Twisted Endings 2: 5 Acts of Vengeance Page 5

  He set his sign down and reached a hand into the car. I grabbed it and shook it. “”Look,” I said, “I don’t know who you are, but you deserve better than this. I want you to take this money, clean yourself up and buy a suit. There should be enough there to get yourself a room somewhere for a couple of weeks.” I reached back into my wallet for a business card and handed it to him. “My name’s Jake Mason. I’m the owner of Mason Investments. Come to this address any time and you’ll have a job.”

  He said his name was Able. Or Albert. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again, but I respect any man who’s fought for our country.

  That night I slept for the first time since Samantha died. She was the love of my life. I was supposed to die in the car accident but life is funny. She had always wanted me to be more open and caring. Now something was released inside of me that would allow me to be that person. The person Samantha always wanted me to be.

  And then I began to look for people who needed help. I knew it was the one thing that would make me whole. The one thing that would allow me to sleep. I’m not a superhero. I don’t have many talents. But the one thing I do have is money. Lots of money.

  The next morning I was driving through a secluded area of town. Most people would call it the country. On the side of the road was a red pickup truck with its hood up. A young woman was bent over the engine.

  “Do you need help?” I asked when I pulled up alongside her. I could see that she was only a teenager. Maybe 16.

  She looked up at me and shrugged. “My engine’s shot. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.”

  “I can help,” I said. I pulled in front of her and got out of the car, keeping my distance. I didn’t want to scare her. “Have you called anyone?”

  “Yes sir,” she said. “I called my mechanic. He was afraid this was gonna happen – it was only a matter of time. My girlfriend Jenny is gonna come get me.” She put a hand on her head. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My Papa’s gonna be mad.”

  I would have taken a look at it for her, but I don’t know anything about cars. I reached into my car, opened the glove compartment, and pulled out my checkbook.

  “A good engine is going to cost you about $2500,” I said. I started filling out the check.

  “I know,” she said. “Guess I won’t be driving anywhere soon. I really wanted to see my Mama and Papa.”

  “It’ll probably take a few days if they have to rebuild the engine,” I said, walking toward her with the check. “No child should be kept away from her mother and father. I’m a rich man. Please take this.”

  She looked at me and grabbed the check. “Is this for real?”

  “It is,” I said. I started walking back to my car. “Go to your mother and father, and show them how much you love them.”

  “Thank you!” she shouted as I drove away. “I can make it to Mama and Papa’s by Tuesday! In time for cherry pie!”

  I slept great that night, knowing I could help bring a family together.

  The next day I drove around the city, looking for someone, anyone, who needed help. I didn’t find anyone. I wrote a check to the homeless shelter. It didn’t do any good. I needed something more personal. I couldn’t sleep that night.

  I went to the downtown diner after midnight — the same one I had been going to for weeks. I would sit at a booth and drink cup after cup of coffee. Sometimes when it was slow, the waitress would sit in the booth with me, and we would talk for hours.

  “Hi, Jake,” the waitress said when I walked in. Her name was Sasha. I guess I was a ‘regular’ at that point. “Haven’t seen you the last couple of nights.”

  “I’ve been sleeping,” I said.

  “That’s great!” She knew about Samantha and my bout with insomnia. “Making it a late night tonight?”

  “Something like that. I’m gonna need a cup of coffee, please.”

  “Coming up.”

  A minute later she was sitting across from me in the booth. “How’s everything?” she asked.

  “It’s getting better,” I said. “But I don’t want to talk about me. You look a bit beaten down. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine,” she said. Her eyes shifted from side to side.

  “How’s your husband? Still working crazy hours?”

  “I don’t think we’ll ever catch up on the bills. He won’t tell me, but I think we’re about to lose our apartment and car.” She shook her head. “I sure don’t make enough money here.”

  A bell chimed over the front door when another customer walked in.

  “Excuse me,” Sasha said as she got up. “I’ll get you another coffee when I come back.”

  I knew exactly what I had to do. I had read a lot about the mysterious person leaving humongous tips all over the country. Tips for Jesus.

  I picked up the bill on the table. Sasha always charged me for only one coffee. I probably owed more than $500. She was a good person. She listened to every complaint I had. She listened to all of my stories about Samantha.

  I left a $5000 tip on the bill.

  I fell asleep as soon as I got home.

  All of my days have been like that. And I’ve been having the time of my life.

  I just woke up to a ringing phone. The caller id shows that it’s the Conley Sleep Center. I know it’s a reminder call for my follow-up appointment next week. But honestly, I don’t think I need it. I know exactly how to fall asleep now.

  I ignore the call and doze off. But it calls again. And again.

  Finally I pick up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Sleep,” I hear a mechanical voice say. Then the line goes dead.

  I DON’T know where I am. I’m standing in an unfamiliar room, staring at a woman I’ve never seen. There is broken glass all around me. There is a gun in my hand.

  “He sent you, didn’t he?” the woman says. She is lying face up on the floor, and trying to scoot away from me. Her face is bruised and bloody.

  I don’t know why, but this woman has to die. I point the gun at her head.

  The woman whimpers. “He can’t even do it himself. I gave up my whole life for him, and this is how he repays me.” She spits on me.

  I want to tell her that I can’t stop this. But my mouth won’t open.

  Her back is against the kitchen counter now. She’s sobbing.

  I can’t move. On top of the counter is a picture of the woman with a man. I know the man.

  It’s Dr. Medford from the Sleep Center.

  “You’re confused,” the woman says. She’s looking up at the picture and back at me. “You don’t know what you’re doing, do you?”

  I step forward and cock the gun.

  “Listen to me!” she screams. “My name is Melissa Medford. You are not in control of your body.” She puts her hands in front of her. “This is not who you are. I can help you.”

  She struggles to stand. “I helped my husband develop a hypnosis program for his patients. You are his patient. Am I right?”

  She reminds me of Samantha. Her hair is blond. The ring on her wedding finger has more diamonds than I can count.

  “My husband thinks he can erase me before the divorce is final.” She shakes her head. She steps up to me. The gun is pressing against her stomach. She stares into my eyes.

  “I know you’re still in there. Wake!”

  I feel different. I’m frightened by the gun in my hand, and throw it down. The woman is badly injured. Could I have done this?

  “This is not your fault,” she says. She must be able to read the shame in my eyes. “He used you. My husband wants me dead because I’m going to get 60% of everything he makes.”

  She is a beautiful woman. Intelligent. Samantha would have liked her.

  My mind is racing. Melissa Medford is right. “He took something away from me.”

  “He took away your right to think for yourself. But you have it back now.”

  “Not that. He gave me a gift. A desire to help people. I have to get it back.” It
was the only thing that would let me sleep.

  She’s biting her lower lip. “We never designed a program like that. And my husband has no idea how to help people. If you have a desire to help people, then that’s a part of who you are.”

  I’m confused. That’s not who I am. That’s who Samantha wanted me to be. And now I realize it was her all along. It’s the imprint of Samantha in my heart that makes me want to be a better person.

  “Will you help me?” Melissa asks. Her clothes are bloody.

  “Of course!” I search the room for a phone. “Let me call an ambulance.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” she says. “Will you help me kill my husband?”

  I’M sitting in the waiting room at the Conley Sleep Center. There’s a very pregnant woman across from me. She smiles.

  “How far along are you?” I ask.

  “Eight months,” she says, patting her stomach. “Almost time to come out of the oven.”

  I chuckle with her. “Boy or girl?”

  “He’s a boy,” she says. “Already named him after his daddy.” She looks down at her stomach and talks directly to it. “Isn’t that right, little Joe? Yes it is. Yes it is.”

  “Little Joe doesn’t let you sleep?”

  She looks up at me and furls her eyebrows. “Ohhhhh…I’m not here for me.” She shakes her head. “I’m just waiting on my husband.”

  “Little Joe doesn’t let your husband sleep?” I say, hoping she knows I’m joking.

  She looks at me a moment then laughs hysterically. “Careful,” she says. “I’m gonna have to pee.” She stands up slowly and reaches a hand out to me. “I don’t know where my manners are. My name is Myra.”

  “Jake,” I say. “Nice to meet you, Myra. Little Joe is a lucky guy. He’s going to have a good life.”

  “That’s the plan,” she says. She looks down at her stomach again. “We just gotta get daddy fixed up, don’t we? Yes we do. Yes we do.” She looks back at me. “Joe was in Iraq for a couple of years. He doesn’t talk about it much. He hasn’t been able to sleep since he’s been back.”

  I nod. I watched my Samantha die. But Joe has probably witnessed more than one death.

  “Mr. Mason,” the front desk secretary says. “Dr. Medford will see you now. Come on back.”

  I take a deep breath, stand, and smile at Myra. “You’re going to be a good mom.” Now I’m walking into the back, hoping Melissa Medford’s plan works.

  “Have a seat,” a nurse says as she ushers me into a smaller room. It’s the same room I woke up in earlier this week. “The doctor will be with you in just a minute.” She steps out of the room and closes the door behind her.

  I jump out of my seat and walk over to the doctor’s desk. I grab his voice recorder, press ‘record’, and shove it into my pocket.

  The door opens.

  Dr. Medford steps in and closes the door back. “You’re not supposed to be here. Sit down, Jake.”

  “I’d rather stand.”

  “Whatever,” he says. He steps up to me. “Did you do it?”

  I scrunch my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  He stares at my face, like he’s searching for something. He turns his head and says, “Shit. It didn’t work.” He starts pacing around the room. “I’ve got to make a few changes.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Are you asking if I killed your wife?”

  He walks back up to me and raises his eyebrows. “Well?”

  I let him sweat for a moment.

  “No.”

  His body seems deflated. “She has to die.”

  “I know what you’ve done. You hypnotized me to kill her. When I walk out of this office, I’m going straight to the police.”

  He steps back and laughs. “You can’t prove anything. It’s all in your head.”

  I pull the voice recorder out of my pocket and show it to him. “Missing something?”

  “Go ahead, take it to the police. But you’ll have to make it out of this room alive first.”

  I turn my head to the two way mirror in the room. I snap my fingers three times. This was the plan. It’s perfect. Melissa Medford is going to walk through the door any second with the police.

  The door isn’t opening.

  Dr Medford laughs. He reaches into his pocket and tosses a ring on the table. I recognize it. More diamonds than I can count.

  “I always have a backup plan,” he says. He snaps his fingers at the two way mirror.

  The door opens.

  A man I’ve never seen walks in and closes the door. He is tall and lanky. He has a crew cut. He looks fierce. Scary. Somehow I know this is Myra’s husband. Big Joe.

  Joe marches straight toward me. He has a crazed looked in his eyes. I know this look. It’s the same one I had last night.

  Joe grabs me by the neck and slams me on the medical bed. He is choking me. I can’t breathe.

  “I’m sorry it has to end like this,” I hear Dr. Medford say. I can see from the corner of my eye that he is holding up a syringe and squirting liquid out of it.

  This is it. It’s the end.

  Dr. Medford is walking toward me. I can’t help but wonder how his wife died. She was a good woman. I look into Joe’s eyes. He looks possessed. I know he has no control. What was it Melissa Medford had said to me?

  I remember.

  “Wake,” I mumble as the world starts going dark.

  Joe releases his grip and I feel air surging into my lungs. My chest is burning. I’m gonna throw up.

  Joe is facing Dr. Medford. His shoulders are squared.

  “No!” Dr. Medford screams. He lunges toward Joe with the syringe aimed at him.

  Joe sidesteps the syringe, swivels around the doctor’s body, and grabs the arm with the syringe from behind. In one swift move, he drives the syringe into the doctor’s chest, like he’s done this before.

  The doctor falls to the floor, convulsing.

  “You should get out of here,” Joe says.

  I know he’s talking to me. “What about you?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m gonna call the police and let them know the truth about Dr. Crazy.”

  “Your family.”

  “I can’t hide behind them anymore.” He nods at me. “I’ve got this. If you have any family, you should be with them. Don’t mess things up.”

  He seems to have some demons he needs to slay. Something in his past to make up for. I nod back at him and leave the room. There is family I should see.

  I’M DRIVING down a dirt road, on my way to visit Samantha for the first time since the funeral. I have to thank her for what she’s help me become.

  There’s a store on the left hand side of the road that I’ve never noticed. The sign out front says it’s going out of business and everything is 50% off. There are flowers in the front display window. Samantha loved flowers like that. Carnations.

  I pull into the empty parking lot. The faded sign on the door says ‘Soap Suds.’

  A bell chimes overhead when I open the door. I can smell jasmine and cinnamon.

  “Come in, come in,” says an old man behind the counter. “It’s hot out there today. Can I get you something to drink?”

  I jump when the door slams shut behind me.

  “No thank you. I just wanted to pick up some flowers.”

  “Flowers?” the old man says. He stares at me. “This is a soap shop, sir.”

  I point to the flowers in the window. “Oh, I just thought...” I stop myself. I look around and see shelves full of soap bars. Nothing else. Just soap.

  “I see. Well, I suppose you can have them. They’ll be dead by tomorrow.”

  They look healthy to me. “Thank you. I’d like the vase, too.” I reach for my wallet. “Will $200 be enough?”

  He steps out from behind the counter. “What are they for?”

  “For my wife’s grave.”

  He walks to the front window and grabs the flowers. Now he’s heading back behind the counter again. He punches some num
bers into the cash register.

  “That comes to a total of…” He smirks. “There’s no charge. God bless your wife.”

  I don’t know what to say. But I can tell by the look in his eyes that he won’t accept ‘no’ as an answer. “Thank you, Mr. …”

  “Johnson. Just call me Johnson.”

  “Thank you, Johnson.” I smile, grab the flowers, and head for the door. It’s getting dark and I have to see Samantha.

  But I stop.

  “You know,” I said, turning around, “my wife loved places like this. How much would it cost to buy it?”

  Johnson laughed. “I’ve been running this store since 1968. Things we’re different back then. If someone wanted soap, this is where they came. But now you can get soap from a grocery store. Even a gas station.”

  I nodded. There had to be changes. “Samantha loved soap. And shampoo. And perfume. And candles.” I looked at the flowers in my hands. “And these.”

  “I never liked change,” Johnson said. “And look where it got me.” He took a deep breath. “It’s too late now.”

  “No it’s not.” I set the flowers on the counter. “With your help and experience, I can rebuild this store into what it once was. We can expand the product line. How much?”

  He shakes his head. “Between the lease and supplies, I owe about $250,000.”

  “I’ll give you $500,000.”

  Johnson looks like he stopped breathing.

  “But only if you agree to stay. No one knows this business better than you.”

  “I accept your offer. But I can’t stay. I’m too old and I’ve seen too much.” He stomps on the floor and shouts, “David!”

  I jump.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “David’s my assistant. He makes all the soap in-house.”

  “Yes, Sir?” a young man says when he enters from a back room. He’s probably 19 or 20 years old.

  “I told you about calling me that name. Listen, this here is Mr. uh…”

  “Jake,” I say. “Jake Mason.” I reach a hand out to David.

  He puts his hands up and steps back. He motions to the mess on his smock. The soap chemicals look like a mixture of blood and mucus. “Sorry. It’s been a busy day.”