The Life and Times Of Erin Wilson

Time had no meaning in the cold, black, and silent cellar. It was too deep under the old house to hear any sounds from above. It was a void, a place outside of reality. At one stage, she was pretty sure she had pissed herself, the warmth spreading across her thigh, and for some reason, that made her giggle, a strange, hysterical sound that was immediately swallowed by the gag. Then, the lights suddenly came on, blinding her. She sighed, a soft, weary sound. This was it. The final stretch. Her mind did not so much relive her life as acknowledge it. She had no complaints. If this was it, so be it. She had done this and worse to some of her enemies. This was simply the bill coming due. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose, the air thick with the smell of her own blood and fear. Then opened them in shock and surprise.

"Jesus, Erin, what have those fuckers done to you?" Donna's voice was sharp, filled with fury . Here, Tom, help me with her." Hands, gentle and strong, were untying the noose, unbuckling the gag. They helped her lie down, wrapped a blanket around her shivering body, and helped her up the stairs. As they passed the reception room, Erin glanced in and saw the body of Tanaka and his thug lying face down in pools of blood. By the front door, two Japanese ladies knelt, their hands tied behind their backs. One had a spectacular bruise forming on the side of her face. Erin asked Donna to stop. She looked at the English-speaking lady, who looked back at her and said, with a weary shrug, "It was just business." Erin nodded, a gesture of understanding from one professional to another, and shuffled out of the house into the cool night air.

On the way to a private clinic in a blacked-out van, Donna told her how it had happened. "I became suspicious when the car didn't come to pick me up. So I activated the AirTag I'd placed in your bags." Erin looked at her. "Sorry, my love. There's one in all of your bags and most of your shoes. You're too valuable to lose." Erin managed a weak smile and nestled up close to her best friend and head of security. Donna went on. "I called Sheila and Tom. Sheila dispatched some of her boys immediately. I picked Tom up from your house. The rest," she said, her voice grimly satisfied, "was just gangsters being gangsters."

Erin looked at her husband and slave, sitting opposite her, his face a mask of concern. She held her hand out. He leaned forward, and she kissed his hand, a gesture of profound intimacy. He silently told her he loved her, and she smiled and nodded before falling asleep against Donna's shoulder.

Six weeks later. Erin was back in the office, the panoramic view of the Dockyard, her hand absentmindedly rubbing her neck. She was on the phone, her voice firm and steady, finalizing a meeting with a cinema chain about a possible upscale mini-complex in the development. She leaned back in her chair, lit a cigarette, and let the smoke leave her lips at its own pace. She pressed a button on her desk. There was a click. A small panel in the corner of the room opened, followed by a metal-on-metal sound as an inner cage door slid open. A shiny, black creature emerged. It crawled towards Erin, its movements fluid and silent. Erin pushed her chair back from her desk and opened her legs. The creature slid between them, and a red tongue slid out from the gap in the rubber hood. Erin looked down and saw two almond-shaped eyes looking back at her through the slits in the hood. Erin smiled, stroked the rubber hood, and pulled the head closer. "It's just business," she whispered in Japanese as the English-speaking Japanese woman used her well-trained tongue to show her absolute devotion.