Page 125 of Mind Maze

Memories flood back, whipping me over and over again, each lash more painful than the last. No wonder I kept this shit locked up tight. It fucking hurts.

My mind drifts to my parents. They’d been killed in a car accident. It crushed me. I’d even tried to swallow every damn pill in the house to escape the pain of losing them. All my efforts were for naught. After many failed foster homes, boys’ homes, and group homes, where I fought for my life and dignity, I’d ended up in this psychopath’s steely clutches, which was a thousand times worse than anything I could’ve dreamed of before.

“From what your father tells me,” Huxley says, frowning, “you’ve been slipping. All because of that girl of yours.” He bends over so that his face is inches from mine. “Lucky for you, kiddo, my son and his friend have come up with incredible technology. No longer will we have to rely on our previous methods of rewiring someone’s brain. Stem Lock is going to change everything for you.”

I close my eyes so I don’t have to look at him, but then my neck is shot with a bolt of electricity that makes me cry out in pain. What the actual fuck?

“Pay attention,” Doc Junior says from nearby. “No sleeping.”

I want to kill that motherfucker.

“You know, it was disheartening to me when I’d learned you’d fixated on that doll,” Huxley says sadly. “It just goes to show you were broken and beyond what I could do to fix you.”

He continues speaking, but I can’t focus on his words. I’m too busy connecting the rest of the dots in this horrible scene.

“I’ll take good care of Calista.”

He’d been speaking to the girl in the video about the doll. Calista was the doll’s name, not the girl’s. He used the doll to lure her into his torture chamber where he no doubt did his best to scramble her mind.

My gut clenches painfully.

I’ve been searching for something that’s been right in front of my fucking face.

I know who the girl is.

Not family, but a figment of my imagination that tried to put together pieces that didn’t fit in an effort not to forget the girl who I knew was going to suffer the same fate I had. I wanted to save her like I couldn’t save myself.

The girl isn’t my sister.

The girl is Romy.

Romy

Six months later…

Ding.

I blink away my daze and quickly root myself in the present. The smell of savory meat, carrots, onions, and potatoes is a reminder of what the dinging sound was.

The timer.

Roast is done.

I whirl around in the kitchen and hunt down my oven mitt. The heat from the oven blasts my face when I open the door. I’ve been getting better at cooking lately and this roast is proof. I’m giddy with pride. I hope it tastes as good as it looks.

Once I set the roast on top of the stove, I close the oven and turn it off. It’s been too hot lately to use the oven and I wonder if I should switch my focus to crockpot cooking. I’ll have to think about it.

The dishes from the cake I’d made earlier sit in the sink. It’s getting close to five, which means I need to make sure everything’s cleaned up before then.

Taking care of my home and the people in it is my superpower. I feel true happiness when I put efforts into making a delicious meal or dusting every surface in the house. It’s such a fulfilling feeling.

Life is good.

When I see women at the grocery store, frowning as they drag their also frowning children behind them, I feel sorry forthem. How did they get themselves into a situation where they’re not happy with their lives?

Mine is perfect.

It’s everything I’d hoped for.

---