A dark hood is ripped from Corrine’s now shaved head.
“You’ve been a busy girl.” remarks a suited man standing to her left.
Her face decorated with a black eye swollen shut, a split, engorged bottom lip and several cuts and bruises.
She peers up at him then scans the room to see two more men behind her.
“Where are we?”
“We’ll get to that.” he answers.
He moves from the table - grabs an old plastic office chair - returns and sits across from her.
“I must say - big fan of your work.”
Corrine grimaces and turns her head.
“You just can’t get good help anymore.” he adds.
“Help?”
“We’ll get to that too.“
The man leaves his seat and paces half the length of the room in front of the jangly wooden table separating him from her.
“Who the fuck are you and why am I here?”
“I gotta ask - the farmhouse, back room - what was your motivation?”
“He was a pedophile. I watched him at a park for days. Motherfucker sitting there, ogling children.”
“How did you know he was a predator?”
“When I approached him his fucking pants were unzipped.”
“Go on.”
The man continues pacing, arms crossed.
“I said that I thought we might share a common interest. He rebuffed at first but once I told him I was a kindergarten teacher, his eyes lit up. Sick fuck. I knew exactly what had to be done.”
His skin hung in macabre overlays on the door to the room.
“The fibulae are fastened to the wall. They were the first bones I took before he expired.”
“So you would stalk your victims?”
“Yes. From work, home, wherever. I had to figure out capture points and wait - catch them slipping - then they were mine.”
The man slams both fists onto the table and issues a loud, bellowing grunt.
“Goddamn, it’s so good to see someone take such pride in their work!”
He covers the distance from the table to the wall and back - then takes his seat.
“One more thing - you took his spine.”
Corrine gives him the dead eye.
“Well, he wasn’t using it.”
The generous sized room is dim and dirty, lit only by a single forty-watt bulb dangling from the ceiling directly above the female guest.
“So what is this, cuz you damn sure ain’t cops.”
The man props his feet up on the table, raising his shades onto his head.
“Who we are isn’t important - what we do, however - ”
“Sounds like spook talk.”
He grins, stands and lowers his shades.
“Tell me, do you have any memories going further back than the last year?”
Corrine squirms in her seat, wrestling with the query.
“I’ll take your silence as a no.”
“You still haven’t told me what I’m doing here.”
He sighs deeply and takes a seat.
“You are what is called an asset/operative.”
“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“You. Your life.”
“And?”
“This persona, Corrine Sidney, owner and sole employee of the little bookstore downtown - which is where we grabbed you, by the way - “
He leans in, placing his right hand on the table.
“All just an off-the-record operation.”
He rises from the chair and moves slowly about the room.
“You’ve been ours since the age of twelve. Rescued from a trafficking organization.”
“Bullshit!”
“Your nine victims - did you actually think you were that good or that lucky?”
“What does that mean?”
“We set you in motion to do what needed to be done.”
“Which was?”
He sighs loudly.
“Sometimes - the world just needs a little more chaos.”
“You used me?”
“You were programmed with the required objectives, to bring about a desired end.”
“Why? Why the fuck would you do that?”
The man takes his seat.
“Because we could.”
Corrine’s breathing is vexed and irregular, tears spill down her cheeks.
“Silver lining - you got to take out some pretty nasty trash.”
She’s given a moment to steady herself.
“What happens now?” she asks.
“Usually, you’d just be killed - but I think you’ve earned a small glimpse behind the curtain.”
She leans back and crosses her arms.
“I will go in and wake one of your alters, redeploy her on some unfinished business.”
“You’re out of your sick fucking mind.”
“How does cult leader sound?”
“I won’t do it.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Fuck you.”
“I’m thinking - build up a huge following then Kool-Aid the whole bunch. What do you think?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
The man erects his posture, as if to salute while seated.
“You’ve done an exemplary job Ms. Sidney - on behalf of the United States government, I thank you for your hard work and service.”
Her fortitude crumbles into breathless sobs.
“Goodbye Corrine.”
The suit nods to one of the men standing behind who quickly jabs a needle into her neck.
She begins seizing and convulsing on her way to the floor where she loses consciousness. Tense moments elapse before resurgence.
“On the chair.” he shouts.
The two men lift and place her upright.
The suit produces a small hand-held electronic device.
“Focus directly between the red and green lights.”
She does as she’s told - the man clicks a button alternating the flicker of colors while speaking key-words in monotone.
Soon - her eye sparks, back straightens - she takes in a deep breath.
“Oh heaven to God.” she declares in a refined English accent.
He turns off the device and offers a warm, comforting smile.
“Welcome back, Audrey.”
“Where am I? What’s happened?”
“Do you remember anything?”
The woman squints, glancing down at the table.
“No, I’m afraid it’s all just a blot of nothing.”
He scoots his chair closer, leaning towards her.
“You’ve been held hostage by a terrorist group - but you’re safe now. You’re home."
The woman bursts into tears and grabs her face.
“Ow, oh - “
“They roughed you up pretty good - we’ll get you looked at.”
“Thank you, thank you.”
“It’s good to have you back.”
He rounds the table and assists the woman from her chair.
“Your congregation will be so happy to know of your safe return.”
He guides Audrey carefully from the room into the long, narrow corridor - speaking softly while rubbing her back, their silhouettes grow smaller with every step.
