops.

  Brenda appeared at the kitchen doorway. “What the devil is going on?”

  Shelly ran to her mother.

  Wulf turned to Quincy, since his sister was still overwhelmed with emotion. “We’re leaving now.”

  Quincy gave Wulf a look that only he could read.

  “Dylan,” Brenda began, worry lit the depths of her dark brown eyes. “Why are you leaving with these people?”

  “I have to find Mary Jane. These agents have come by for my assistance,” he said, looking at Robertson.

  “I-I don’t like this,” Shelly murmured.

  “Your brother knows how to watch his nine.” Quincy gave his wife a confident smile.

  “Shush, Shelly,” Brenda said. She nodded for Wulf to come give her a hug. She said a few parting words in his ear before he left. Words that would stay on his mind for a long time.

  49

  “Why would I stay at a place that we planned to make our home?” Wulf glared at Robertson who sat in the back seat beside him. Agent Samuels was driving the unmarked Suburban, and confirmed to Juarez, who was in the front passenger seat, that he’d personally made an attempt to find them at Wulf’s home in Claremont while they were in search of him. He’d bought it after making lead in the LAPD Gang Unit. Yet, Wulf spent more time at work, and often even stayed with Brenda, which was before Shelly and Quincy moved in due to her bad hip.

  “Like I said.” He stuck to his guns. “Mary Jane and I planned to settle down in my house. That was before Linda Curbelo paid some goons to kidnap her. My old partner
has been assisting me with trying to get her back. Curbelo said no cops, no Feds, nothing.”

  Robertson glared him up and down. They didn’t have to know Curbelo had sent him the package. He determined that they weren’t as dumb as they appeared, seeing that they also knew of her.

  “So you’re telling us, when Ms. Portman-Grienke was taken in Mexico, Curbelo gave you a note to return to Los Angeles? No ransom?”

  “Why would she need to ransom MJ? Peter is obsessed with her. They’re fucking with me, because I’m aware of something they don’t know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Mary Jane only married Peter because he took her. She was his intern. She found out about the cancer in his facial products.” He paused, searching for any cue from the half-lie he’d just told. “Okay, so that lack of response on your end signifies that you guys don’t give a fuck about that. That you just want Mary Jane for—”

  “The Grienke products are no longer on the market, Wulf,” Robertson growled.

  Wulf laughed as Samuels sped down the 10 freeway.

  “What’s so funny?” Ariel snipped out each word.

  “You guys. Covering up everything, I see. Mary Jane would often feel so much guilt over not saving the women who were left stripping at The Petting Zoo. What did you all do? Erase their minds again, make them forget that fat fuck?”

  Silence.

  “You did. Mary Jane’s memory is coming back. Her true memory. That’s how I became aware that Peter wouldn’t let her go one evening when she was interning. She’d been brainwashed, then she’d been his good wife. Now she’s remembering shit. Just like the women I’m sure you’ve fixed. Fixed like fucking animals. You people are ridiculous!”

  The ride was long and quiet. Wulf calculated how much money he had in his pocket. He almost laughed, recalling how Mary Jane bashed him for not wanting to hotwire Pastor Tobias’s truck a year back. He’d have to do that tonight and get away from these idiots.

  Wulf spouted off the key code for the gated community where he lived. They began to pass by stucco homes of various shades of beige with neatly kept yards. Samuel pulled into the driveway, and Wulf got out. As he anticipated, Robertson followed him to the front door. He opened up the door and the fresh scent of Pine-Sol keyed him to the fact that his once-every-two-weeks cleaning lady had made a recent trip. Wulf started down the hall toward the alarm.