The trees streamed past, mile after interstate mile. Alan Ross had stopped paying attention. He just stared out the window of the bus. It was far from luxurious and it was slow, but it had the advantage of being cheap and that was what mattered. He had spent the last dollar in his pocket on a package of stale vending machine crackers at the last stop. Now his stomach was growling again. It didn’t matter of course. He was almost there. 

Alan’s only companions on the long journey were the cardboard box he held on his lap and the sealed envelope he carried in the pocket of his jacket. It was after midnight when the bus pulled into the last station on this route. Like many bus stations, this one was in a bad part of town. Transients and addicts filled the waiting room. Alan held the box close.

“Come with me.”  The man said it to him as he walked past. Alan had never seen him before but he followed. They walked out into the dark parking lot to his old, beat up car. Alan got in the passenger seat, still holding the box on his lap. The other man got in the drivers seat and pulled away.

It was a short drive and the two men didn’t speak to each other. The car went down dark streets in this bad part of town. Past abandoned buildings, liquor stores and bail bondsmen.

They stopped at a corner. “This is where you get out.”

Alan nodded. He stepped out onto the corner and the car sped away. He waited there for five minutes.  Ten.  Thirty.  There was almost no traffic here at this time of night. Eventually a van pulled up. Two men emerged. One took the box from him while the other had him lean against the side of the van and frisked him. Neither was rough and Alan cooperated completely. They relieved him of his wallet and the envelope, dropping both in the box. One slid the cargo door of the van open. Alan began to shake when he looked inside. A pair of stainless steel handcuffs hung from the roof by a short chain. A moment later he was on his knees in the back of the van, his wrists had been chained and a hood pulled down over his head. The door slid shut and they started driving.

It was a long ride. Eventually they stopped. The hood remained in place but his wrists were freed. Briefly. A moment later they were again chained behind his back. A few moments after that he found himself being pushed to his knees again. His wrists and ankles were pulled back and chained together so tightly that he could not even squirm. He felt metal against his throat as a collar was locked in place. His head was pulled forward as the collar was chained as well. And then he was alone again, kneeling with his head bowed.

Alan remained there for many hours, the muscles in his arms and legs aching under the strain. Though he could not see, he heard people passing through the room periodically. His heart would begin to pound with each sound as he hoped that at last Marquesa had come, but he was disappointed each time. He heard the sound of a fire being started in a fireplace close by and felt the warmth. It was soothing to his tormented muscles.

He heard the tapping of heels against the floor. Alan tensed again. This time the heels came closer and closer. He felt someone brush past him and thought he caught the barest whiff of perfume. Then the hood was pulled away.

Despite every reflex, Alan remembered to keep his eyes down. His first glimpse of her in person was only her shoes. Four inch red Christian Louboutin heels.  He allowed his eyes to rise ever so slightly. Just enough to see the long, fit legs rising from the heels. She crossed her legs placing one slim foot just inches from his face. He could smell the leather of her shoe mixed with the aroma of her perfume.

“We meet at last,” Marquesa purred.

A shudder passed through Alan’s body as he heard her voice in person for the first time. He gasped for breath, overcome.

“M..m…my g…g.goddess!” he said, trembling.

She allowed him a moment to collect himself before continuing. On the floor next to where he was chained was the box that he had brought with him. Laying on top was the envelope.

“You followed my instructions to the letter?” Marquesa asked.

Alan swallowed, “Yes, Goddess.”

Still keeping his eyes down, Alan saw Marquesa’s hand as she took the envelope. Long and elegant fingers, red perfectly manicured nails and a large diamond and emerald ring. He heard the tearing of paper as she opened the envelope.

Inside, Marquesa found a cashiers check made payable to her. In the grand scheme of things, it was not an enormous amount of money. A little over $300,000. As he had told her, Alan was not a wealthy man.  The check came from selling his home, car and possessions plus emptying out his 401k.

Marquesa reached down and took Alan’s chin in her hand. She tipped his head up to look him in the eye. He was shaking as he looked into the face of his goddess for the first time.

“And this is every penny?  You’ve held nothing back?” Marquesa asked menacingly.

Alan nodded vigorously, terrified. “Yes, Goddess. Everything.  I sold everything.”

Marquesa held his gaze for a moment before responding. “I will know if you are lying. It would be…  Unfortunate. Do you understand?”

“Y…yes, Goddess!”

Marquesa slid the check back into the envelope and laid it aside. “Very well then, my pet. We’ll begin by getting rid of your clothing.”

Marquesa summoned her assistant who had been waiting quietly. She approached carrying a large pair of shears. As Marquesa watched, Alan’s clothing was cut away and tossed into the fire. When he was nude, Marquesa opened the cardboard box. Inside were the last of his possessions. Photographs, mementos…  Their only value was sentimental.

Marquesa took his wallet from the box and, without a word, tossed it into the flames. As his ID and credit cards burned and melted, she continued. His birth certificate, old and irreplaceable family photos, she tossed each item into the fire as he knelt before her.

When the last item had been burned,    Marquesa spoke again. “There. Now you are just flesh. No possessions, no past.  I’ve taken what is useful to me and disposed of the rest. This is what you begged for, isn’t it, pet?”

Alan swallowed. “Yes, Goddess. Thank you, Goddess.”

“Is there anything you would like to say before I finish with you?”  Marquesa asked.

Alan looked up at her adoringly. “I love you, Goddess…  Have I pleased you?”

Smiling sweetly at him, Marquesa caressed his cheek. She leaned down. He trembled with anticipation of finally, after so very long, hearing her say that he had pleased her. Her lips parted as if to speak but, instead, she snapped her fingers. Immediately, he fell into deep trance just as she had conditioned him. His eyes stared blankly, his jaw slackened.

Marquesa tipped her head back and laughed.  After he had given her everything, she knew how wicked it was to deny him that one moment of happiness from knowing that he had pleased her. Still, it was simply too perfect to pass up. He would never hear her say it now.  She found that amount of power utterly intoxicating.

“My poor, eager fool,” she mocked him with a contented sigh.

Marquesa gave him a few more commands, planting final deep hypnotic suggestions in his open and accommodating mind. When she was finished, she stroked his hair one last time.

“Goodbye, my pet,” she said and slipped the hood back over his head.

Though Alan was oblivious to it now, there was the sound of Marquesa’s heels tapping and then a final instruction to her assistant:

“Dispose of him.”

***

The ER doctor had to admit that he was confused. The patient who sat on the exam table before him did not fit the usual profile. The officers who had brought him in after finding him asleep in an alley had assumed he was either a drunk or a junkie but he showed no sign of being either.  Only his ratty, cast off clothes fit with him being homeless.  Nor could the doctor explain why he could not remember who he was or where he came from. Unlike on television, true amnesia is actually quite rare and in the absence of a head injury it is essentially unheard of. Yet the CT scan showed nothing. No memory, no ID…  It was a true mystery. He might be lying but somehow the doctor doubted it. He genuinely seemed to have no idea who he was or how he had gotten there.

“Well, the good news is that physically you seem absolutely fine. The only unusual thing we noticed was that you seem to have a fresh tattoo on your backside. Given the skin irritation, I would say you received it in the last 24 hours. Does this mean anything to you?”

He took the photo the doctor was holding out. As he had said, it was a photo of his bottom. A small tattooed “M” was there, inked into the pale flesh. Bright red and drawn in an elegant script.

He shook his head as he returned the photo. “I have no idea. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

The doctor folded his arms. He had assumed as much. “Well, I’m afraid that’s about all we can do for you. Most likely your memories will come back. How long that takes is impossible to say. I’d like to have a hospital psychiatrist speak with you but that’s a little complicated with an indigent patient. You understand. I’m sorry.”

Somewhat awkwardly, the doctor continued, “Come with me. There’s a pretty decent men’s shelter nearby. We’ll find someone to give you a lift down there.”