3. Mina

THREE

mina

I wait until I’m back underground in mine and Brian’s dungeon room before I pull out the envelope. I slipped it under my sweater and into the waistband of my leggings when I took my tray back to the kitchen. No one will follow me down here. The girls are all terrified of the dungeon, even though the monster who runs it is out of the house at the moment. This small fact doesn’t seem to matter to them. It’s like they think he still has power from a distance or he’ll somehow know if they came down here.

Sometimes I want to shake them and say “He’s not a wizard!”, but I once feared Brian like they do now, and frankly, I’m probably the only human on the planet safe from him. He’s not a fluffy housebroken puppy. His feelings for me didn’t redeem him or turn him into a hero on a mission to save the world. He is what he is. And what he is, is dangerous. But not to me.

I shrug and flop down on the bed. Maybe they think he’s got the place wired up with cameras. Or maybe it’s bad memories or the stories of what happens down here. Or maybe it’s being alone with me they now fear. Whatever it is, I know once I’m underground, I’m safe from prying eyes.

I take a deep breath and turn on the lamp for extra light. The envelope is a thick, crisp, off-white linen. Like an eggshell. Elegant, expensive-looking. There’s no return address. Only my name written in Calligraphy on the outside, and the house’s PO Box.

This goes against house rules. No one is supposed to be addressing anyone by name when they send paper mail. Well no one’s real name, anyway. Everything that comes to the house is supposed to come to: The Locke Company, c/o Mr. Smith, Accounting Department. And that is ALL anyone is supposed to ever write if they must use the postal service.

The Locke Company is one of about fifteen shell companies the guys own to hide everything behind. I’m not sure what pretend legit businesses they have going for tax purposes—though some of the money is traded in obscure cryptocurrencies with multiple layers of security and encryption. I do know Lindsay’s psychiatry practice in the city is one of the businesses the guys hide behind.

I stare down at the writing: Mina Calloway, The Dungeon . Followed by the PO Box. I’m surprised the post office didn’t return it to the sender. A shiver travels down my spine. Who knows I’m here? Also… The Dungeon? In Brian’s book, addressing a letter like this to the house is a killing offense.

The postage stamp is a tree bloomed out with cherry blossoms. There’s no return address. My unease grows with each new detail, but when I turn the envelope over, I freeze as I find myself spiraling into a flashback. On the reverse side is a gold wax seal with the Japanese character for Love .

I only know the Japanese character for love because the girl Matsumoto kept before me had been made to paint the word out close to a thousand times on rice paper as gifts to Matsumoto. She was punished harshly whenever she got even a single line wrong. These were supposed to be expressions of her non-existent love for the monster who tormented her.

I learned what it meant because he made a point of telling me that my name, Mina, actually means Love. He must have thought capturing me was some sort of fate being played out between us.

So there it is. Cherry blossom stamp. Wax seal with the Japanese character for love. I take several long slow breaths. It’s what I have to do to stop myself from screaming. I’m afraid if I scream, I won’t stop.

I thought Matsumoto was dead. Brian assured me. And Brian doesn’t half-ass it with the killing. If Brian says somebody is dead, that fucker is worm food. He doesn’t make mistakes like this. But my mind can’t seem to conceive of any other explanation.

Finally I slip my fingers under the seal and open the envelope. Even though this letter comes from the worst monster I’ve ever encountered, I can’t bring myself to destroy the beautiful letter by ripping into it. Also, I want to delay the confirmation of my fears, even if only by a few moments.

When I open it, a second smaller envelope falls out onto the bed. I leave that aside for the moment to read the handwritten invitation.

You are formally invited to an Easter Hunt. You will find each clue inside a Faberge-style egg. You will collect the items, find the eggs and clues, and follow all instructions if you want Brian to live. He took something that belongs to me, and I want it back.

I understand you might be reluctant to give yourself to me in exchange for your lover’s freedom, but please be advised, the second envelope contains a tracker. My men now know where you are. Should you not come on your own, you’ll be extracted, and everyone in that house will die. It seems so similar to something that happened months ago in Japan, does it not?

Tell no one. Bring no one. His life depends on it.

The first clue can be found at the enclosed address. The egg is blue. Be there on The 3 rd of April by noon.

Happy Hunting,

Cordially,

Matsumoto

April 3 rd is tomorrow. He’s not leaving me a lot of time. I wonder how long the letter sat at the post office before Gabe went to collect it?

I read it three times. There’s another smaller envelope, with a tiny robin’s egg blue card inside with an address printed neatly. I’m familiar with the address. It’s a row of high-end boutique shops in the city.

Also inside the envelope is a small black square thing. I’m not sure if this is a tracking device or a bluff. I don’t know what tracking devices look like, and isn’t there a risk it could have been damaged during mailing? Does it work through layers of envelope? I’m embarrassed I have no idea how this stuff works. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t need Matsumoto to threaten everyone at the house. I’m coming for this motherfucker.

I can’t demand proof of life to ensure this guy even has Brian or that he isn’t already dead because I have no address. No phone number. No way to contact Matsumoto. My hand shakes as I fold the card and put it back inside the envelope.

My gut says this is real. And I think Brian probably is alive. I feel like the connection between us is so strong that if he died, I’d somehow know it. Another reason I think he’s alive is because Matsumoto is a sick piece of work. Since Brian rescued me from him—which he’d consider an insult—he’d want Brian alive to see him take me back. He’d get off on that kind of showmanship.

I know what Brian would want me to do. He’d want me to leave him to die. I know it’s the smart thing, the thing that could protect me. After all, maybe Brian can get away on his own. He hasn’t stayed alive as long as he has by accident.

If Matsumoto sent a letter to the PO box, and had to capture Brian out in the city somewhere, he probably doesn’t know the location of the pleasure house. At least not before the tracking device, which may or may not be a bluff.

And he could never make Brian talk. I’m convinced Brian could withstand any amount of torture and keep his mouth shut. He doesn’t value human life, except mine. I think sometimes he cares more about my survival and safety than his own. I know he’d go to any lengths to keep me, to protect me. So I know up front that if I take this bait—and it is bait—and Brian and I both happen to make it out alive, I will be punished.

But I don’t care. I can’t just leave him. Whether it’s wise or not and whether he can ever truly return it or not, I love him. Besides, ever since this thing inside me switched on… this slithering dark thing that turned me from prey to predator, I’ve felt the urge to let this new beast out of its cage, but I’ve been given no real opportunity to unleash it.

People respond to the things that happen to them in different ways. Maybe everyone has a limit. I thought I’d reached mine years ago, but something changed in me after Brian brought me back, and now I no longer want to hide away from the world. I no longer want to be small and avoid the attention of those who might harm me. I want to be the thing that stalks the night. I want to be the thing the monsters are afraid of. Like Brian.

If you’d told me when I first arrived at the house that I’d want to become more like the man who ended up buying me—the most terrifying thing in this house—I would have said you needed to up your dosage.

But now… it’s different. If Matsumoto really survived, I want to be the one to kill him. I appreciate all Brian has done for me. He hunted down every last man who abused me and removed them from the world when I couldn’t do such a thing for myself.

But what about my revenge? When do I get to cause death and mayhem and destruction? When do I get to be the powerful one? I feel like a newly born vampire who hasn’t yet had her first taste of blood.

I know that first taste will be the thing that determines who I am from that point onward. For now, people at the house are a little afraid of me, a little wary. But I haven’t actually done anything yet to warrant such scurrying fear.

I want to change that.

Matsumoto wants me to come alone because I’ll be vulnerable. But I want to come alone so no one interrupts my vengeance or tries to save me—from him or from myself. I no longer fear him. I don’t know if that’s healthy. Or stupid. I don’t know if a whole giant chunk of my emotions have just shut down. But if so, I’m glad. I can’t have distractions like fear or weakness for what I’m prepared to do.

I’ve been given a beautiful opportunity to right a very big wrong and to save Brian’s ass for once. And if I tell Lindsay or any of the other owners of the house, they’ll either let Brian die, or fuck it up somehow. If that happened, I would never forgive them. And I might do something… terrible. Something I actually couldn’t live with. I only want to harm the guilty. That is the one line I don’t want to cross.

The problem is… I’m an indoor kitty.

I glance down at the metal security bracelet locked around my wrist. Officially I can walk out any door to this house and be outside in the free open air. But there’s a perimeter, and if I cross it, all I’ll get is pain until I’m back inside my electric fence like a good girl.

So I have to get this fucking bracelet off. And I need weapons, and a car. I check the postmark on the envelope. It’s two weeks old. That more or less answers the mystery of how long it may have been sitting at the post office. What happens if I miss the deadline? Will the egg be gone? I wonder how long Matsumoto would wait before he decides I’m not coming and just kills Brian.

He probably assumes he mailed the letter well in advance of his needs. He probably assumes I’ve been sitting on it for a while. I look at the postmark again. Two weeks ago Brian hadn’t left the house yet. Matsumoto mailed this before he took Brian, so how do I know he even has him?

I sigh. Because he should have been back a week ago. He told me when he’d be back. That date has come and gone, so even though Matsumoto mailed the letter before Brian left the house, he obviously does have him. He was just that confident his plan was air-tight. Which means, if I do this, I’m walking into a trap.

He couldn’t have mailed it too long before he acted, or it might have reached the house before Brian was even gone. So I can estimate about how long he’s had him.

I unfold myself from my spot on the bed and go to Brian’s big weapons stash. It’s a giant… well I’m not sure if you could call a secondary room inside basically a dungeon a “walk-in closet” but let’s just roll with that description.

When I first became Brian’s this room was just a mysterious locked door, but I should have known there were weapons inside. In the time since I’ve been back, I’ve seen him go in this room many times. And when he goes out on jobs and leaves me behind, he leaves the ring of keys in one of the dresser drawers. I’m not sure if he knows I’ve seen him put them there or not, but I open the drawer now and take out the big key ring.

I try each key in turn, unsurprised when it’s the last key that unlocks the door. You’d expect with Brian that this door wouldn’t be so low tech. Maybe a keypad with a pass code and a thumbprint and retinal scan. With as paranoid as he is, it would make sense, but, maybe just a locked door calls less attention.

If someone made it down this far into the house and was confronted with a high tech security system guarding the door, they may become even more curious about what’s on the other side.

When I get the door open and switch on the fluorescent buzzing lights, I’m confronted with what can only be described as an arsenal.

He’s got about seventeen AR-15 semi-automatic rifles in that classic sexy black. Multiple calibers. I pick up a .223 from the rack and hold it, feeling its weight, which isn’t as much as you’d expect.

Brian likes to talk a lot about weapons and torture equipment, so I’ve got way more knowledge on this subject than I would ordinarily have. I sit with him a lot outside when he cleans his guns after a job or after target practice.

The light weight of an AR is perfect for a woman. It doesn’t feel like you’re carrying too much. You can move with it. Though I doubt, Matsumoto is going to put himself at such a disadvantage that I’m going to be able to just walk in waving this kind of artillery around. Which is a shame, because I’m pretty sure I’d look like a badass doing it.

So that means… concealed. Something in a more discreet package. I open a long sleek steel drawer to find every kind of compact handgun you could imagine, as well as throwing knives, throwing stars, garden variety hunting knives.

Brian keeps all the torture stabby things in the dungeon cells so there’s none of that here, only what most would officially call weapons . In another drawer, he has actual fucking grenades. I can’t imagine the scenarios he finds himself in which require grenades. I decide not to think about that.

This whole room is a Call of Duty player’s dream stash.

I grab a large black duffle bag from the corner and start filling it with concealable weapons. Once that’s done, I scan the room for… I know there are other important things Brian keeps locked in here. Non-weapon things… like car keys… and probably the code for the bracelet on my wrist, unless he’s got it memorized. But even if memorized I’m sure he’d have a backup written down somewhere.

He’s the guy who keeps all his computer passwords written down in a notebook. The code to the bracelet is probably in that book. When I first learned he kept all his sensitive passwords in a notebook, I thought he was crazy, but his reasoning is actually sound.

If you keep your passwords in your mind, you can’t have as many different passwords as you need. And they can’t be as complicated as you need. If you keep them on some sort of password saver somewhere electronically, what if it gets hacked?

On paper, someone would have to physically break into your space. And anyone who attempts such a mission with Brian will end up riddled with bullet holes, so they can’t slip away with the intel. This reasoning seemed solid to me.

I run my fingers along the walls, pressing the slightly uneven stones because I’m sure I glimpsed Brian doing this once. Finally, right before I feel like a complete nut, a space in the wall opens and… Bob, tell our contestant the prize behind door number one!

Keys for about seven different cars from the most luxurious to the most non-descript and utilitarian. I pick a “blend with the world” sedan and drop the keys into the bag, disappointed that I didn’t find the passwords with it. But Brian wouldn’t keep all his treasure in one place. So I keep going, trailing my hands along the stones, pressing gently over each one.

After about fifteen minutes of this, I finally reach a slightly oblong stone in the back corner of the room to the right of all the AR’s. It’s all the way at the bottom, closest to the floor. When I press it, other stones come forward to reveal a tray. And on that tray, is a slim black notebook.

I pull it out, thrilled to find it’s full of all of Brian’s passwords. I thumb through the book, hoping to find the bracelet code. I’m surprised to find it under “Mina”. I mean come on, Brian? Not even a code name? He is just that confident that nobody is getting into this room?

I input the code on the bracelet, switch to “disarm”, and the silver metal cuff unlocks and falls from my wrist to clank loudly on the concrete floor.

Great, now I just have the whole day to wait. There’s no way I can risk leaving the house before dark. Too many people could see me and too many would try to stop me. And I’m not yet prepared to shoot them for their misguided life goals.

I go to where I know Brian keeps a stash of cash. I take three rolls, which comes out to a total of $30,000 in hundred dollar bills. It may be excessive, but I don’t know what’s out there. I doubt I could ever bribe a man as rich as Matsumoto, and I plan to kill him anyway, but I just feel better with a lot of money. I don’t know how long his game is. I don’t know what supplies I might need. And there might be some low level lackey I can bribe with this kind of money.