Control
Authors: M. S. Willis
CONTROL
By M.S. Willis
This is a work of fiction
and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or
occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created
from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Control:
Copyright © 2013 by M.S. Willis
Cover:
©2013 by Jason L. Lee
All
rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced,
scanned, distributed in any printed or electronic form or used in any manner
whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the
use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN
978-0-9894479-0-4
Control is dedicated to John and Mary Ann Willis
They are loved and missed every single day
“Paige, baby, run outside and play for a little while. Daddy
and I need to attend to our new guests who are arriving shortly. It’s
best you remain out of sight.”
Those were the instructions given to me each time a new woman
arrived to The Center – an abused woman’s facility operated by my parents in
the Florida panhandle. They always attempted to shelter me from the sight
of the new arrivals as they entered through the large double doors at the front
of the facility.
My curiosity got the better of me after the first dozen times I
was sent away; and on one particular day, I ignored Momma’s instructions and
found a small hiding place in perfect view of the entrance.
When those large, foreboding doors opened, the sunlight flooded
the entryway, backlighting the petite woman walking through. I was
momentarily blinded by the change in light and I could only make out her
silhouette as she entered. I rubbed at my eyes to adjust my vision and I
gasped when she came into clear view.
Her head hung low and her small frame was folded in on
itself. Her eyes were swollen and bruised and they held no life in them;
almost as if her soul had left her physical body, leaving only a shell
remaining of the woman she had once been. One of her arms was tucked into
her body by a sling and my father walked in behind her carrying a single
suitcase containing the only personal belongings she had left in the world.
My five year old eyes were opened wide at the physical marks she
wore; reminders of a battle she had recently fought. My heart broke for
her as I took in the sight. It was then that I noticed a smaller form
tucked discreetly behind the woman’s legs. A boy who looked to be my age,
or maybe a few years older, shyly glanced around at his new surroundings.
Momma approached the boy and held out a stuffed animal as a
welcome. His little body tensed at her approach and I couldn’t understand
why anybody would be scared of Momma. When his face came into view, I saw
the reason for his hesitancy. His face and arms were marred with ugly
bruises and I wondered how he had been hurt so badly. His mother’s good
arm reached around to comfort him, to let him know he was safe and secure in
their new environment.
“It’s okay Buddy. These people will help us. I promise
we’ll be safe here.”
Buddy. I didn’t know at the time how much that small, shy
boy would end up affecting my life. After his arrival, I left him alone
for a few days despite my growing curiosity and want for a new friend. He
warmed up to me eventually and soon, we clung to each other as only best
friends could. Momma called us ‘soul mates’, but I never understood what
that meant. All I knew was that in the short amount of time I had him in
my life, I would have done anything for him. I loved him almost
immediately when I met him. He teased me relentlessly as any young boy
would do to a girl, but he never let me cry or refuse to fight back. In
his own way, he was teaching me to defend myself, to guard my heart, to endure
in a world full of pain and abuse; the only world he knew.
On my sixth birthday, Buddy’s mom died. The violent manner
of her death was enough to traumatize any person, but especially a child.
We clung to each other as we witnessed her death. But that wasn’t the
worst part. Buddy was taken from me that day and I barely had enough time
to make a pact that we would find each other again. I gave him the only
thing I had as a reminder of our pact; a delicate dragonfly necklace that was a
gift to me on what should have been a happy and special day.
My innocence was shattered that day and walls were built around me
that would never allow another person close to my heart. The heartache
was too much to bear. The loss of Buddy was too much to endure.
Maybe it was a mixture of that day and the constant reminder of
pain that existed within the walls of The Center that did this to me. I
never again allowed anybody close to me; never relied on another person for
anything; never trusted that my heart wouldn’t be broken if it opened to another
person.
The psychologists said that it was normal for me to hold onto
Buddy’s memory as tightly as I did. They believed the trauma of watching
his mother die was a turning point in my young life. They believed that I
would eventually outgrow the attachment I had to him.
I didn’t. I carried Buddy’s memory into my adult life.
I still hoped he would return one day to find me as he promised he would.
Maybe that makes me crazy. I don’t care. I’m
safe. I rely on myself like Buddy taught me. If I fall down, I pick
myself up and keep going. I don’t feel sorry for myself, but rather, I
fight. No person can break me the way I’d seen those other women
broken. Buddy is the person who I have to thank for those hard lessons
about life.
I grew up independent. I
grew up strong. I didn’t mind being alone because I was whole within
myself. Except for that one part; the part that left that day with my
best friend, with my only love, with my Buddy.
Well,
well; check this jackass out.
I
laughed to myself while I slouched down low in a company car and watched Mr.
Marcus Weber water skiing on the lake in front of me. I pulled out my
video equipment and began recording as he shot back and forth over the wake being
kicked up by the boat; catching air and landing hard each time he crossed.
I’m
working as a private investigator and I’m conducting surveillance on a trick
skier who, according to his bodily injury lawsuit, should be laid up in bed
with a neck brace while doped up on some pretty decent pain killers. This
case is just one of the many I have performed doing contract work for an
investigation firm in town. I enjoy the job but it isn’t one I ever
imagined I would one day be working. While attending college completing
my degree in humanities, I applied for a job with the company as a part time
receptionist. I eventually worked my way up in the company to the intern
investigator position. After two years of training, I was a full-fledged,
licensed PI. I completed my humanities degree, but quickly learned that,
in reality, the degree was worthless unless I wanted to spend my life traveling
with the local renaissance fair. Since dressing as a wench and slinging
beer to tourists wasn’t really
my thing
, I accepted the training and
agreed to work for the company while I decided what I wanted to be when I grew
up. Don’t get me wrong. For all intents and purposes, and according
to Florida Law, I was 22 years old and considered an adult. However in my
head, I was still as lost as a freshman on her first day of high school.
Being
an investigator wasn’t bad. It paid the bills, I had a flexible schedule,
and it fed the curious side of my nature. There were days when I
pretended like I was James Bond, and other days when I pretended I was a super
spy ninja. I haven’t yet attempted cartwheeling myself in to get the
money shot, but I have every intention to do so in the future. I’m just
waiting for the perfect moment and I know that when that moment presents itself,
I will miraculously not be a total klutz.
I set
my small camera on the dash of the car and reached over for the burger I bought
myself on the way over to the lake. I continued to watch Mr. Weber ski
his little heart out. I will be the first to admit the guy is impressive.
Even when he falls, he does so gracefully. I’m completely amazed that
even with his back injuries, this guy is able to move so fluidly on the water.
His physicians should seriously consider using this guy as a success story and
flaunt his amazing recovery as a testament to their ability to heal.
This
particular case is not so bad. It definitely tops last week’s case when I
had the privilege to conduct a three day surveillance gig following a
construction worker. At ten hours a day for three days, I calculated I
got to watch thirty exhilarating hours of scratching. That poor man spent
his entire day scratching; scratching his head, scratching his arm, scratching
his ass and scratching his crotch. At one point he even pulled a wildlife
move and scratched his back on a post. It was like watching the Discovery
Channel. I was supposed to be looking out for a supposed shoulder injury
suffered on the job. After the thirty hours were up, I realized Mr.
Construction Worker was probably telling the truth about his shoulder.
Only problem was, if his shoulder was actually injured, it had to be the result
of the non-stop scratching. You don’t know how many times I had to stop
myself from running over to the store and buying the man a little monkey
backscratcher or a flea collar. But that would blow my cover. So I
didn’t.
I ate
my food and continued enjoying Mr. Weber’s acrobatics for close to two hours
and decided to pack up and move along when it looked like it was time for him
to come back to shore. I drove to my main office to drop off the
equipment and car. Being that it was a Saturday, nobody was at the office
and that was fine by me. Although I got along with my co-workers for the
most part, I wasn’t feeling very sociable today. Scooting on out of there
without having to hear about the receptionist’s boyfriend problems or having to
side step the romantic advances of the new video editor was a plus.
After
stowing away my equipment, I grabbed my helmet off my desk and made my way back
down to the parking garage. I threw my hair back into a quick, messy
braid, pulled on my helmet and climbed onto my bike. I turned the
ignition and sat there for a moment warming up the bike and enjoying the echoed
rumbling that spread through the deserted garage. I pulled out of the
garage and turned left to go to the apartment I shared with my two best
friends, Annie and David.
Fortunately
for me, my apartment was only five minutes from where I worked and I was
climbing the three flights of stairs up to our place in no time. The door
was open and I pushed my way in to find Annie, David and my other friend, Alex,
sitting in the living room arguing over what they should be watching on
T.V. Annie was arguing her case for the latest reality show, while David
was emphatic that he couldn’t miss the newest episode of one of his many
fashion shows. Alex kept interjecting that Annie and David needed to let
reality T.V. go and allow themselves to enjoy the zombie flick that was on the
screen. Being that Alex held the remote, and the fact that he had at
least 50 pounds of pure muscle on the both of them, Alex was clearly winning
this argument.
“Damn
it you two, can you shut your mouths for one second so I can hear what’s going
on in the movie?!”
David turned
to Alex with a scorned look on his face and then crossed his arms to emphasize
his disapproval with Alex’s choice in entertainment. “Sure Alex, because
missing even a second of this riveting dialogue and images of blown up body
parts is really going to ruin the whole plot. I’ll tell you how it
ends…they ALL die.”
Annie
giggled at David’s remark and added “I mean really. There was a zombie
apocalypse. Do you really think that even if they survive the fight, they
aren’t going to end up dying later when they run out of food and clean water?
It’s an apocalypse, there is no one left to maintain civilization. Do the
main characters really think they are going to be able to survive for long?!”
Alex’s
jaw dropped and then closed again. “See Annie, that right there is the
attitude that will get you killed
when
the zombie apocalypse does
happen. And
when
it happens, don’t look to me to save your ass
because I can tell you now, I don’t need Mrs. Pessimism slowing me down.”
Alex shot Annie one of his signature smirks and returned his attention to his
zombie flick.
Oh.
Dear. Lord
.
My body
started to tremble.
Not the
zombie apocalypse debate. Anything but that. Horrifying images of the
‘Great Zombie Debate of 2012’ started flashing through my head. Five,
count them, FIVE weeks of non-stop zombie arguments. Notes left on
tables, marathon text messaging from across the room, shouting matches at 3:00
in the morning. The worst was when they got creative with the fake body
parts left in showers and singing telegrams performed by the creepy zombie
clown. I was the unfortunate victim of that particular message and to
this day I have to restrain myself from hiding behind furniture every time
someone knocks at the door.
I
attempted my best invisible impression and started heading to my bedroom to get
a shower, silently chanting my magical mantra as I went.
I’m
invisible, I’m invisible, I’m invisible…
“Paige!
You’re home!” Alex yelled. “Come here for a second, I need your
help convincing our dear friend Annie here that she needs to seriously consider
her plans for when the zombie apocalypse happens.” Alex shot Annie a
pointed look.
Crap.
I
turned back to look over at their expectant expressions and moved back towards the
living room. Alex jumped up from his chair, grabbed me by the hips and
pulled me back down to sit on his lap. I shivered when Alex wrapped his
muscular arms around me and nuzzled his face into my hair. Even though
Alex and I were only “friends”, our arrangement also included “with
benefits.” We dated for a short period after meeting in college, but I
had to break it off after realizing Alex was looking for an eventual housewife,
and I was anything but that. Having been raised in the Center and with my
past experiences, I had become cynical when it came to the idea of happily ever
after. I held on to my independence like it was as necessary to life as
breathing. But even though I knew I could never have a relationship with Alex,
I saw no problem with continuing the “benefits” portion while we were not
involved with other people. We’ve had these benefits for two years now
and I’m very pleased with how everything has turned out. Alex is
incredibly beautiful and he is somehow directly linked to my southern
regions. If a girl has to have a benefits situation, having one with jet
black hair, silver eyes, a chiseled jaw and a body that is so wonderful artists
should memorialize it in sculptures, is a preferable situation.
“So,
tell Annie and David here why they need to prepare for the upcoming
apocalypse. I believe it’s safe to assume that the CDC is aware of this
information but is hiding it from us for fear of starting a public
panic.” Alex paused and looked up at me with a smile that could drop
panties from here to New York City.
I shook
my head and muttered “I’m not doing this Alex.”
“Why
not?!”
I
pushed myself up from Alex’s lap and turned to point to the three of
them. “No! This is not starting again.” I was using my best
authoritative voice for this speech. “Don’t you three remember last year and
the great debate of which we will not speak? One of you,” I glared at
Alex, “decided a zombie clown, a freaking ZOMBIE CLOWN, was a good method for
passing along a message. And who was the innocent victim caught in the
crossfire? Me! Do you know how much the therapy cost me?
Psychologists aren’t cheap!”
Alex
started to snicker and I kicked him in the shin. “Ow! What the hell
Paige?! Come on, it was funny. Just admit it.”
My
anger knew no bounds. I turned to Alex and started a full on
assault. Kicking, slapping, hair pulling, you name it. Alex just
started laughing and things got serious. “That’s it Alex, I’ve had it!” I
ran to Annie’s room, threw open the door and snatched the stuffed pig from her
childhood collection. I ran back to the living room and threw the pig
into Alex’s lap. Alex let out a scream that I wouldn’t describe as
masculine and tossed the pig as far across the room as he could.
“Not
cool, Paige! I have a phobia that I told you about in confidence, and
then you turn around and use that information to torture me?” He let out
an exasperated huff and ran his hands through his messy hair. “Seriously,
you owe me an apology.”
My face
must have been a scarlet red by this point. “I owe YOU an apology?!
You?! I was musically assaulted by a ZOMBIE CLOWN!! That just
happens to be MY phobia. What do you not understand about that?” I
started pacing the living room to keep myself from continuing my former assault.
It was
obvious Alex was trying to contain his laughter. “Number one, I didn’t
know you had a phobia of zombie clowns and number two, the clown wasn’t
intended for you and number three, it was funny.” He chuckled. “I can’t
be blamed.”
I threw
my arms up in defeat. “Fine. If you three want to argue over the stupid
zombies again, that’s fine. Just leave me out of it this time.”
“So,
why the fear of pigs, Alex?” David interjected.
Alex
shuddered and sat back down in his chair. He sighed and then explained
his traumatic story of being chased by a pig while visiting his uncle’s farm
when he was a kid. One of the pigs had escaped its pen and for some
reason it had a strange attraction to Alex. Alex apparently ran from the
animal for a half hour straight before someone finally came out and saw what
was going on. They thought it was the funniest thing in the world because
they had never seen a pig chase someone like that before. Alex was never
the same after that incident.
When
Alex was finished recanting his traumatic tale, David and Annie were
silent. Within seconds they burst out in coordinated laughter and tears
ran down their faces from the force of it.
“Shut
up guys! It’s not funny! I’d like to see what either of you would
do if you were chased by a rabid pig!” They laughed harder and started
clutching their sides from the cramping.
I
started back towards my bedroom and shouted to them over my shoulder. “Well,
this has been a good talk guys, really, but I need to get a shower and get
ready to go.” I walked in my room and locked the door behind me. I
was sweaty from my earlier stakeout and needed to rinse myself off. Even
with air conditioning, a parked car in Florida can feel like an oven. I
stripped off my shirt, jeans and underwear and then turned on the water.
While I waited for that to heat, I reached in my closet and pulled out some
clothes to wear to the club.
When
steam started billowing out from the bathroom, I jumped into the shower.
My muscles immediately relaxed on contact with the hot water. My shoulders
dropped and an automatic sigh escaped my lips. I stood there for a few
minutes enjoying the instant relaxation and then grabbed the shampoo. I
lathered up my hair and was turning around to rinse.
