Good Sick: A Dark Psychological Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  I shook my head. “No.” I didn’t want another religion. I wanted Good Souls. I wanted my old life back. What if Brady was right all along? The ascended girls were still missing. Nobody could prove they weren’t in heaven.

  Heaven? Are you serious, Abigail? Heaven won’t take you now! Why would you still think that?

  Shut up, I thought back. Because I’m a good person, and that’s what’s important. At least, I thought that’s what counted; isn’t that what the other religions say? Maybe there was some merit to the doctor’s idea.

  She motioned toward the couch, prompting me to sit down again. “It’s up to you, Abbi. I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t. But if you miss that part of your life, there are ways to replace it without joining another cult.”

  I filed the idea away. “Maybe, Kerri. Not now, though.”

  “All right. But will you at least call Mason and find out what was going on? I don’t like the circumstances, Abbi. I can believe that your sexual compatibility is a coincidence, but not his finding you at that club.”

  I waved my hands outward dismissively. “No. Nobody knew where I was at that moment. Except for the cab driver, I guess.” Raymond, that was his name. I remembered him. I could picture the silhouette of his face from the backseat. I could still see those kind eyes watching me in the rearview mirror.

  Then I saw them somewhere else, and acting a lot less kind: the photographer Mason scared off outside his apartment.

  “They’re the same man!”

  “Who?” said Dr. Davis.

  “The cab driver and the photographer. I could swear they’re the same person, unless I’m crazy.”

  The doctor shot out of her seat. She opened a drawer in the coffee table and pulled out her phone. She flipped through it, then showed me a picture of a man that had been taken from above. Her office window, I guessed. “Is this him?” she asked.

  I nodded, recognizing the face. He appeared different in a suit and tie, but it was him. “Yes, I think so. Who is that?”

  “He came to see me a few weeks ago. He asked about you, and our sessions.”

  I stared at the picture, at his warm smile. He looked like such a nice guy when he wanted to. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing, Abigail. We have confidentiality. I told him to come back with a court order.”

  I snorted. “Good luck with that.”

  Dr. Davis shook her head. “If he had a good reason, he could. He’s a police detective named Frank Navarro.”

  Her words might as well have been a flash grenade going off at my feet; I stumbled backward, dizzy and stunned. “That’s Mason’s partner,” I said. “He gave me the guy’s card, to call if I needed help.”

  “You need to call Mason immediately, Abigail.”

  I got up and grabbed my purse. “I’m going home.”

  Dr. Davis followed me to the exit. “Promise me you’ll call him. I don’t mean to sound dramatic, but you could be in danger. He said he wanted to keep you far away from something. You have to find out what that is.”

  “Then he’ll have to tell me over the phone. I won’t go near him, I promise,” I said.

  “Good. Call me, Abbi. As soon as you know. I don’t care how late it is. Just let me know you’re safe.”

  “Okay, Kerri,” I said. “Thank you.”

  I shut the door behind me and hurried down the stairs. I didn’t want to call from her building, or from the street: I decided to get back to my apartment as quickly as possible, to barricade myself inside and then call.

  That plan went out the window when I arrived at my building. A man sitting on the stoop stood up when he saw me. He could have been a vagrant: his thick beard reached down to his neck and his long, thin hair hung down his back. He held his hands up defensively, but his eyes possessed the same driven determinism I knew so well.

  He seemed older, worn out. Afraid. Like an animal chased into a corner.

  “Abigail,” he said.

  “Brady.”

  For a second I lost my grip on all that had happened to me in the last few months. The demons were wrong. Brady was here. The man who got me off the streets before I could sacrifice my immortal soul just to fill my stomach; the man who gave me a warm home in a peaceful paradise when all I’d known was misery and fear; the man who fought every day to save me, and preserve me for the rapture of heaven. Despite the danger to himself, my shepherd had returned, and at the time of my greatest doubt and need.

  “Abigail, can we go inside? It isn’t safe out here.”

  Maybe I hadn’t walked off the cliff. Maybe a few nights of sex was forgivable, and I could still, at long last, achieve ascension. Brady stood before me in need of shelter, as I was once placed before him. I wanted to believe this was my final test. I wanted to think that Dr. Davis and Mason and Elspeth and everyone else was wrong. They were blinded by corruption and hedonism, morality run amok in a society of sin.

  “All right,” I said, looking around. Were there agents lying in wait, ready to pounce? I didn’t see anybody, but if my experience with being recognized on the street was any guide, it wouldn’t be very long before somebody called Brady out. My appearance had changed, but he wore the same flowing white tunic and slacks I remembered.

  I keyed us into my building and led him up to my apartment. He said nothing until the door was locked behind him and he checked all the rooms.

  “Why didn’t you cut your hair or beard?” I asked.

  Peering out the window through the drawn blinds he muttered, “I did at the time. That was months ago. The world has moved on to other stories since then. We’re hardly newsworthy. That is unless one of us is wearing a dress that could have been sewn by the morning star himself.”

  “You saw that?”

  He nodded. “It’s what brought me here.”

  “What?”

  In a flash, he grabbed me and walked me backward into the wall. He held my neck tightly, forcing my chin up into the air. With his other hand, he pinned my waist. I should have taken a swing, or kicked his shins, but fear overwhelmed my rationality.

  Fear and lust. My core grew wet from the familiar feel of Brady’s rough fingers pressed against the vulnerable flesh of my neck. Years of farm work gave him strength enough that he could have lifted me by the throat and squeezed the life out of me, but he didn’t. I hated that this was turning me on; it was one thing to be betrayed by others, but now my own body?

  “Do you think I’m stupid, Abigail?” he said.

  “No. N-no,” I stammered, my voice choking and sparse.

  “No? Because I do. I’m a fucking idiot, you know that?”

  “What?”

  He loosened his grip on my neck but didn’t let go. I gasped, heaving, desperate to feed my starving lungs.

  “I said I’m an idiot, Abigail. I saw that copy of The Lookout in fucking Decatur. That’s where I was. One look, and I knew it. I knew I was turning my car around and going back for you. I drove the whole damn night without stopping.”

  “Why?”

  Brady let me go, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “You don’t know? In six years, you didn’t wonder why you never ascended? You didn’t ask why I indulged your sick desires? You can’t take a guess?”

  I slumped down to the floor, still catching my breath. Though I wanted to cry, I held it in. Fury rose in my throat: Brady was acting like he had on the night of the raid, when his darkest emotions had taken hold. Gone was the control he always exhibited.

  Sadly, I could relate. We both had our lives stripped away that day; we both were left with uncertainty and an unknown future. I’d hated the transition, but at least I wasn’t featured on the FBI’s Most Wanted list. I could hardly imagine what he’d suffered.

  “I just thought my time hadn’t come,” I said at last. “That’s what you told me. I never lost faith when I was at the farm.”

  He chuckled and shook his head. “Yeah, you were a true believer. So what happened, Abigail? You live in the city for a few
months, and suddenly you’re a highfalutin, metropolitan It Girl? How’s that work, exactly?”

  Amazingly, he sounded hurt. “It’s a sick world out here, Brady. People like to see pictures of the crazy cult girl, especially if she’s not dressed like one anymore. That’s why I loved being at the farm. I didn’t have to deal with this world.”

  “I thought it was because you liked the way I spanked you.” He lifted me by my shoulders and spun me around, planting my face against the wall. “I’m rusty, but I could give it a shot now if you want.”

  As he spoke, a switch flipped in my head and the fear disappeared like so much water down a drain. I lifted one foot then jammed it down on his. As soon as I did that, I swung my head backward, making contact with the soft tip of his nose.

  Stunned, he shouted and jumped back, letting me loose. He cradled his face as blood dripped from his nostrils.

  “I did like getting spanked, Brady. I believed you when you said it was demons, but now I’m being told it’s just who I am. Which one do you think I’d rather believe?”

  Brady shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Abigail. Good Souls is gone.”

  My cheeks burned, stung by my own foolishness. There was no going back. It was all a lie. The momentary hope of returning to the past died as quickly as it sprouted, but the withered vine remained, a testament to the power of false hope.

  “I guess so,” I said. “So tell me then: why was I there at that farm for six years? Why were any of us there? What did you do to the other girls?”

  I should have grabbed the kitchen knife and stabbed Brady after I’d stunned him, because after wiping the blood from his lips he was on me again, arm around my neck in a headlock. I beat my fists against his body, but it was like punching a tank.

  “You want to know where they went?” he said as the world darkened. “I’ll show you.”

  —

  I woke with a shot. Laying in the fetal position on a cold floor, I kicked my bare feet into a hard surface of some kind. A brief relief set in as I realized the icy tiles beneath me belonged to the bathroom in my apartment, the hard surface at my feet was the wall of the bathtub. The momentary calm evaporated as I realized my wrists were bound behind my back with something sticky and firm.

  Struggling with dizziness and my disabled limbs, I climbed to my feet and checked myself in the mirror. Aside from my neck, stained red by Brady’s hand-print, I seemed all right. However, I was no longer clothed in the jeans and blouse I wore to see Dr. Davis; now I had on the gown from the photograph. I should have been more upset that Brady had undressed me, but he wouldn’t have seen anything he hadn’t already. Though how long had I been unconscious? What could he have done…

  “Abigail, you awake?” came his voice from outside.

  “Fuck you!” I shouted, kicking the door.

  “Listen, I just changed your clothes, all right? I didn’t touch you.”

  “I don’t care, let me out of here now, asshole!”

  Brady opened the door slowly enough that I saw the gun before he came into view. Barely bigger than his hand, the weapon looked like a toy. Still, he’d practiced his shooting at the farm; he could put bullets where they count.

  Once I took my eyes off the gun, I saw a new Brady: the hair on his scalp was gone, shaved off completely, while his beard was trimmed to a neat goatee. He’d found a black sweater amongst the donated clothes I received and put it on over his tunic.

  “We’re going to my car. Stay close to me or I’ll shoot you. I mean it, all right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, though I didn’t believe him. He came all the way back for me; I didn’t think he’d shoot me now. Then again, I didn’t want to test him. “Where are we going?”

  “Shut up. Hold out your hands.”

  While keeping the gun trained on me, he grabbed the knife from the kitchen. Carefully, he slipped it between my arms, edge pointed upward, and sawed through the duct tape until I could tear my way out of it. I breathed deeply, then pulled off the split pieces, which ripped out the short hairs near my wrists.

  When I was done, Brady tossed me my purse. “Hang onto that.”

  “What, why?”

  “My car is six blocks from here and you need to seem normal, that’s why.”

  “Aren’t you clever?” I spat.

  “Been doing this a long time, Abigail. You should know that. Move.” He stashed the gun in his pocket and kept his hand close enough to draw.

  I had to delay, I had to get somebody’s attention. But I didn’t want to get shot either, so I didn’t know what to do. “How long?” I asked.

  “More than twenty years. Walk faster. You try something, I will kill you. I love you, but I will.”

  He loves me? I thought. Was that why he drove back? He had asked me why I thought I never ascended, and why he punished me, knowing I enjoyed it — he hadn’t told me the answer, though, until then.

  We left my building and emerged onto the street. “Left,” he whispered, so I turned.

  “If you love me, why are you doing this?” I asked quietly, noting the nearby pedestrians.

  “I’m a wanted man. If I try to leave the country the old fashioned way I’ll get caught. I have an escape, and you’re my ticket. You’ll see.”

  Could people tell I was under duress? Could they see the look in my eyes, the stiffness in my step? Or were they wrapped up in their own little world? Did they see, and not want to get involved? Is that really how the world worked?

  Thinking the forced march would go on forever, I barely heard Brady when he said, “This is it.” I kept walking.

  “Earth to Abbi,” he said, smiling for the sake of anyone watching. “I said this is it.”

  I turned around, donning a sheepish facade. He held open the door to an old beater of a car: the siding around the wheel wells was rusting, the hinges creaked loudly as the door swung. Small cracks split the windshield, and the ignition sputtered a few times before the engine turned.

  “Where’d you steal this?” I grunted.

  “Indianapolis.”

  As soon as he locked the doors, he reached over and popped the glove box; he took out a coil of rope. “Give me your hands, behind your back.”

  I twisted in my seat and allowed Brady to bind my wrists once again. What could I have done? And, somebody help me, I still liked getting tied. Brady’s knots were less artful than Mason’s but just as tight.

  Mason. I wondered where he was; waiting for a call from me that wasn’t coming? Meeting with Frank, figuring out how to solve their case without me? I’d never know what he wanted to keep me away from. Unless…

  “Brady, do you still think of them?” I asked as he picked up Route 78, heading west and out of the city.

  “Who?”

  “The good souls like me. The other girls.”

  “No. Just you.” He braked as a car in front of him slowed for the heavy rush hour traffic. Brady had driven the speed limit very carefully, but he clearly didn’t want to go any slower than that.

  “But do you remember them?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, most. Why?”

  “Did you have a girl named June?”

  “June? No. Why?” He turned on the radio and tuned it to the news station.

  My mind raced, trying to keep him talking. “Francine?”

  “No. I said, why?”

  “Because the police asked me about them; missing girls from the past decade. They wanted to know if we’d seen them.”

  Brady snorted, then changed lanes to grab a spot in a column moving faster. “What did you tell them?”

  “They had pictures. I pointed to the ones I recognized. Lila and Grace. Ophelia, lots more. But I didn’t know all of them. They sent me home with the files in case they jogged my memory, and I used to go through them sometimes.”

  For once I managed to lie and not tell the truth. For once it felt good. I hadn’t told the police anything; I still believed in Good Souls back then. They got what they could from Elspeth and
the others, then sent me to Dr. Davis, hoping I would open up eventually.

  “I see,” said Brady.

  “Was there an Erica?”

  “No.”

  “Annabelle?”

  “No.”

  Okay, here we go.

  “Kaya?”

  He started to say no, then stopped. “Actually, yeah. She was before your time though.”

  Just like that, I had it. I knew what Mason was after, and why he needed me. I almost laughed. At least when I went to a shallow or watery gave, I’d take with me all the answers.

  “She hasn’t called. She’s not at her apartment. He was here, Frank. She’s with him.”

  I called my partner from a burner while I worked with my smartphone. I sat in my black Mustang GT, sipping coffee, ready to move. My hands squeezed the steering wheel, eager to go, but without a plan, or a destination… Too many variables.

  “Mason, chill out. Maybe she wanted to skip town, get away from things.”

  Get away from you, is what he meant. “I guess I fucked up, huh?”

  “I told you,” Frank said, not smugly or victoriously. Just correctly.

  “Yeah, you did.”

  Taking his advice, I sent her flowers, candy and a letter. I thought she’d understand. I hoped she would call, but I wasn’t optimistic. He was right telling me I’d risk the case. Can’t argue with that.

  But I told him too: I couldn’t ignore what I felt. I couldn’t do that back when Kaya was taken; how was I supposed to start now?

  “Look,” I said. “Are you sure Brady hasn’t been spotted? You haven’t gotten anything?”

  I heard Frank tapping at the keys of his keyboard, checking the agency records. “Nothing in the past two weeks. The man knows how to hide, Mason.”

  Yeah, and run. Getting away isn’t just about running fast; it’s about knowing when to start.

  “I need to go after her,” I said. “I’m not letting this shit happen again.” I hit the ignition and felt the car roar as it woke.

  “Don’t do it, Mason. I swear to God,” said Frank. “This could be so much bigger than Kaya and Brady. I’m telling you, be patient a little while longer.”