The Stranger
From a past so bitter, to a life of misery, unfulfilling,
comes an act so damning...
that she rushes to her death.
But her end is not yet.
And from the irreversible, she collides with the inconceivable.
Him.
Her forgotten love.
December, 1984.
10:22 PM.
“Let me go!”
“Barbara, stop!”
...
I was screaming at him as loud as I could—loud enough that, hopefully, someone could hear us. These walls were thin, if only there were people on the other side.
“Rescuers. Please, God.”
My throat was on fire though. Every flinch, breath, or ragged sound I tore from my chest burned. But my voice was the only way out of this.
“Help me! Somebody help!”
"Shh! It’s okay!”
“Get away from me!”
Something bad had happened, something I was a part of. I was so disoriented I couldn’t remember what exactly. But there was a gun... in my hand... and ever since I pulled that trigger, my entire world was under a dense, stark fog. Couldn’t see or think clearly. For all I knew, I could have been waking up from a violent dream and would have been none the wiser.
“Was any of it real?”
Noise pounded against my ears, but the sounds were turbulent, muffled, and stripped of meaning.
“Where am I?”
“What did I do?”
The hotel room blurred, its shapes distorting into jagged edges. Through the haze, the man I didn’t trust was pleading with me... but I was completely out of touch.
Still, there was danger, and I sensed every inch of him.
“... Who is he?”
A flurry of hands, elbows and arms was blocking my view, most of which were mine. I had a vague picture of his face etched in my mind, but details were still eluding me. All I knew was, we were fighting, I was yelling, and he was trying to drug me. Maybe he would succeed but I wasn’t going down without a fight.
Gaining some stability, I tried to identify him.
He was dressed in a nice suit and tie. Not overly imposing or tall, but strong.
Handsome.
And every time I bolted for the door, he spun me around at the waist, caging my body with those big, robust arms. It was madness. We’d turned over tables, lamps, and chairs in our path.
Someone should have heard us.
But now I was facing him, trying to escape our tug of war.
I’d push. He’d pull.
We went around and around struggling, until he thrust me against the wall, binding my wrists in his grizzly clutches. I pushed off the flat surface defiantly, flush with his stoic form.
He still wouldn’t let go.
His lips coiled. Did I catch him cracking a smile?! Was this... enjoyable?
I could see it plain as day, peering over his dark, emerald horizons. Those eyes. Those damn, lustful eyes. They covered me from head to toe, barbaric and hungry. If this were a game, he was the wolf, and I was his prey. Stalked, examined, and calculated. Measured for every inch. And I felt it in my bones: If he could’ve devoured me right then, I would have been his next meal.
I fought more. Harder. Yet his hands weren’t ravaging. They were cautiously paring back my attacks, absorbing them like a sponge.
Then, with a single push, he held me down on the wall again. I was pinned.
“Barbara,” he huffed. “Just calm down.”
“Or what?!” I spat. “You’re gonna hurt me? Do it!”
“No, I’m not," he growled, struggling to hold me steady.
The needle-syringe he was holding said otherwise.
Our bodies clashed together in a twisted dance of intimacy—heavy breathing, synchronized chests and thighs tangling. There was nothing arousing about it, though; it was pure, feral desperation.
But one swift movement after another, and my hand was loose! I didn’t hesitate to attack. My nails dug deep into his flesh, until the blood began to flow.
And... I saw red.
—“BANG!“—
Echoes of gunfire called back to me. Which was when I realized, this wasn’t the only blood I’d spilled tonight.
I’d shot him.
That bastard was dead. Finally, after all these years... dead.
I did it. I went through with it. My name would soon cover the headlines for murdering the one man who should have mattered most to me. There was no coming back from that.
I’d killed my own father.
While I wrestled with this unnerving truth, the stranger tightened his grip around me and spread my arms. He rasped out a pained growl as the blood trickled down his neck.
I couldn’t move.
But then I also began to remember him, and how we met. It rushed back to me as his face cemented in my mind.
... He was there too. He saw it all.
The moment I carried out my murderous intent, this stranger appeared from behind, saying my name. He was holding a white handkerchief and wearing that nice suit; he looked like someone important—or one of my father’s associates. And they weren’t the nicest people.
At first, though, he didn’t seem to pose a threat. He told me to put the gun down and begged me not to shoot myself. The cold revolver’s muzzle was against my forehead, and I was moments away from pulling the trigger again.
It was the only way out. The only way I could have any peace.
Leaving this world in a murder-suicide was the plan. I’d accomplished half of it so far.
But when this stranger spoke to me... it was like he knew me. There was panic in his voice. It was urgent that I gave him the weapon because “We have to get rid of it. It’s evidence.” Dread had hardened his mature exterior. I knew he wanted to fix my mistake.
Instead, I demanded to know who he was, but he kept asking for the gun.
When I wouldn’t hand it over, he chased me down and covered my mouth with his handkerchief. The smell was horrible and had a chemical-like odor. It was laced with something to knock me out.
It did.
And then I woke up... in this luxurious hotel room, in bed, and he was the first thing I saw. I wanted to make a run for it, and I did try, but I was still extremely disoriented. At that moment there wasn’t much else I could do.
“It’s okay,” he’d insist, but he was hovering over my body with a needle-syringe. He told me he was going to give me something to make me feel better.
So, defying my odds, I sprang to my feet and tried to get away... but he wasn’t letting me go.
“I’m not... trying to hurt you,” the stranger said, panting heavily between his words. A silver curl fell in his face as the sweat dripped off of him. The heat between us was suffocating. It was hot in here. I could tell he was tired, and truthfully so was I. We’d been at this for at least ten minutes now.
Maybe we could be civilized and talk it out if he’d just stop trying to drug me?
“I promise, Barbara.”
“You promise?” I scoffed. “That’s rich.”
My entire life was centered around disappointment and heartbreak. I knew what promises were worth.
But he didn’t take my amusement lightly. A war between stern and serious got the better of him. “I mean it.”
The guy was hellbent on thinking he knew me. Obviously, he didn’t know me well enough to understand that I had extreme trust issues. Plus watching this ole’ gal commit murder in the first degree wasn’t doing him any favors.
“... So why exactly should I trust you?”
He grunted, his grip softening for two, maybe three heartbeats, before his shoulders finally dropped. Then, with sincerity pooling in his bright jade eyes, he laid his forehead against mine. It was tender. Almost sweet. “You need help.”
Maybe he was right. Had he not been there... I would have killed myself. I didn’t think my life mattered anymore. Spending the last two weeks drowning in alcohol had made that conclusion easy.
But in the months and weeks leading to my catastrophic downfall, I had kept asking God if there was anything out there for me. Was there any happiness to look forward to? Any peace?
Instead, I got a letter in the mail explaining to me, in detail, how that bastard had gotten away with ruining someone else’s life.
So I did the unthinkable. I went to his house and filled him up with lead. My own father....
It never once occurred to me that this would be the result: trying to break free from a total stranger who seemed to know who I was.
The longer he held onto me, the more I was losing sensation between my hands and wrists. I was stuck, and all I really wanted was to lie down and rest.
I just needed it to be over now. Everything.
“Let me go.”
“Please, Barbara.” The bottom of his nose softly brushed up against my cheek, creating a wall of chill bumps over my back. How could someone so rugged and mysterious be this gentle? A concoction of cologne, cigarettes, and whatever it was he bathed in made the woman inside me ache. God help me, she wanted to be... filled with him. Why did he make me feel these things? I was supposed to be afraid. He was trying to drug me, after all.
But I stood there yearning for something. Like he had the answer to all the fucked up equations of my life.
“You need it, okay? And I need you to trust me... just this time”
I eyed the syringe between his fingers. “Need what?” My voice quivered. “I don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
He paused, and that look he gave me was noticeably desperate, rummaging through his thoughts. Was he searching for an answer, or some way to conceal the truth from me a little bit longer?
“A mild sedative—just to calm you down.”
My intuition screamed a big, fat “NOPE!” It had to be something worse because he was lying to me. And for whatever reason, seeing through this stranger came naturally... as if I already knew him.
Bullets of air shot out of me as I pushed against him to break free, to no avail. “I don’t believe you!”
I struggled more but the man was unmovable. All fighting him did was send signals around my body that I hadn’t felt in a long time.
He tilted his head and huffed. “I’m not going to hurt you, Barbara.”
“Then what are you going to do?” I gave up, laying my back on the wall.
“Just let me explain,” he said in a whisper’s pitch, almost poetically, “please?”
The man could try, but even if he started making all the sense in the world, I doubted I would want it then either.
“Who are you?”
“Do I know him?”
He exhaled a shaky breath and leaned in until our eyes locked. “The only one that can help you, princess.”
I raised a brow. “Really? By drugging me?”
“It isn’t that simple.” The cryptic gaze he suffocated me with didn’t help his case, it only built walls of foreign text between us, and I had no means of decoding them. But I still thought I could predict his story. There were grave and deadly consequences for what I did.
In this world, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth, was how the game was played. So my honest impression was... he had come to repay a blood debt, except he doubted himself. The only question was, who would he be betraying if he spared my life?
“But the truth... it’ll make you forget this entire evening ever happened.”
“Why...? Why would I want that?”
“So you won’t feel responsible for....”
“For killing my father?”
He pulled back, reducing his strength.
“I just wanted to give you a clean slate.”
It was hard to look up at those starry eyes and not wonder where this was coming from. He wasn’t here because my father’s associates were exacting their revenge. He was here because he cared about me.
But according to him, the solution to my problem was forgetting it? A part of me wished it could wipe away the last twenty years, because one night wasn’t nearly enough to fix me.
“Who are you? You still haven’t told me.”
Taking a good look at the man, I trailed his darting green embers and didn’t recognize a single thing, yet there was something oddly familiar about him. He was over forty, with short, wavy hair that was a blend of black, gray, and silver. His jaw was long and angular, hidden well by a medium-length beard. It seemed impossible to think this stranger could know me, let alone care for my well-being. But I didn’t mind looking at him....
He took a deep breath, his whole chest against mine, flowing and pressing into me with a steady rhythm. Weirdly, we were synchronized, and every ounce of air that left his nostrils landed gently on my neck. It felt... surprisingly good.
So good that I could have mistaken our proximity for something else.
After the silence, and no answer to my question, I decided to reassure him, and make him feel safe, if that were possible.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
He turned away. Behind that rugged facade, I could see the war taking place inside him, in the sweat on his brow. Being honest with me was difficult for him... possibly even dangerous?
“I just want to know your name. Is that so bad?”
He sank submissively and drew his face towards mine, but this time... he formed a smile. A devastating, tender smile.
“I think we just found your weakness, Barb.”
“Johnathan. I’m Johnathan.”
Theories were running rampant through my head. There were layers to this man—this situation—that I couldn’t see yet. An emotional tissue tying us together, naked to the eye, but it was there. In one way or another, Johnathan knew me from someplace, from a time long forgotten. And I needed answers.
“What were you doing there Johnathan?”
Guilt began to rise from the long wrinkles across his forehead.
Guilt.
“I was following you... I’ve been following you for a while Barbara.”
A stalker. My stalker. That was very intrusive and not at all healthy, but wouldn’t I have noticed him by now? I was usually very observant of the men around me.
“Why? Did... did my father make you?”
Lowering his gaze, he finally took his hands off me, but he didn’t move an inch. We were neck and neck and nose to nose. Without him exerting all that force, I could have escaped, but I lingered. Every fiber of my being was dying to know who on God’s green earth this Johnathan could be... and why he kept giving me this look. This look like we used to be star-crossed lovers.
So, I stared long and hard at him, waiting. Just waiting for an answer, until I saw a wave wash over him. His tough, rugged exterior softened. Something was there, right on the tip of his tongue, and I had to know. He was ready to say the very thing on his mind if he could only muster up the courage to let it out. I had to know!
But he shook his head. “No. He didn’t.”
“Then why have you been... following me?”
Carefully, he swallowed, bracing himself as his eyes fluttered up and down, flipping through me like a storybook.
And then I felt him look into the bottom of my soul.
“Because I’m in love with you.”
My heart froze. The man must have been crazy. There was no way he’d just said that. No way it could be true. But he said it like he meant it, and I almost believed him.
Why, though?
Johnathan took a step back, staring at the needle in his hand, and then dropped it.
He didn’t give a damn anymore.
In one tenth of a second, a blur of miscalculations and thoughtless intent, he closed the gap between us, never taking his eyes off me.
My head flipped into a tailspin. We were so near again that I could taste the man’s breath. I could see the longing in his gaze. I could feel his passion all the way down to the heels of my feet!
What had gotten into me? My mouth opened expecting a kiss; I kept waiting for him to lean in and just do it. I wanted him to, and I didn’t have a clue why. The tension was dynamite in my chest.
He gently reached out to touch me and I didn’t stop him. Without the syringe in his hand, I could tell this was about us now. Not the murder, taking my memories, or making me ignorant of my deed. Us. And I was very eager to find out what that entailed.
The man framed me like a picture, filling each hand with my face. He was unbearably soft. I found a sense of belonging in his touch, as if I had been waiting years to feel his embrace again.
“Barbara... I am so in love with you.”
Desperate as I was, I couldn’t make sense of that. Why me? What could I have done to hold such a sacred place in his heart?
I hadn’t mattered to anyone before… not truly. My own family and relatives, inside their capacity to love me, couldn’t. And at that point, I started believing I wasn’t meant to be loved.
“You think you love me? Come on,” I all but laughed.
“I know I do.” He spoke stern. His nostrils flared at my audacity.
“... But why?”
If this total stranger was so sure he could feel that way about me, then why? Or maybe a better question was how? Had he not witnessed the violent murder I committed? Or seen me live my day-to-day life as a miserable little wretch? Hating everything? Hating myself?
Barbara Fritz had nothing to offer. She was a “worthless nobody”... according to them. I was the one who didn’t catch any eyes. The one who got dumped after the first date for being a little too “weird.” I had never been truly loved by a man before... and I learned to live with that.
“Take it back,” I seethed. “You don’t know me. You can’t possibly love me.”
The strange man relinquished my face. His own hardened, a tower of disappointment forming where his jade eyes used to be. The fire in them went out.
“And if you did know me... you’d just leave.”
That’s what they all did. They left.
I stared at his disheveled shirt collar with his loosened navy-blue necktie hanging down, no longer able to meet his gaze.
God. There was that hideous figure of guilt and shame clawing into my ribcage. I felt like a walking horror show.
Someone had just stuck their wrist out for me to watch them bleed… and I slammed the door in his face.
“You’re not worth his love,” said the negativity. “Not his. Not anyone’s.”
And that’s when another teardrop made its way down my cheek.
But it wasn’t long before I felt him stir. A hand gently gripped the wall above my head, while he leaned all the way against me.
In a slight panic, I looked into his eyes—determined, lively, and purposeful.
“I’m crazy about you, Barbara,” he whispered, nudging my nose with the tip of his. “I do love you.”
He dried my tear and gently caressed me under his thumb, soaking my lower regions with... anticipation. I felt irreparably unchaste. Aching. Needing. The end of everything had seemed so near, but now, a whole new world of experiences was right at my fingertips.
If he really loved me like he said he did, then maybe I wanted to find out what that meant.
Maybe I wanted him to prove it.
A trembling breath rolled off his lip. But there was something else in his eyes that hurt to look at. Like he’d been waiting for me longer than anyone should have to wait.
It let in a smoldering intensity.
A reality-bending truth.
So I knew exactly what his next move was.
Johnathan lowered his jaw... and he kissed me.
A warm, bearded mouth; something I hadn’t felt in ages.
I froze against him.
The man I had fought so hard to run from was kissing me. This was unfathomably dangerous.
But… it wasn’t as intrusive as expected; not demanding, or willing me to behave a certain way, so I didn’t fight him, but I didn’t kiss him back either. Logic was louder than desire.
Logic said that would be pure insanity. It would be irresponsible, and that giving into a man I didn’t know would result in more harm than good....
That history would repeat itself.
Desire, however, said maybe I should see where this goes.
Just once.
But then he pulled away. It was over as fast as it’d started.
I was too late, again. Seemed to be a running theme in my life.
No sense of relief ever came; all I had was an aching curiosity. Because something about him letting go... made me sad. Like I’d passed on a wonderful opportunity.
His eyes screamed longing.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
I raised my hand, not knowing what the hell I was even doing that for, and ran my fingers through his beard.
He looked just as surprised as I was.
I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t explain what was happening to me, or why I was doing what I was doing.
And then, this time, I kissed him.
Cue the alarm bells. Kissing your stalker isn’t a very smart thing to do, Barb.
Letting him in could have disastrous implications, and my life was in enough pieces already. I was broken—certainly too broken to let anyone this close. But my God, I wanted him.
I wanted him badly.
He was so soft, so mesmerizingly tender, I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t let him go. We were mouth-to-mouth and totally exposed, trading fierce, hungry passion. I lunged after him. I’d never once openly invited a man to go this far, but for some reason it felt... right. It was pure but somehow sensual, more than skin-deep... more than a kiss.
A reunion?
Our tongues met in a tangled frenzy; he made quick circular motions that filled me with impossible warmth—a heat that was borderline volatile. I didn’t know what to do. I had never been kissed before... not like this.
I found myself gliding my hands down his back or holding onto him tightly at times, having bushels of hair between my fingers.
I was so desperate to escape in him that I didn’t bother to think about what was going to happen to me.
I was trapped in his arms, against the wall. His strong grip had seized my waist, and I knew he could have torn me apart with those rugged hands, but he only used them to pull me closer. Our bodies were hardly separate, and he was still insatiable. Everything I did, he moaned. How hungry... how desperate he was for me, did not seem possible.
For all my adult life, there was not a moment I could recall being this intimate with someone. Being this vulnerable. I was losing myself to him, and I couldn’t see a way back up.
We walked to the bed as if our steps were predetermined.
And then, he laid me down, holding onto our kiss with dear life. Our mouths embraced more violently, opening wider for each other.
I felt so exposed. So deep in him.
Flat on my back, he stayed on top of me but didn’t use his entire weight.
Fuck, was this actually happening?
I was comfortable. I was scared, too, but comfortable. I spread my legs around his waist and hitched against the firm edge bulging from his pants.
I’d never done this before.
My heart raced frantically. I was breathing so fast it felt like I was going to die.
I focused on him. I tried. That feeling of finally being together had struck Johnathan to the core. He shut his eyes blissfully, succumbing to pure euphoria.
He sunk his teeth into my neck.
It was obvious that he had been waiting for this moment a long time. But that moment was here, and I couldn’t go through with it.
I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t.
There was no power on earth that could make me whole. No hope of a life free from those memories that haunted me.
I should have known.
When I was barely thirteen years old, my body was ravaged in my innocence. There wasn’t a word gruesome or torturous enough in the dictionary to describe the things that I went through. That my own father allowed me to go through. I relived them every day, and now—here—was no exception.
I was with Johnathan, but all I could see was his face.
It was the curvature of his lips traveling across me.
His breath billowing down my skin.
His awful hands around me.
“Sweet little blondie, no one does it like you.”
Pressure began to rise from the heels of my feet, an unalloyed dread from twenty-seven years ago... the same dread I felt every time he touched me.
The memories were alive again, plowing through my stomach to unearth what I longed to forget. Charlie Boyles: I could sense that sick bastard on every inch of my body. In all the places a young girl should have never known a man. His voice swept over my mind, his image pouring in like wet cement. I could even feel his weight pressing on me. The mere thought of him was suffocating.
I couldn’t breathe.
Paralyzing fear crumbled me into pieces. Tears were pouring down my face, but I couldn’t even cry for help. I couldn’t say a word.
Fighting only made things worse.
You just had to wait until it was over.
“... Barbara?”
Johnathan rubbed my face. I couldn’t see him through the tears. Panic had shattered my entire being. All I could do was sob. In the moment, my mind was convinced it was happening again. He was here, doing the unspeakable to me.
Johnathan rolled over on his side, and the relief was immediate. He knew somehow not to push this any further. I was thankful for that.
I released the air I’d been clinging to and wiped my cheeks clean.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“It’s not your fault.” I sat, shaking into my hands. The twinge of embarrassment eating my soul was horrific. I should have known better. I should have said something. Or at the very least pushed him away.
Why couldn’t I have the things I wanted in life?
This was why.
I was a coward.
I was broken.
He laid the palm of his hand on my back, and I couldn’t breathe again. It was just part of my hard wiring: no touching allowed—of any kind.
“Take your hand off me,” I said sternly, snapping my head at him. “And don’t you dare touch me again.”
He obeyed in an instant.
We sat there a while, not saying anything. And then suddenly, I felt him move; he got up and started picking up the furniture we’d turned over.
This could have been my chance to get out of here.
“Can I go now?” Not the brightest thing to say, Barbara; asking him was a sign of weakness. I didn’t need his permission, after all. I just didn’t want to end up fighting him off again.
Sighing loudly, he framed his hips and stared at the ceiling, thinking about my request. Obviously, I was supposed to stay with him. Right? Maybe I was his permanent little girlfriend? Maybe he would never let me go?
He sat beside me.
“I know you don’t understand... but I do love you, Barbara. And I would never hurt you. That’s why I need you to listen to me.”
I nodded. His love seemed somewhat genuine, even though it was likely an obsession. Did stalkers actually “love” their victims, after all? No, and it was hard for me to think otherwise. Call me cynical.
“What happened tonight can never be spoken of. You can’t tell anyone what you did.”
I hadn’t thought about it yet. Was I going to turn myself in? The only plan I’d actually considered was... ending my life at the feet of my father’s. That still seemed like a better outcome than spending the rest of it in prison. Because whether I confessed to killing him or not, they would eventually find out it was me... wouldn’t they?
I should have killed myself a long time ago, anyway; spared everyone the trouble.
He didn’t wait for me to respond. “The people he represents will be very displeased with his death. I have to protect you from them, Barbara.”
Have to? Why was he making this an obligation? I didn’t ask for his help, nor would I.
“What if I don’t want you to?”
He leaned in closely. I thought he might kiss me again.
“I’m not giving you the choice, darling.”
In a flash, Johnathan pinned my arm back and plunged the needle into my flesh. A sharp, liquid sting shot up my veins. I didn’t even see him grab it!
My back hit the bed sheets. I lost sensation in my spine.
I couldn’t move!
“Why?! Why would you do this?!”
I thrust my palms into his chest, but he wouldn’t budge. There was no escape, it was over. I’d taken his drug and now something awful was going to happen to me, wasn’t it?
My breaths began to heave. I felt myself devolving into another panic attack, accelerating the drug’s impact.
“I’m sorry Barbara.”
I was hyperventilating and smothering all at once. I couldn’t feel my arms or legs anymore. The room was turning black. The drug was coursing through my body and taking over.
The last thing I saw was tears filling up his eyes.
“But I had to....”
Hi! Lindsey here 😊First off, if you’ve made it this far, thanks so much for checking out Chapter 1 of Ill-Gotten Memories.
I just wanted to leave a little note here about some of the traumatic events our girl, Barbara, has gone through, which were strongly hinted at in this opening part of the book.
Her past is based on real life tragedies that I, myself, have not personally endured. I want to treat topics such as mental health and sexual abuse with delicacy. That being said though, my characters still have the capacity to desire and love one another. I will outright go ahead and confirm that them coming together romantically does not heal them from past abuse or trauma. I aim to write complex characters within a complex plot. I certainly don’t want to write a story where having sex with the MMC “fixes” the FMC. I think that’s disgusting. But what I did want to show was a woman’s strength, resilience, and exploration of pleasure on HER TERMS after going through many dark, twisted things in her youth. I hope you’ll find this story empowering, and not a stereotypical rehash of the “damaged FMC” trope.
Thanks again!
