Crazed

CRAZED

By QuantumMechanic1957

What do you do with a crazy ex-wife?

Sorry, still working on STATION BREAK. The primary female character there is taking a lot longer to redeem than I had anticipated. I also just had to get this idea out of my head to make room. Saw SOUND OF FREEDOM on Independence Day and that really ignited some feelings. While this is a LOVING WIFE story, it is the aftermath. Yes, it is a BTB, but it is the aftermath of THAT also. And there might be some redemption at the end; so stand warned - if you are not into that, browse elsewhere. There is some sex, but not a complete drenching clash of bodies. And many, many thanks to SaddleTramp1956 for his feedback, insight and encouragement!

CRAZED

If there had been more rust and dirt, the cabin would have been the perfect tramp steamer set for an INDIANA JONES summer thriller.

The cabin was not large, and the air was warm and close and had obviously never heard of air conditioning. There were no doors on the tiny closet, just a handful of wire hangers which swung slowly with the motion of the ship. The room was definitely minimalist, with almost nothing for furnishings. It was starkly lit by one bulb dangling from the light fixture, with a slowly swinging cone of light that made the edges of the room seem even darker than they were. Actually there was a very modern fluorescent light fixture in the middle of the ceiling which no one had bothered to fix, and the single incandescent bulb in its tin cone shade hung from the wires as a quick, easy solution to complete darkness. The paperwork to fix the light had probably been lost months ago.

There was a bunk against the bulkhead opposite the cabin door, with a thin mattress which was about as far from luxury as you could get, and some not totally dirty sheets and a pillow that was probably only slightly better than nothing at all.

On the bunk lay a woman. If she had been standing, she would probably have been five foot six. Her red hair was long, but kind of greasy and tangled. Her green eyes were dull and stared at the overhead. Since she didn't have any tea to try to read her future in the tea leaves, she seemed to be trying to divine the future from the dirty spider webs above the bunk. Her body was quite attractive, but looked like it had been ridden... hard... and the owner weary in more ways than just physical. She was sprawled on the sheets and wore dark green shorts and a light green halter top. A pair of cheap black vinyl sandals sprawled on the deck next to the bunk.

Time didn't seem to have any meaning, and it didn't pass so much as it slunk by, muttering darkly.

A jarringly normal knock came though the cabin door and upset the quiet of the room.

The woman didn't move or make a sound, not acknowledging the knock with even a twitch of an eye.

The one who knocked didn't bother with a second try, and just opened the door and walked in carrying a shiny tin tray.

"Dinner, Maggie," she announced. The woman carrying the tray was also about five foot six, and also had red hair and green eyes. At this point the differences started to pile up amazingly. The hair was as brilliant a shade of red as human hair could ever achieve, and it was done up in a tight bun on the back of her head. The shade of green in her eyes would have made Incan emeralds slink off self-consciously to try a different shade.

She wore a black sleeveless tee shirt that barely restrained her ample bust line. Her camo pants covered a figure that didn't even hint at the fact that it had birthed three exceptional children. The black combat boots were not shiny, but gave the impression that they could be, if required. Perched on her head was a jet black baseball cap with a Blue Heart emblem above the visor. She had a couple of tattoos on her shoulders where most military personnel wear unit insignias or mottos like, 'Kill Them All - Let God Sort Them Out.'

She walked with utter self-assurance, with a small knife sheathed on one side of her utility belt and a small semi-automatic on the other side. She radiated the aura that announced, 'I am the Angel of Death's WIFE; do NOT fuck with me.'

She placed the tray on the side of the bunk, pulled over the single chair in the room, and sat down.

"You need to eat up, Maggie. In a couple of days we'll be in a friendly port. We've already alerted the embassy staff so you'll be on a plane back home to your family before you know it."

The woman named Maggie ignored her.

The woman on the chair sighed. "We've been over this before. I am not going to force you to eat or drink, but I sure as heck am not going to let you starve yourself to death after surviving all that. If you force me to, I'll call in Tag."

The woman's face screwed up, turned, and looked at her. "Tag?"

"Taggert."

The woman, pretending reluctance, sat up, pulled the tray onto her lap, and started to slurp the soup. "You mean that big guy that came out of nowhere?" she ventured.

The woman on the chair nodded. "Yeah. Six six. Two hundred pounds of steel bones and Kevlar muscles, dressed in black and very at home in shadows. He killed three guys getting you out of there, and two others will be on painkillers for the rest of their hopefully short lives."

Maggie took a bite of bread. "Are you his commanding officer or something?"

The woman on the chair shrugged. "Kind of. He's my husband."

Maggie stared at her and managed to keep from choking.

The woman gave her an encouraging smile. "It's a long story. I was like you; kidnapped, trafficked, used. I was the first trafficking victim Tag had ever rescued. We've been together ever since. You should hear it when he reads WINNIE THE POOH to the kids; the different voices he does are quite cute."

"This is... surreal," Maggie mumbled, picking at some fruit which had obviously been poured out of a can.

"That you left your husband and wound up in a brothel on the other side of the planet, or that you are free now?"

Maggie swallowed. "Both, I guess."

"I'm Sue, by the way."

"Very, very happy to meet you."

"Pleased to help."

"What happened back at the compound?"

"Well, most of the women were normal sex workers. Their life; their choice. But there were eight of you trafficking victims in the building in the back of the compound and that was not to be tolerated."

Maggie grunted angrily. "Yeah. We were there for... novelty... value." She spit on the deck. Sue didn't blink. "What happened to Chloe, Vanessa, Cora, Tasha, and...," she asked, suddenly anxious.

"An associate of ours is getting them to the nearest consulate of their home nations. They will all be back home within a couple of weeks. You were the only one we were hired to recover, but we do not leave any trafficked people behind."

"Hired?"

"Yes."

"Who did that? My folks? My brother?" Maggie's face was puzzled.

"I am not at liberty to discuss our clients."

"You and your husband are mercenaries?"

"Private investigators, actually. Though I admit we stretch that particular definition pretty far. We don't make money off of rescues, but we do have expenses we need to pay." She gave a wry smile. "These luxurious accommodations, for example."

"Sue."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Sue watched Maggie carefully as she wrestled with an intense emotional upheaval. She looked like she would lose it, seriously, but managed to control whatever horrors that had tried to escape. After a few deep, shaky breaths she started to eat again.

"We got the report from the doctor in Krong Siem Reap. You are not pregnant. You have no STIs. You are a little undernourished, definitely need some serious Vitamin D, and could use a week-long soak in a tub. Other than that, you are physically in better shape than most victims."

"And... mentally?" Maggie said, taking a swig of tea from the bottle.

Sue hesitated. "You have quite a bit of mental and emotional trauma. PTSD is a given. It took months of daily sessions to piece me back together. You have a long journey ahead. But it is survivable. I thank God every day for three kids who hug me and call me, 'Mom,' and a husband who spoons me no matter how bad the nightmares were." She looked at Maggie with an utterly serious expression. "If you don't make it, the Evil wins. Don't let it. That's your victory. That is flipping the Devil the bird."

Maggie stared at the now empty tray, as if astonished she had actually eaten it all. Sue waited patiently while Maggie wrestled with something.

She finally said, "Is that why the door is locked?"

Sue shook her head. "No. Not really. The normal lock is broken, and the padlock means we don't have to station a watch continuously to protect you. There are only three of us to keep watch. We don't want you to have a run-in with an unsavory crew member or stowaway."

"And to keep me from jumping over the side," Maggie said flatly, staring at the tray.

"That too," Sue admitted.

There was a long, awkward silence.

"What about Dave?" she said quietly.

Sue hesitated. "That's your husband, right?"

Maggie nodded.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Maggie handed the tray to Sue and lay back on the bunk. "We were married for three years. He was a nice guy. I guess I didn't realize how nice until I had to deal with hordes of really NOT nice men." She sighed. "Anyway. I ran into this guy. He was tall, sophisticated, and really, really handsome. Well-built. Lots of muscles. And tailored suits. And a gorgeous sports car. He let me drive it. He was wealthy, educated, and just born to sweep women off their feet."

She ground her teeth together and stared into the past. "Within a week I was in his bed. Within two weeks he convinced me that he would take me off to the life of ease and grandeur I deserved. I was... smitten. I went back to the apartment and packed a bag while Dave stared at me. I told him I had met my soulmate, my Prince Charming who would take me away from our mundane life. I handed him my ring and waltzed down and hopped into that damn sports car."

She started to breathe, heavy and fast. Sue reached over and touched her leg. The breathing slowed and Maggie's eyes focused on hers; they weren't quite... empty... but what was left was distilled misery.

"As we zoomed away he gave me a drink. Like champagne. 'A toast to freedom,' he said. I laughed. I drank. That's the last thing I remember. Until I woke up on a ship headed God alone knew where."

If she had had any tears left, they would have been coursing down her cheeks. But she had been cried out weeks ago. She mumbled, "There were other women."

Sue nodded. "He was actually courting four of you at the time."

Maggie squeezed her eyes shut as if a sudden pain had shot through her body. She shivered.

Sue rocked back a little in the chair. "I was snatched off the streets of a small college town in the wee hours of the morning by a group of guys. The classic unmarked van. I was arrogant and unafraid and was doing something silly. One of the guys in one of my classes told me to call him if I needed to go from the undergraduate library to my apartment at night, and he'd walk me there. I told him that I was perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Didn't turn out that way. The kidnappers do still go in for the snatching off the streets, drugged drinks in the back of a bar, and invitations to prestigious photoshoots. But those are risky now. The victims are missed quickly and the alerts go out."

Sue caught her eye and nodded. "You got the new wave of traffickers. More sophisticated. They use very accomplished gigolos with all the trappings of wealth to lure young wives away. A wife tells her husband that she is off with her soulmate and leaves. She's an adult who doesn't want to be married anymore and leaves of her own volition. She's not even legally missing. The police could care less. It happens every day. The husband is devastated, but what can he do? Look for somebody to sue for 'Marital Interference'? She told him goodbye and good riddance, I'm off to the good life. It can be weeks before someone finally says, 'Hey, Sara should have at least called her mom or sister and said please mail me my favorite book and here's my new address for Christmas cards.' By the time the alarm is raised, you are thousands of miles away and the trail is stone cold."

Maggie sat back up, clutching her knees to her chest. "Eighteen months. Eighteen months. That's how long I was in that compound. I could have been there for years. Years. I have no idea what would happen when I couldn't make her enough money anymore. Sell me off to a private... collector? Turn me out, homeless? Kill me? God, I was so stupid."

"Well, as far as I know, your husband filed for divorce due to abandonment. It was granted after a year. So you are free now. Your parents were relieved when we signaled we had found you. They'll take care of you until you get back on your feet."

Maggie shot Sue a look of pure acid. "What about that silver-tongued bastard who did this to me?"

Sue looked at her as if carefully considering her response.

"He cannot be allowed to keep doing this to women. He CAN'T," Maggie yelled.

"The third member of our team should be joining the ship tonight. I think he might have a report on that." Sue shrugged. "Tag and I usually work alone, but sometimes we pick up some assistance."

Maggie gritted between clenched teeth, "Somebody has to pay for this."

Sue nodded. "It's an uphill fight. It will take a long time, especially if no one thinks it's an urgent or pressing problem. Better get some rest." With that she took the tray and left, closing the door behind her. There was no click of a lock.

Maggie sat on the edge of the bunk for a long time, rocking back and forth, crying silently without tears and hugging herself.

...

About an hour later she felt the ship slow for a few minutes, wallow in the waves, and then speed back up again. About fifteen minutes later there was a knock at the door.

"It's only locked sometimes," she called bitterly.

The door opened and a figure stepped in, and then the door closed again.

She stared at the figure standing there, glaring at her in disgust.

"Dave?"

It kind of looked like Dave; six feet tall, sandy-colored hair, gold-wire rimmed glasses. It even wore what looked like Dave's favorite mountain biking jeans, his favorite HIGHLANDER tee shirt, and a black leather jacket she had never seen before. But the man standing there was lean and hard and had a face ten years older than when she had seen it last. There was a knife on his belt that gleamed even in the subdued light of the cabin and would have given razors an inferiority complex in a 'sharpness' competition.

"Yeah. Bitch. It's me."

She gaped at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I paid a lot of money to be able to finally tell you to piss off and die."

"You're the client?" she stammered incredulously.

He nodded. "When the divorce was granted, I hired the Taggerts to locate you with the instruction that the final decree be shoved up your cheating cunt. They wouldn't do that, but they promised to deliver it to you in the most humiliating way possible for a suitable fee. That's when we found that Prince Charming had trafficked you rather than running off with you."

He laughed without a shred of humor at all, shaking his head but keeping his eyes riveted to hers. "So I had the choice to either take a vacation to Thailand and pay a nominal fee for some time with my ex-wife, international prostitute extraordinaire, to personally shove the petition up her cheating cunt, OR bust you out and send you crawling back to your mortally embarrassed family and go on my merry way with a clear conscience."

He swallowed hard, obviously controlling himself with a Herculean effort. "So I decided to take the high road. We had two great years dating and three fantastic years married, and two weeks of shit and then a shattered heart. With this little rescue I figure we are even. Accounts all paid. Debts all settled. And I can get on with my life."

"You paid for all this? It wasn't my folks?"

He snorted. "Not even close. You remember my Uncle Torrie?"

"Yeah. He was a bit weird."

Dave's eyes were hard. "He was my favorite uncle. I listened to all his stories and worked on all his boats. When he passed a year ago, he left everything to his favorite nephew since none of his other nephews or nieces was interested in what he did. It wasn't extravagant, but it was a decent fortune. He left a note that I should use some of it to get even with you. Well, he said 'Get closure with you,' but I knew what he meant."

He gulped some air. "Uncle Torrie was the only one to console me after your betrayal. Everyone else seemed to blame me. Said I must have done something wrong if it was that easy for you to run off."

"It was all on me, Dave. I'm sorry. God, that sounds so inadequate." Her eyes grew round and bright and she pounded the side of the bunk with her fist. "If you loan me the money to get the bastard who did this to me, I swear to God I will repay you, Dave."

He laughed. It was a bit off, and his eyes were hard and dark. "Too late." He pulled something off his belt and tossed it onto the deck halfway between them. It was a one gallon plastic bag. Inside was a private, bloody body part, the blood a garish color in the slowly swinging light. "Let's just say that he won't be seducing anyone else; certainly not the sharks. I'll drop this overboard in the morning. Following us all night will probably give the sharks a better appetite to choke this down."

He picked the bag up, tucked it in his belt, and turned to the door. "Goodbye, bitch. We're even now."

He was just reaching for the door handle when one hundred and ten pounds of fury slammed squarely into his back with the force of a guided missile. His head hammered off the door and he dropped to the floor.

...

When Dave came to, slowly and painfully, he realized a few things. One was that he was laying on the deck near the door with his wrists bound above his head with a shredded sheet. Another was that he was naked from the waist down and stretched across the floor. He also noticed, a bit groggily, that his ex-wife was crouched on top of his hips. Her eyes were inches from his own and her glare brought him to full consciousness in a heartbeat. The bright eyes were like neon signs advertising to the world that 'reason' had taken a vacation and would not be back anytime soon. When he tried to open his mouth to curse he was brought up short by the new fact that his ex-wife had his knife and the tip of the blade was pressed up into his jaw just enough to NOT break the skin.

She hissed like an enraged snake. "You... fucker! You sanctimonious pus bucket! Even? Even! No way in Hell are we even! Not even close! I lived through a year and half of humiliating misery there. Ten, fifteen, twenty, or MORE, guys per day. Used with as much thought as a piece of... of... toilet paper! That day I had smuggled a knife out of the kitchen and sharpened it as quietly as I could and I was waiting until midnight when I was going to slit my wrists and leave this travesty of a life. You know what the eternal penalty for taking your own life could be, right, Dave? An eternity in Hell. HELL! I was convinced that the fires of eternal damnation would be better than the hell I was in. In an hour I would have been dead! Dead! Dead and GONE!"

She shifted on his lap, and he could feel her move over his groin and he groaned. "Then you and the Taggerts rolled in. We were all wrapped in blankets and dragged out the back and put into that bus. I woke up on this ship, treated decently and told I was headed home. I woke up and the WORST NIGHTMARE OF MY LIFE WAS OVER! Over, Dave. Because of you. YOU! I owe you my life. I OWE YOU MY ETERNAL SOUL! That might not mean shit to you but it means everything to me! There is no freaking way I am letting you just walk away and say we are square. You came after me even if it was only to rub my nose in how stupid I was. The OLD ways, Dave. The OLD ways. You save someone's life, they OWE you that life."