Good Sick: A Dark Psychological Romance

by Sansa Rayne

  “Sorry. Can’t do it. Can’t risk losing Abigail. If she’s in danger, I have to help.”

  “Mason, think. If she’s not in danger — if she’s eating cookies in front of the TV at a bed and breakfast — and she sees you, she will never trust you again.”

  “I can live with that. Bye, Frank.” I flipped the burner shut and dropped it into the cup holder. I flipped my turn signal and cut my way into traffic.

  I’ll find you, Abigail. I’m coming.

  My arms ached from the stringent position forced by the hemp cords binding them. We drove for an hour on the interstate, blending into traffic and letting speeding cars pass. Brady and I spoke little, listening to the news. I kept hoping to hear a report about my disappearance but knew it was a fantasy. Nobody would report me missing for days. Even if they did it right now, how would they find me? I hadn’t told anyone where I was going; I didn’t even know.

  When Brady exited the freeway, he followed state roads; the outside world transitioned from city to suburb to rural, and for a little while I imagined we were heading for Good Souls. A bolt of lightning blasted the sky and a second later the car drove headfirst into the storm. The patter overwhelmed the windshield wipers; I saw nothing through the glass.

  Pounding the steering wheel angrily, Brady pulled over and flipped on his hazard lights. “We’ll have to wait it out. This won’t take long.”

  “I’m in no hurry,” I muttered.

  Brady laughed as rumbles sounded in the distance. “Old habits die hard, don’t they? You think if you mouth off to me I’ll give you a whipping?”

  Is that what I had done? Was the need for punishment so ingrained that I sought it out subconsciously?

  “Fuck off. If you had just told me liking pain was normal for some people, I wouldn’t be such a fucking headcase.”

  “Yeah, you think so? I think you liked it better because it was forbidden.”

  Yeah, maybe. Because I’m sick.

  A crack of thunder made me jump, followed by a blinding flash.

  “I’d rather enjoy whippings a little less and not have to hate myself afterward for being a sinner.”

  Brady sighed. “Fair enough. So then you’ve accepted that Good Souls wasn’t real?”

  I grinned. “As a matter of fact, the first time I had sex, I shouted that it was bullshit during my orgasm.” Fond memories.

  “You what?” He laughed, hard. As if he hadn’t laughed in years. I thought about getting out and running, but I wouldn’t get far in the rain with my hands tied. I might not even get the car door open.

  “Why?” he asked, at last, wiping tears from his eyes.

  “Because I was told to. I meant it, though, at least at the time. I was having too much fun. I didn’t hate myself at all, so how could it have been bad?”

  “It was bad for me,” Brady grumbled. “Never thought you’d see me again, did you?”

  “No, I figured I probably would, except I’d be visiting you in jail.”

  Brady smiled. “I would have enjoyed that.”

  As he predicted, the rain soon slowed until it was safe to drive again, though the thunder and lightning persisted. Brady turned back onto the road and kept going.

  “If you loved me, why didn’t you say so?” I asked.

  The squeak and thump of the worn wiper blades filled the silence for a minute as Brady shook his head. He must have been debating how to answer, taking his time. Finally he said, “I had a plan. I just didn’t have enough time. The raid ruined everything.”

  “A plan?”

  “I couldn’t profess my love to you. It would have jeopardized the entire operation. Plus you wouldn’t have bought it. You’d have written it off as some kind of test.”

  “Yeah, probably. But what… operation?” The word made my skin crawl.

  “You’ll see. Now be quiet, we’re almost there.”

  —

  Brady turned onto a small, unmarked driveway. Once we cleared a line of trees lining the property I could see a building in the distance. I watched as we approached it, seeing lots of cars parked along the side of the path. Before we could get too close to what turned out to be a mansion, I noticed a security gate manned with a guard. Brady slowed down as soon as it came into sight and pulled to a stop at the entrance.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the guard said. Tall and stocky, he kept a hand on the holster of a large revolver. Unlike most of the guards I’ve seen, instead of a standard uniform he wore a thick vest over his suit.

  Is that body armor? I wondered.

  “Sawyer, you don’t recognize me?” said Brady.

  The man squinted, then his eyes went wide in disbelief. “One second.” He reached into his suit pocket for a cell phone and dialed it. Brady looked to me and nodded.

  “Yes, sir. It’s Booker. No, he’s got a girl with him… Yeah, she is… Maybe? I didn’t see the picture… Uh huh… Yes, sir.” He hung up, then drew his gun and pointed it at Brady. “Are you armed?”

  “I am.”

  “Take it out slowly and drop it out the window,” Sawyer ordered.

  Brady did as asked, and the guard claimed the gun and put it in his pocket. “Step out, and keep your hands raised.”

  I watched as Brady continued to comply; Sawyer gave him a thorough pat down, checking for more weapons. After he was satisfied, he took me out of the car and the guard did the same to me.

  “All right, Booker. Head on up to the house. You know the way.”

  “Thanks, Sawyer. Good to see you again.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  Brady grabbed my arm and forced me to walk; the ground was still wet from the rain, and the pavement glistened. I breathed in the fresh, humid air, reminded of the rich, earthy aromas found outside the city. I gazed upward, hoping to see a canopy of stars, free of the city’s ubiquitous light pollution, but storm clouds still blanketed the sky.

  As we closed in, I could see past the glare of the external lights and saw the mansion’s exceedingly modern design. Full-length, tinted windows formed the walls of both floors, separated only by thick, white columns running up the height of the structure. Across from the house, a massive, in-ground pool cast a brilliant, azure glow into the darkness. Steam rose off its surface, even though nobody was swimming.

  With my eyes set on the front door of the house, I nearly slipped and fell when Brady directed us to the right, toward the building’s side. Before we reached the backdoor, it opened up ahead of us, and another security guard ushered us inside. Without a word, he pointed to a brown, leather couch in a small waiting area, so Brady and I took a seat.

  “What is this place?” I asked when we were finally alone. I took in my surroundings, noting the clashing ornate furnishings and modern art on display, as though they’d hired an interior decorator with severe schizophrenia. Everything looked acquired and owned, rather than used or lived in.

  “This is where I take all the girls, Abigail. I bring them here, and they leave with someone else.”

  I squirmed in my bonds as an icy horror crawled across my skin. “Who?”

  “Different people. Rich people. Really rich. Do you get what I’m saying?”

  My stomach lurched; I swallowed down a mouthful of acid and coughed fire.

  “Yeah, I think you’ve got it,” he said, though there was no humor in his tone.

  “What did you get out of this?” I asked, curling my fingers against the ropes, even though I had no chance of loosening them.

  “Money, Abigail. Geez, what do you think?”

  I spat on the creamy carpeting. “The popular theories were that you were murdering us ritualistically and saying we went to heaven.”

  He nodded. “Exactly. And that’s the only reason I was allowed to drive us up here and not get shot on sight by Sawyer back there. You think a place like this welcomes wanted fugitives dropping in unannounced?”

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge the tears trailing down my cheek. I didn’t want to feel them. “So that�
�s it? You’re just going to sell me? Use the money to flee the country? Is that the plan?”

  “No, I’ve got money. It’s in the car. What I don’t have is a way out. I’m hoping I can buy passage on one of these rich guys’ private jets, or their yacht or something. But if they won’t take my money, maybe they’ll take you.”

  “Fuck you.”

  My head snapped back as Brady’s palm whipped across my face. When I turned to look at him, the taste of blood joining vomit on my tongue, he glowered like the demons in my dreams.

  “This isn’t what I wanted for you. My plan was to make enough money so that I could buy you myself. That’s why I kept you at the farm; it’s why I didn’t offer you to any of the men here, and believe me, they asked. You were going to be mine, and I was going to get out of this business, and we could have lived out our days on that farm.”

  I returned his scowl. “You put your own happiness ahead of the lives of dozens of innocent women? You’re worse than any imaginary demon could ever be, Brady. You know that, right?”

  “I know, yeah. I didn’t especially care before I met you. You changed me, if that helps.”

  Having my entire body set on fire would have felt better.

  “You might not believe me, but I helped a lot of girls in bad situations find some peace. That Kaya you mentioned? She was a drug addict when I found her. She had no family, except a brother she hated, and had nowhere to live. I changed that. I saved her.”

  I huffed in disbelief. “Are you kidding? Was she still glad when you sold her?”

  “As a matter of fact, she kinda hated being a farmer and being in a cult, so yeah, I think she was eager to move on.”

  Every instinct in my body screamed for me to get up and make a run for it; my heart pounded, and my palms were so sweaty, I tried using it to slick my wrists. I had to keep him talking.

  “Yeah, well, maybe next time you should make up a cult that doesn’t suck. Why did you do it anyway? Why create Good Souls? I don’t get what the point of it was. Did you want to be an actor back in the day? Or a priest, or something?”

  He patted my head like I was a child. I twisted out of his grasp angrily. “The men here want virgins. That’s all. They’re worth a lot more. You get just one dick in you, you’re worth a tenth as much.”

  All thoughts of escape vanished from my mind, so I stopped fidgeting with the ropes. Resigned to the expectation that I was going to die that night, only one thing mattered: taking Brady with me.

  Brady paced around the room until another man entered. Wearing a tuxedo and sunglasses, he barely appeared older than me. Gaudy gold cufflinks adorned his jacket’s sleeves, a diamond-studded cross necklace hung around his neck in lieu of a bow tie. My stomach turned as he stared at my chest. He didn’t try to hide it.

  “Aleksandr, thanks for seeing me,” said Brady.

  “I can’t believe they didn’t catch you,” the man replied. He spoke with a thick Russian accent, but his English was perfect. “You’ve got to tell me your secrets.”

  Brady laughed politely. “I’ll trade them to you, if you want. I need something from you.”

  “So I was told. Passage out of the country for you and your… friend.”

  Brady nodded quickly. “I have money; I can pay.”

  The Russian chuckled. “Everyone here has money. I think they’ll want your friend instead.”

  “Fair warning, she’s not a virgin anymore.”

  My cheeks burned, and the urge to make a leap at Brady’s throat was overwhelming. Maybe I could bite down on it and not let go, tearing his neck open.

  “Thanks for the warning,” said Aleksandr. He came up to me and lifted my chin with his finger. “Tell me, sweetheart, how many cocks have you had in there?”

  “One,” I said. He reeked of sporty body spray.

  “Just one? Was it big?”

  I smiled. “Yeah. It was really fucking big.”

  He reared back and laughed. “Sweet Jesus, Booker. How’d you keep this one clean for six whole years?”

  Brady darkened. “I didn’t think you’d recognized her.”

  “I did, thanks to the dress. You think I didn’t see those photos? Please.”

  “Sorry. I should have known.” Brady averted his gaze, embarrassed. I could have laughed; it was fun to see him squirm for a change.

  “Look, you want to ask the guests if you can pay them for a lift, be my guest. You want to barter this bitch, go ahead. As long as you’re gone by morning, I don’t care. You served my family well, Booker, but you’re a wanted man, and I can’t have you coming back. It’s too risky.”

  “Thanks, Aleksandr. I’ll be gone by then,” said Brady. “I’m sorry I had to show up like this. It’s not how I planned it.”

  “Yeah, okay. See you in twenty minutes.” The Russian turned and left, shutting the door behind him.

  “Is that your boss?” I asked, sitting back down on the couch.

  “Currently. It was his father before him.”

  “What happens in twenty minutes?” That was how long I had to find a way to kill him.

  “The party. I’m gonna take you in there, talk to all the men. See if I can’t convince them to take the money instead of you. They’ll probably be willing to overlook not getting a virgin because you’re famous. They’re gonna like that, fortunately.”

  He sat down next to me and put his hands on my shoulders, holding me steady. He planted a kiss on my cheek, holding his lips against it even as I turned away.

  “I’m sorry, Abigail. I really am, because I do love you. You believed in me like no one else; it got to me in a way I’d never experienced. You’re clever, and spirited and beautiful. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.”

  Maybe it was an old habit by that point, but I took him at his word. It didn’t change anything, of course, but at least for once I knew he wasn’t lying.

  He held me and raised his head to the ceiling, exposing his neck. “Please forgive me for what I’ve done,” he said. Was he asking me, or God? I didn’t know.

  Realizing I was living my last moments in this world — with no guarantee that I’d exist in any other — I tried not to think of what I was about to leave behind. It wasn’t a lot, but I had a friend in Elspeth, and in Dr. Davis. I had a future, going to college and becoming a therapist. And I had known love; now I understood why Mason had wanted to keep me away from this. He loved me, and gave me the greatest, purest bliss imaginable. I had less than most, but more than many, and I could live with that.

  No. I can die with that.

  I opened my mouth and planted my feet on the ground, tensing to strike. I’d only get one shot. Strangely, a sense of calm enveloped me like a morning fog.

  Here we go. Thank you, Mason.

  As my feet rose, a knock sounded from the door. Brady got up, surprised at the interruption. He pushed me back down onto the couch.

  No! Not now!

  But when Brady turned the knob, the door flung open, cracking him in the skull and sending him reeling. A man swept into the room, his face painted black like some kind of commando lurking in the jungle. A gun hung holstered from his hip, but he didn’t seem interested in using it. Instead, he grabbed Brady by the collar of his sweater and pulverized his face with a series of punches. Brady slumped to the floor, limp like a rag doll.

  “Abigail, are you all right?” the man said.

  I nearly fainted. “Mason!” Was I dead? Was this happening? Was it a vision flashing through me in the seconds before I died? Does that happen to people?

  “Abigail?” he repeated.

  “Is this real?”

  He laughed, then grabbed me and planted his lips on mine. His face smelled faintly of paint, but I didn’t care; he tasted the same.

  “It’s real,” he said. “Look, I’m sorry for everything. I really am. You can hate me later, but we need to go, okay?”

  He pulled a massive knife from a sheath on his belt and sawed apart the ropes binding my wrists. “Wait! That
’s Brady Booker!” I pointed at the bloodied man on the floor. “And he knows about Kaya!”

  Mason turned to the man he’d just beaten and his face hardened, frozen in fury. “Thank you, Abigail.”

  He kicked Brady in the gut. “Wake up!” he shouted.

  Brady groaned and coughed, shooting blood through his lips like an aerosol spray.

  Mason lifted Brady from the ground, then jammed the tip of his knife into Brady’s neck, drawing a bead of blood. “Kaya Cole. Where is she?”

  Brady sneered through teeth stained scarlet. “Fuck you.”

  “I’ll ask you one more time, then I’m cutting off some fingers.”

  I stepped up to Brady. “Hey, listen to me. If you really love me, Brady, do one good thing, all right? For me. Tell him where to find his sister. Mason, promise me you won’t kill him if he tells you.”

  Mason scowled, and the bag under his left eye twitched. “Fine.”

  “Brady?”

  He looked as though the weight of all his sins finally broke through the floor of his soul, revealing the emptiness below. “You’ll visit me in jail?” he asked me, lips trembling.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. It would be a small sacrifice to help Mason.

  Brady cleared his throat, then winced regretfully. “Tarquin Turner.”

  “If you’re lying, I swear to God I will end you,” Mason growled.

  “Tarquin Turner,” Brady repeated. “He bought her. I’m not lying. But don’t go trying to find her. I mean it. She’s not your sister anymore.”

  “What’s that mean?” Mason asked, his hands coiling around Brady’s neck.

  “She’s been gone a long time.” Brady’s laugh came out as a wet gurgle.

  Mason’s grip tightened, cutting off the laughter.

  “Mason,” I said. “Don’t.”

  He held onto Brady a second more, then let him go. Brady slid down the wall, landing on his rear, and passed out.

  Mason opened his jacket pocket and took out a mini radio. “This is Cole. I’ve got her. And I’ve got Brady Booker incapacitated.”

  “Good work,” a voice crackled in response. “Get somewhere safe, we breach in five.”