“Tell me about the first time you killed someone, Mareena.”
As I rest on Doctor Larry’s therapy couch, with my ankles chained up to the legs of the cushioned seat and my mind elsewhere, I feel myself sneering in response. “Why?” I reply, keeping my gaze on the plain, white ceiling and away from his abundantly smug face.
I hear him sigh. “You know this gets easier the less you fight back.”
My eyes roll instinctively as I groan in return. “We’ve been over this at least a dozen times. Military life. Fighting in Afghanistan. Lots of people died.”
“Please, Mareena.”
“Fuck. Fine.”
The memories of my time overseas flood to the forefront of my mind. Not that it’s difficult to remember that stuff, anyway. After all, how could I possibly forget the first time my boots hit the ground on foreign soil? Shit like that tends to leave an impressionable mark—or scar, depending on your point of view.
Our commanders told us that we’d primarily be serving as security personnel, protecting high value targets and people of interest. Hell, they had the balls to tell us the likelihood of getting into a real firefight was next to none. And to think I was naïve enough to believe them. It didn’t take long, of course, for the excitement to get started.
I scored my first kill roughly a week and a half after we arrived. We found ourselves guarding one of these special individuals we had been told about—some ambassador lady or something, I wasn’t paying attention during the briefing. She seemed important enough, given she dressed in a three-piece suit in one of the most arid climates in the world. The bottom line was that she needed protection on her way out of the country, which was all I really cared about. That was the job, after all.
Sure enough, not long into our trek to an extraction point, a firefight broke out, one that we nearly lost. During the scuffle, while everyone else was distracted, one among the enemy forces managed to sneak behind our line and make off with our ambassador friend. I was the only one who noticed. So, against all better judgement, and maybe the orders of one of my superiors, I ran after her.
Up until that point, I hadn’t killed anyone yet. I was either unable to get clean shots or had them taken from me during our handful of previous encounters, but I wasn’t really complaining. At the time, I figured, “Hey, maybe I can actually make it back home without any blood on my hands.” Again, my naivety was glaring.
When I found the ambassador, held hostage by this scared young man shakily holding his gun to her head, I knew all that mattered was what I did in that moment, and it probably wasn’t going to be clean. I had lost my rifle during the fight, so I trained my SIG Sauer M17 on the guy. Oddly enough, I always felt more at peace with a handgun, but even then, I could feel myself losing composure—my adversary’s anxiety was rubbing off on me. Somehow, it seemed like the ambassador was the least afraid of the three of us.
The guy was trying to talk me down, I think, speaking in a language I had never heard before. I wished I could understand him, so that maybe we could have talked and walked away with our lives. But as he turned his gun on me in a flash, he left me with no choice.
There was never any doubt I could make the shot, so I took it, just as I had been trained to do. The ambassador was safe, her captor dead on the floor with a small pool of blood spilling out of the hole in his head. She moved aside, offering me her profuse thanks, but all I could do was stare at the dead body in front of me. At one point, I saw him twitch, and out of sheer instinct, I turned my gun back on him and sent three more bullets flying into his corpse. I had to make sure he was really dead.
“But that’s not really why you did it, was it, Mareena?” Doctor Larry interrupts me.
I shake my head, still refusing to look toward him. “No.”
“Why, then?” He already knows the answer.
“Because I wanted to,” I tell him, plainly and honestly. Just like I’ve told him every other time he asks me that question. “I liked how it felt. Having that power—that force—in the palm of my hand…it was amazing.”
“Hmm.” He’s obviously dissatisfied with my answer, as per usual. “And everything got easier after that, didn’t it?”
It did. By the time I came home, I had 67 confirmed kills, and probably another eight or nine that we didn’t check. Each one was easier than the last, but they were all just as satisfying.
“And you found that same satisfaction when you killed your fiancé, correct?”
At that, I finally turn my gaze to him. He’s looking painfully smug, as expected, as he sits comfortably behind his desk. That’s just like him, thinking he’s always right. He’s always thought he’s had me pegged. Fucking idiot. His stupid getup doesn’t help anything, either, with his nerdy designer glasses, horrendous combover, and obnoxious yellow tie.
Although, in this instance, he might have a point. “Maybe,” I answer coldly.
“I’d like you to tell me about that night again, Mareena—the night you killed Brandon.”
I throw a glare his way. “Feel like telling me where this is going, Doc?”
He just waves a hand at me expectantly, and I roll my eyes before continuing.
One of the soldiers who lived through that firefight with me was a man named Brandon. Unlike everyone else in my company, he somehow always managed to wear a smile and maintain a cheery glow. And whereas the others mostly kept to themselves, he was always trying to make friends, even when no one really wanted anything to do with him outside of working together.
Two days after that little battle, he got around to me, as I was lying alone in our camp. “Hey. It’s Mareena, right?” he greeted me, brimming with confidence.
“Yeah,” I told him with a nod. “Can I help you?”
“Just wanted to say thanks. You know, for saving our entire mission the other day,” he said, extending an open hand. “I’m Brandon, private first class.”
I looked blankly at him for a moment before begrudgingly accepting his firm handshake. “Nice to meet you. And yeah, just doing my job, I guess.”
“More than that, from what I could tell. I thought for sure you’d get some sort of disciplinary action for going against the sergeant’s orders. But you really pulled through, huh?”
“Pretty much.”
“I can’t imagine what that must have been like, knowing everything came down to what you did next. A firefight is one thing, but a hostage situation like that…I’m sorry you had to go through that alone.”
I was taken aback and completely unsure of how to respond. “Uh…thanks,” was all I could muster at first. And though I didn’t really mean to, I smiled at him. “I really appreciate that.”
“Well, what are teammates for, huh?”
As time went on, Brandon and I kept chatting and taking assignments together (when we could). Aside from what we did in the field, I was sure he didn’t have a mean bone in his body, which I admired about him. Of everyone in my company, he was the only one who was nice to me, so it only seemed fair that I should treat him the same way, difficult as that was for me sometimes. I never really learned how to properly reciprocate emotions—I could be pretty cold and distant sometimes—but he didn’t seem to mind. He told me he liked my “stoicism.”
Brandon was sweet and tender, if a bit removed at times, but I could hardly blame him for that. I was the same way. With everything we did and saw overseas, how could we not be at least a little touched? But that’s why we worked so well together. We understood each other. It came as no surprise, then, when we started getting romantically involved after we got home. Fast forward three years later, and we were engaged. I never would have said it out loud, but it was like magic.
People tend to get so caught up on all the amazing things that make their significant other so special, but I find it’s the simpler things that really matter. Brandon was just kind to me no matter what, even when I was at my worst. What could have been more important than that?
I mean, it also helped that we looked insanely good together. His curly blonde locks, wavy blue eyes, and chiseled jawline were to die for. And I always knew I rocked some killer curves and a damn fine pixie cut, but standing next to Brandon, I pretty much knocked it out of the park.
“You’re meandering, Mareena,” Doctor Larry tells me.
He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean I enjoy him interrupting me.
About six months after Brandon and I got engaged, I returned home to our flat in New York City from a late night of drinking with my friends. It must have been at least three in the morning, and I could feel my head pounding and my gut throwing a hissy fit. I stumbled into the kitchen and downed a tall glass of cold water, a couple of oxycodone pills, and a small handful of salty crackers—all in a poor attempt to sober myself up—before heading upstairs to crash in bed with my fiancé.
As I began to ascend, my headache quickly became a splitting one, and I started hearing noises coming from the bedroom. I figured Brandon was up late playing video games or something, until I noticed there was a rhythmic pulsing to the sounds, as if something was thumping against our bed. A sense of fear unlike anything I had ever felt before sent my heart racing and my thoughts scrambling.
I prayed that it wasn’t true and that my mind was just playing tricks on me. But as I got closer, even in my drunken stupor, I knew exactly what was happening. I heard everything: the moaning, the bed creaking, their bodies slapping together, and the screaming. Oh, God, the fucking screaming! My heart shattered as I heard her call his name, over and over and over again. I hadn’t even seen anything yet, but I was already torn.
When I finally reached the door, I cracked it open only slightly so I could peek in and not interrupt the moment. The two of them were in full view, going at it like hormonally unstable dogs (literally). I couldn’t see their faces, but I’m sure they were filled with expressions of lust and pleasure—maybe even love.
I silently moved back and sat against the wall, unable to comprehend any of it. Again, I considered that it wasn’t real; it was just a drunken hallucination or something. But that idea didn’t last long. It was as real as anything else in life could be. Not long after the realization settled in, my heartbreak and grief were swiftly supplanted by hatred and rage. I felt myself shaking sporadically as I curled up into a ball and harshly ground my teeth together, desperately trying not to cry out in anger. All I could think about was how much I wanted to hurt them.
I got up and quietly returned downstairs, heading for my small office. Reaching the wooden desk within the room, I opened the bottom drawer and found a sturdy storage box, one that I hadn’t looked at in quite some time. It held my old, trusty sidearm, the one that saved me that fateful day in Afghanistan. During the latter days of my time overseas, I named it Jacob. I told everyone it was just a silly pet name, but really, it was the name I’d hoped to give to my son one day. That dream had just died.
I opened the box and lifted the gun out from it. Holding Jacob once again after so long felt odd, at first. It was almost a foreign sensation, but at the same time, the rigid texture of the grip and the overall weight of the weapon were immediately familiar. My days of serving in the military seemed so far behind me, but in that moment, all I could think about was every bullet loaded, every shot taken, and every kill earned.
Sure, it was my duty to do all of those things—to kill the people I killed—but deep down, I knew there was more to it than that. It was personal—selfish. I never necessarily took pride in any of it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I hadn’t felt that way in so long; I had almost forgotten about it. I wanted—needed—to feel that thrill again. So, finally, I loaded my gun and headed back upstairs.
Again, I advanced silently through my home, like a snake slithering toward its prey. As I approached the bedroom, I could hear them still going at it. Rolling my eyes, I slammed the door open, making a dramatic yet banal entrance, and abruptly ruining the moment for Brandon and his lover. They scrambled across the bed, trying to quickly cover themselves up as they stared back at me in shock.
“Mareena,” Brandon stuttered, giving me his best guilty expression. He seemed like he was going to say something along the lines of, “I can explain,” or, “I didn’t think you’d be home tonight.” And when his eyes darted to the gun in my hand, whatever color was left in his face vanished. “Please put the gun down,” he said.
Without a word, I raised it in his direction and clicked off the safety.
“Listen to me,” he continued. “We can just talk about this. Please.”
I wasn’t listening. I just stood there, my hand shaking violently with the gun pointed at the man who used to mean everything to me. “It was all a lie,” I said, as a tear rolled down my cheek.
“No, no, Mareena, please, listen to me,” Brandon begged, still trying to talk me down. He sat in front of his lover now, as if to protect her. She hid her face behind her brunette bangs and clung to him for dear life. They were both so scared.
My mind flashed back to that day in Afghanistan, and I remembered the woman I used to be. She was strong, and she knew what needed to be done. Then I remembered the sensation of finally pulling the trigger and putting that son of a bitch down. I missed that feeling so much, and I was ready to feel it again.
With a deep, sharp inhale, I let the bullets fly. I put one between my ex-fiancé’s eyes, dropping him instantly, followed by three more to his body for good measure. Then, I turned to his lover and did the same to her, unloading the remaining rounds into her body.
I didn’t register the sounds of the gun as I fired it. Even after I was finished, I kept pulling the trigger, hoping more bullets would tear through the air. All I received was the scent of gunpowder, the clicking of the empty gun, and the sight of two lifeless bodies in my bed. Then I looked at my arm; it was jerking backwards, as if the gun was still firing. I focused on the kick, that…recoil. It was heavenly, and it made it all worth it.
I dropped my weapon to the floor and walked out of the room. My head was spinning. Feeling like I might hurl, I rushed down the hall to the bathroom and rested over the sink, but after a few moments, nothing happened. As I looked up at myself in the mirror, I discovered a cheery glimmer in my brown eyes. And as my dizziness subsided, I was left with bliss.
That is, until I heard the police sirens. I figured there was no way out, so I decided not to fight the inevitable. I went downstairs, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a Corona out of the fridge, and happily sat down at the table to enjoy one last drink. Within minutes, the cops were in my place, I had cuffs around my wrists, and I was dragged off to whatever hellhole they decided to put me in.
“I don’t regret any of it.”
“And why do you think that is, Mareena?” Doctor Larry gives me a slow, quizzical look up and down, like he’s studying me for the first time all over again.
“It’s like I’ve been telling you, Doc. Because I liked it.”
“You’re lying.”
“Oh, go fuck yourself,” I say with a groan.
“Mareena,” he continues, “I’ve been stationed here at the Wrenn Pratt Penitentiary since its founding two decades ago, and I’ve worked with countless individuals since then. At the core of every one of my patients was some mantra or pathological method to their madness. Dissecting the minds of these men and women, dangerous as it has sometimes been, has always been rewarding for me. I’ve learned so much from all of them. But you…” He pauses and points a finger at me. “Well, you’ve been rather difficult, haven’t you?”
I sigh exaggeratively. “Guess so.”
His expression morphs into a scowl. “You insist on such a simplistic answer, but you know, deep down, there’s even more to it than that.” He stands up from his seat and begins slowly stepping toward me. “As humbling as it has been to work with you, it’s also been a fairly egregious process. For as much progress as I’ve made with you, you’ve caused nearly twice as many delays in my work. Truly, Mareena, there is no one else quite like you.”
“Look, Doc, it’s not my fault you can’t accept that some things are just as simple as they seem. And though I’m absolutely thrilled to hear that you can get off to the thought of picking my brain, I’d like to go to sleep now. So, are we finished for today?” Seems like my frustration is finally getting to him, and I’m happy to keep twisting the knife.
He looks at me with an eerie grin now, and I can’t help but shift in my seat a bit as he keeps advancing. “Fine then, I’ll be blunt. I’m tired of this nuanced game we’ve been playing. I’m sick of trying to get somewhere with you, only to go nowhere at all. For all the things you tell me, your truth still eludes me. There is a method to your madness, and I will know what it is!” Standing over me now, he leans down and locks his eyes with mine. “Why did you do it?!”
Moments pass with nothing but silence as we just stare at each other. His grimace is almost haunting; I think this is the first time I’ve ever actually felt intimidated by Doctor Larry. He’s an absolute hack, and a lousy shrink, but in this moment, I feel a glimmer of respect for the man.
Just a glimmer, one that dies out almost immediately as I chuckle at him.
“And what’s so funny?” he asks sharply.
I reply with a swift and powerful headbutt. His nose fractures against my forehead, and I find myself relishing the sight of him reeling back as the blood begins cascading from his nostrils. “Have you ever considered that you already have your answer, Doc? Maybe there’s no deeper meaning behind it all. Maybe I just like hurting people.” I roll my neck and give it a satisfying crack. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”
Doctor Larry grunts as he sits against his desk, removing his glasses and clutching his nose. “Clever girl,” he mutters. “I still don’t believe you, though. And I don’t think you do either.”
“You can think whatever the fuck you want, Doc. I don’t really give a shit. What I do care about, though, is getting a good night’s rest. So, again, can I go now?”
As he’s about to continue berating me, there’s a knock at the door. I imagine it’s the security guards wanting to check on us, seeing as though he did make a bit of noise stumbling around the room. “Yes, what?” Doctor Larry calls out.
“Doctor Fillmore. We’ve got someone here to see your patient,” the guard says.
“What? Who?”
“She’s from the Army, and she’s got some papers you’re gonna wanna see.”
Doctor Larry sighs. “One moment.” After grabbing a tissue from his desk and cleaning some of the blood from his face, he walks over and opens the door, revealing our mystery woman, who doesn’t bother waiting for an invitation to enter the room.
She steps in with confidence, wearing an Army captain’s uniform and carrying a manila folder filled with what I’m sure are some important documents. She’s not too bad on the eyes, either, with a soft face accented by a head of short, red hair, not unlike mine before I was forced to go clean shaven. Whoever she is, she has my full attention.
“Mareena Wilson,” she greets me. “I’m Captain Odessa Chase. My superiors sent me to have you released from the Wrenn Pratt Penitentiary immediately. You’re to be moved to a private military holding facility for further inspection and rehabilitation.”
I’m stunned, more so by her sheer vigor rather than by what she actually said.
Before I can respond, though, Doctor Larry cuts back in. “Now, wait one moment. This is highly irregular. May I please see some credentials, Captain?”
Without taking her deep blue eyes off of me, Captain Chase hands Doctor Larry the folder. While he looks through whatever’s in there, the captain shoots me a smirk; she’s studying me, almost like how Doctor Larry does, only it’s not nearly as unsettling. It’s as if she already knows me very well, and now she’s just excited to finally meet face to face. And while I can’t say I entirely trust her or whatever game she’s playing, if it means I can get out of Wrenn Pratt, I’m not about to argue.
“I think you’ll find everything is in order, Doctor Fillmore,” she eventually says.
Doctor Larry is beside himself, still flipping through papers. “Well, yes, Captain, but…I don’t quite understand. She was sentenced to life here in the penitentiary—she hasn’t even served more than two years. And we’re so close to a breakthrough! To interrupt our work now would cause tremendous setbacks in her mental recovery. Besides, you can’t just take her on a whim like this. We have procedures for these things.” He seems about ready to completely lose his cool, but somehow manages to maintain his composure.
Captain Chase turns to him. “Actually, I can take her, and I will be taking her. You’ve just read the paperwork. Everything has already been taken care of. And need I remind you, Doctor, that a large part of why this…charming establishment is still standing is because of the generous patronage from the institution I serve. It’s the same one she once served, in case you’ve forgotten. I think it would be fairly rude of you to deny their request to have her placed where she belongs—with her fellow soldiers who are also on the road to recovery. So, if there are no further objections, she’ll be coming with me now.”
“Well,” Doctor Larry stammers, clearly unable to process everything that’s happening right now, “we’ll need some time to prepare her for transport.”
“Like I said, all the necessary preparations have already been made. Your personnel are on standby, and her few belongings have already been taken to the vehicle I have prepped outside.”
Doctor Larry shoots me a perturbed stare. I simply grin back at him. Eventually, he begrudgingly orders the guards outside of the room to unchain me from his therapy couch. “She’s dangerous,” he says.
Captain Chase lets out a chuckle. “I’m well aware.” She then turns to me again and gives me a nod. “Come along, Ms. Wilson.”
I gladly follow her, but as I’m about to step out of the room, Doctor Larry grabs hold of me and looks me dead in the eyes. “Please, Mareena. Tell me. Tell me what it is!”
The guards separate the two of us, and I happily hold my tongue and give him a wink in response. As I step down the hall, I’m left with the soothing sounds of his outrage in the background. If I’m being honest, I didn’t even know he was capable of using swear words.
Afterwards, Captain Chase, along with several other guards, escort me out of the Wrenn Pratt Penitentiary, something I never thought was going to happen. Though I expect to be placed in some sort of transport van, I’m instead led to a jet-black Suburban, which the guards forcefully shove me into the back of. I find a duffle bag, presumably filled with my things, resting on the seat next to me, and a screen cutting me off from the front two seats.
Somewhat to my surprise, Captain Chase hops into the driver’s seat, and without another word, we’re off.
We drive for about 15 minutes before I decide to finally break the silence that develops between us. “So, what’s your real name, Captain?” I ask her plainly.
She chuckles and adjusts the rearview mirror to look at me. “What gave it away?”
“I just think it’s obvious that no one in Army command is looking to have me released, or even moved to a new facility. I was sent to Wrenn Pratt to die. So, if someone was actually interested in changing any of that, I have to imagine they wouldn’t want their real name on record when they came to get me.”
Another chuckle. “Smart girl. My real name is Amy Talbot, and though I am actually a captain, the Army have no idea I’m even here.”
“Who sent you then?”
“No one.”
“Oh. So, why did you break me out of prison?”
“I’ve heard a lot about your…situation, Ms. Wilson. Can I call you Mareena?”
I nod.
“I’m very impressed with your credentials, Mareena, and it may surprise you to know that I actually agree with what you did. No man who does what yours did should get a happily ever after.”
“Well, I appreciate the praise, but I get the feeling you didn’t bust me out just because you agree with me that my fiancé was a lying piece of shit.”
“Correct. I’m looking for people with vision, Mareena. I need people who are willing to make the hard choices that no one else will. Simply put, I need a team that’s ready to change the world. And I think you’re an ideal candidate.”
I can’t help but chuckle at how ridiculous that sounds. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but most people would disagree with that assessment. They’d probably tell you I’m just some PTSD-fueled monster, and that all I’ve ever been good at is hurting people. Is that really who you want on this little team of yours?”
Amy shakes her head. “What makes you think I care what anybody else thinks, Mareena? I only care about what comes next. Who you choose to be moving forward…well, that choice is yours. So, what will it be?”
It doesn’t really take me long to consider my options, which there aren’t many of. Besides, who am I to spit in the face of the woman who’s giving me a second chance at life? “What do you need me to do, Amy?”
She smiles and nods. “You’ll find out soon enough.”