“We seek the truth and will endure the consequences.” – Charles Seymour
Jay
Tuesday, September 6th, 2013. 07:55 a.m.
The new hotel room is even bigger than the previous one. A king-sized bed with red linen; oak tables and leather chairs. Breakfast in bed and a skyline filled with towers. I’m a queen imprisoned in a tower.
Every night I dream of X. I have visions of the past, but can’t remember them when I awaken. All I know is that I’ve seen him before. This man knows me for a reason. He was in my life for God knows how long, and I just can’t seem to remember. I wonder why.
Every morning I wake up and come to the realization that I’m still here. That he never leaves, at least not mentally. Whether I want to be or not, I’m bound to him. I haven’t attempted an escape since … forever. I can’t even remember the last time. I don’t even know anymore if I still want to leave or not. My body has been chained and taken over and over again. My mind has been drifting away. The more time I spend with him the less I can see myself being alone. Soon, I’ll feel anxiety when he’s gone.
I thought I could fight it, that I could stop it from happening, but it’s already too late. I was always too late. Like he says, I was always his.
There is no difference between now and then. Time does not exist anymore. Only me and him, this room, my body, his cravings, pleasing him. Each reward is less pain received, and so I strive to be what he desires. A good girl. His little slut. More and more I become what I am in his mind. I can’t even remember who I was before him.
No’s become yesses until I don’t know the difference anymore. His rule is law. I’m not allowed outside. Death is what follows when I don’t obey, I know that. I’ve seen it countless times. And I want to live.
However, I’m not so sure anymore that I can live without him.
X watches the television with anticipation, his fingers strumming the chair. As I sit on his lap and place my head in the nook of his neck, smelling him, I feel empty. Ridden of guilt. Not even in this world. With his hand around my waist and my naked body tucked into his, I feel nothing. I just am.
But when the television zaps to a different channel, a glimpse of a man is all it takes to incinerate the melancholia in my heart. A big bearded man with bloodshot eyes comes into the picture, someone named Al John. The news anchor says this man had been shot in the foot and assaulted with a knife, and that he was doused in some kind of acid. But the fact that this man was tortured doesn’t shock me. Or the fact that the night he was killed was the same night X went out and came back bloody-handed.
It’s the fact that I feel like I know this man.
His face brings back memories of my father talking to someone just like him, instructing him to do a job. They are mere flashes, but it’s enough to know I was right. I remember this man. And now he’s dead.
This has to be X’s doing.
X
***
Friday, October 20th, 1995
Her father blames her for everything. All I hear is him yelling at her about why she had to do that, why she had to be friends with me, why I was even around. My parents have kept me away from her and her father ever since the accident with her mother. Even during the funeral, they wouldn’t let me speak with anyone. I’ve been standing in the shadows, watching her, waiting for a chance to finally speak with her again. Nobody will allow it, but I must try. She’s my friend.
***
Wednesday, October 25th, 1995
I’m in the hall, waiting for Father to come out and talk to me. My mother told me to stay here until they were done discussing. They’re talking about me, of course. I did something bad; I went to check up on her.
When my father steps out of the room, my heart throbs in my throat.
“Don’t you ever speak to her again, do you hear me?” my father says, grabbing my chin so hard it hurts.
“Yes.”
“You will not talk, you will not even look at her, do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.”
He shoves me away and pats down his clothes. “You’re a disgrace to this family. Have you any idea what you did?”
“It was an accident.”
His hand comes down on my face before I realize it.
My cheek stings and heats up. I place my hand on top, as if that’ll protect me.
“It’s time you learned why you are here, who you are, and what you’re going to be doing.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“You will learn to control yourself and others. Lives are in the palms of our hands and we must decide who deserves to live and who deserves to die.” He goes to his knees and grabs my arms so tight it scares me. Narrowing his eyes, he says, “Accidents do not exist. Mistakes must be answered for. Come with me.” He takes my hand and drags me down the hall to a room I’ve never been in before. The door opens, the darkness behind it filling me with terror. A long staircase is all that’s visible. I have no idea what’s down there, except I’ve seen my mother and father go there often. They never invited me to join them, up until now.
My father pushes me down. “You’ll see what our family does for a living, and you’ll learn to do the same.”
***
Friday, April 11th, 1997
My father presses the gun into my hand. I’m shaking from top to bottom as he raises it to point at the man on his knees in front of me. He’s pinned against the wall with nails in his hands. I saw how they struck them through and heard his screams as he begged for mercy. He won’t find any here.
“Go on …” My father nudges me forward.
My heart beats in my throat as I push the gun against his head. My finger lingers on the cold metal trigger. I’ve seen my parents do this countless times. However, this is my first time. Can I take a life? Am I capable of that? I’m only nine years old. I knew the day would come when I would have to kill someone, but I didn’t think it would be this quick.
“Kill him,” my father whispers behind me. “You know how to do it.”
I swallow, looking at the man with tears in his eyes. “I can’t.”
My father leans down behind me. “Do you know what this man did?”
I shake my head.
“He beat his wife to death and then shot his only child because he couldn’t live with either.”
Holy fuck.
I’ve heard shit before, but never really what they did. I mean, my father always said they were punished for a reason, but usually it was a stupid one, like stealing money or unpaid loans. Not this. No, most of the people my parents work for are even worse than the ones we torture. But this guy … Wow.
“Do you think he deserves to live?” my father asks.
“No,” I mutter.
My father places his hand on the gun and wraps his fingers around mine, right on top of the trigger. I close my eyes. “We do not deal in mercy, boy, only death,” my father says. And then he pushes so hard I can’t stop the trigger from being pulled.
***
Thursday, November 26th, 1998
I can’t stop going to her house and watching her from a distance. Even though I’m not allowed, I want to see her. I miss playing with her. She seems so happy, even after what happened. Always darting about the garden, playing with imaginary friends. Sometimes I wish I was invisible so I could play with her again. I miss the times when everything was still simple. Still innocent.
She’s younger than me, so young, she probably won’t even remember anything about that day when everything changed.
We don’t work for her father anymore. After the funeral, we never came back to her house. I wonder if it’s because of what happened to her mother.
Suddenly, I’m grabbed by the neck and flung back. I scream and groan when I land on the asphalt, head first. Before I have the chance to see who my attacker is, a bag is put over my head. I scream, but my mouth is jammed with a hand as someone drags me away.
“Shut your mouth,” he says. The voice is vaguely familiar.
I’m thrown onto something soft, but it doesn’t ease my pain. A punch to the face follows. A tooth dangles from my mouth, the taste of blood lingering on my tongue. I can’t fight my attackers as they choke me and slap me. They’re much stronger than I am. Tears flow from my eyes as they punch my stomach twice. I feel like I’m about to throw up, but then the hood is taken off my head.
The brightness of the lamp above me has me blinded. A few blinks and I recognize the car I’m in, driving away from her house.
“You had to go and visit her again, huh? I told you what would happen. Next time I won’t be so merciful,” my father says.
***
Wednesday, April 16th, 2003
Screams fill the hallway, elating me to my core. I can’t count the times I’ve tortured someone anymore. Yesterday a flaying, the day before that a brutal hacking. What happened before that is all a blur. As if I want to remember the things I do to people. I’ve become immune to the sounds. Heck, I’ve even started liking it. Every time I give someone a good beating, my parents give me more privileges and money, which is always a plus. That, and they don’t punish me for making mistakes.
I’ve grown accustomed to messing with people. They are nothing but toys to play with and use until we’re done with them. My parents let me do the dirty work while they come back from time to time to interrogate my victims. I love to see the looks on their faces when they don’t give the answers my family is looking for and they know what’s coming next. Me.
Powerful, that’s what I am. I control their pain. I even control their freedom. I could set them loose, let them go, if I choose to do so. Except, I won’t, because our family lives off these things. I live because I do these things, and I do value my own life. It’s kill or get killed.
As my victim’s blood splatters on the walls, I see the lady with the dark brown hair tumbling down the stairs again. It plays over and over in my mind. Each and every time I see her as well. The girl that used to mean innocence. The girl I can never see again, because if I do, I’ll experience a fate worse than death.
When I was young I used to believe in love and happy endings. What a load of bull. It doesn’t exist.
***
Tuesday, September 6th, 2013. 9:25 p.m.
They will all pay for what they did. Just thinking about it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Looking at the USB with the video, I know this is the only way. Life will be nothing but hell for him after this. I’ll keep bombarding him with shit he’s not prepared for until he begs me to take his life.
I put the USB in an envelope and wrap it firmly before sending it off. Once it leaves my hands, excitement fills me. I can already imagine the look on his face when he sees what I’ve done with her.
I take a deep breath as I step outside the post office. It’s a beautiful day. Perfect for ruining more lives.
I’ve brought Jay to the city she once loved so much but which is erased from her memory. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Atlanta, but I still remember every corner of every street. This is where both our histories were made. If only she realized how dangerous it is to be here.
I only have a few friends here I can truly trust. I’ll have to rely on them to do my dirty work for me and keep an eye out for Jay during the times that I’m gone, like now. Not that it’s needed. She’s grown accustomed to following me and obeying me, and seems less set on escaping me every chance she gets. She’s changed, for the better. At least, for me. Every once in a while a little voice inside my head wonders how she feels about this. It quickly dissipates as well.
I get inside my car and drive toward the hooker part of town. I know where to find them; I’ve been here plenty of times before, either to kill their pimps or kill them. Or both. It didn’t matter, so long as I got paid.
When I find a suitable one, I roll open the window and signal her to come.
“Hey, pretty boy,” a woman with long blonde hair, walking in stilettos and shorts says. When she sees me for who I really am, a scarred, ugly monster, she winces.
“So um … what are you up for?” she asks.
“Not interested.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs. “What the fuck are you doing here then?”
“I’ll pay ten times what you’re offered here.”
Her eyes widen and her mouth shuts. Good. I was about to blow her jaw off just for talking to me the way she did.
“I’m listening,” she says.
“Good. Get in. We’ll talk specifics while driving.”
As she steps inside, I light a cigarette. “Name.”
“Natasha. You can ask, you know.” She shakes her head in annoyance. “So, what’s your name?” she asks.
“X.”
“What? Just X?” she scoffs.
I raise my gun and point it at her in a flash of a second. She squeals, but I place my hand over her mouth. “Listen and you’ll live. Don’t and you’re dead. Simple. Understand?”
She nods frantically as I remove my hand from her mouth, immediately locking the car afterwards so she won’t get out. “Now, you will work for me, but you must do exactly as I say.”
“Why the fuck would I work for you?” she yells.
“Because you value your life and money, and you’ll get to keep both.”
She frowns, sighing. “Whatever. Just get on with it.”
“There’s a guy; I want you to fuck him.”
She starts plucking at some strings hanging from her shorts. “That all?”
“No.” I wait until she looks at me. When she does, I take out a note with his exact address and where he’ll be at what time. “You will be there to seduce him at this exact time and place. He will be there and you will not let him go until you’ve fucked him.”
“Uhuh …” she says, frowning again.
“Make sure someone sees you.”
“Right … Is this some sort of secret orgy? I’m not―”
“You will do this if you value your life.” I hold the gun up higher again. “Now listen. Once you’re done with him, you’ll report to me immediately.” I fish an untraceable cell phone from my pocket and throw it in her lap. “You’ll call me and we’ll meet.”
“And then what? Do I get my payment or do you want more shit done? Do I look like a fucking business to you?”
“Shut up!” I say, pushing the gun to her head.
“Okay, okay!” She whimpers.
“You will do this, understand?”
“Yes, I will,” she says.
“Now this is very important, so remember it. If anyone talks to you, tell them you were used and beaten.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“Do not tempt me to pull the trigger.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“No, and if you want your payment and your life, you will do as I say.”
“Fine. Whatever. But it’ll be ten times the price.”
“Done. Fuck him. Tell people he took advantage of you. Call me. Meet me. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” she says, saluting me with a chuckle.
I hate, fucking hate, hearing that word get spewed out of her mouth. It’s like she’s trampling all over the respect I demand with it. The respect Jay willingly gives me, because she knows I’m right. She knows I will take what I need and give her what she desires. She knows she owes it to me.
But this woman … this one’s playing with fire. I’m almost tempted to blow her brains out right here and now, except I really need a complacent, replaceable, unimportant woman right now. She fits the bill.
