Mystery Woman

"YES, YES, YES," Cory yelled, jumping up from her seat. "Harley, Harley, did this. He pulled me out of the car and left me. That's who was pulling me by my arm, Harley. We were living together. I... I remember that." She closed her eyes again in an attempt to remember more, but the rest was still a blank.

"Is he the one who shot you?"

"No, I... I don't think so. I... I'm not sure. I don't think so, though. I don't remember getting shot." It was as if she suddenly lost all her energy and she collapsed back into the chair.

"So, this Harley drove you to a remote spot and just left you there? Do you remember any more?"

Cory shook her head. "No, I... I think we had an argument, I know we were fighting in the car, but it's still kind of foggy. I... I do remember it being a long drive. I had no idea where he was taking me, then... he... he just stopped in the middle of nowhere and told me to get out. When I refused, he got out of the car and came around to my side. He was pulling me out."

At that point, Cory's emotions were getting the most of her and she started to cry. The doctor pulled some tissues from the box on her desk and walked around to offer her patient support.

"Easy, easy," she said in a comforting voice. "I know this is hard. Let's take a break. Try and relax. Lie back and close your eyes again, just try to calm down."

Cory tried to do as her doctor said, but her brain was in turmoil. "How did you know my name?" she asked.

"Some kids were fishing in a river along route twenty and hooked a purse..."

"Yes, yes," Cory excitedly proclaimed, "my black purse. I was trying to grab it from the front seat as he was pulling me out of the car, but I couldn't get to it."

"This Harley guy must be a real..." she stopped there. She wanted to say asshole, but that wouldn't be very professional. "Anyway, he must have thrown the purse in the river on the way home. Unfortunately, the only thing the kids found in it was this," she said as she set cory's driver's license on the desk, "or, at least that's all they claimed to find."

Cory picked it up and looked. "That's me," she whispered with satisfaction. "I do exist." She looked up at the doc. "How did you get this?"

"The kids turned it into the local police department. Somebody there recognized your picture from the newspaper and called the Chicago P.D. When Jerrod heard about it he called me and asked what to do. I..."

"Jerrod knew? I was just with him last night. He never said a thing."

"Yes, I told him to forward everything to me. I thought it might prompt some memory recall and I wanted you in a controlled environment. I told Jerrod not to say anything."

The doctor studied her reactions as her patient just sat and tried to take in everything that was happening. "Cory, I don't want to push you but as your brain accepts more of your past, I believe you'll start to remember more and more. What happened to you out there on that road is most likely the most horrific experience any of us can imagine. Recalling what took place may never happen for you, but if it does, I'd rather it happen in this office with us together. Do you remember anything after Harley pulled you from the car?"

"No, not really," she replied while shaking her head. "I... I only remember being scared. I had no idea where I was. I... I was crying, I remember that."

She closed her eyes and Dr. Wahlburg could see she was trying to force herself to remember more. "That's okay, Cory. I think that's enough for now, but don't hesitate to call me if you feel the need."

All the way back to the apartment, Cory eagerly told her tarnished friend the news. Morgan's car was there when they pulled into the lot.

"He still won't talk to me," Brea said. "I know he's mad, but I think he's imagining a lot worse than what actually happened, and I can't stand seeing him in so much pain."

"That reminds me," Cory replied, "here," she said holding out a couple of business cards. "Doctor Wahlburg recommended these two marriage counselors. She said either one would be a good pick."

Brea took the cards and stuck them in her purse. "Thanks, I don't know if I could talk Morg into it, but..." she started to cry again. "Oh, Cory, I'm so afraid he's just going to call it quits. He's just so angry. God, I wish I had taken your advice and just told him myself. I would have at least been able to explain what happened."

"He loves you, Brea. Yeah, he's extremely pissed right now, but he doesn't know the whole story yet."

"I know, I can't get him to listen to me. He keeps saying he's not ready. I know he thinks I was having a sexual affair, Cory. I can't stand seeing him in so much pain like that, but how do I get him to sit down and listen to me? I can't tie him to a chair."

"I don't know, Brea, but you're going to have to find a way. The longer he goes on thinking you had sex with Bob, the worse it's going to get."

"What if he won't believe me, then what'll I do? How am I going to prove I didn't sleep with Bob? The only two people who know that for sure are Bob and me, and if Morg doesn't believe me, he's damn sure not going to believe Bob."

"I don't know, maybe you could take a lie detector test or something."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Brea enthusiastically commented.

It was the first smidgen of hope Brea felt since her husband confronted her.

They heard the shower running in the master bath when they walked into the apartment. Brea checked the clock on her cell. Morg had three hours before he had to leave for work. The girls decided they'd make him a nice lunch.

Cory was cutting up potatoes for American fries while Brea was making hamburger patties when they heard the shower stop. Once the potatoes were cooking, Cory emptied the dregs of morning coffee and started making a fresh pot when they heard the front door open and close. Both women looked at each other in shock. Brea ran to the door and looked out just in time to see Morg getting into his car and drive off without saying a word.

"I guess it'll just be the two of us for lunch," she expressed with sadness as she returned.

Now that he had the address, Morgan could think of little else but how he was going to approach Castens. He didn't want to be bothered so he went to a restaurant and sat in a corner booth where he could think and eat at the same time. After lunch, he sat sipping several cups of coffee while going over a variety of scenarios on just how to try and get the truth out of his rival.

That night, after work, he parked in the back of the parking lot and waited until his apartment lights were turned off. When he was relatively sure the girls were asleep, he quietly entered and stretched out on the couch again before setting the alarm on his phone for six o'clock. In just five hours he would be on his way to Rosemont. He still wasn't quite sure how he would handle the looming confrontation, but he was going to try and hold his temper and see if he could get some answers out of the bastard.

By a quarter to seven on that Saturday morning, Morgan was rapidly approaching an encounter that would impact the rest of his life. He pulled into the parking lot of an apartment complex just in time to see a silver Hyundai leaving in the opposite direction. "Shit," he cussed out loud. He quickly backed into a parking space and then pulled out in pursuit of his target. Only one car had managed to get between them.

Morgan had assumed the jackass was headed for work, but he turned into a residential area. There were no longer any cars between them, so Morg stayed a safe distance behind and watched as his nemesis pulled up to the curb, then backed into a driveway, right up to the garage door. A man Morg assumed was Castens, got out, walked around the back of the car and opened the trunk.

Morg parked at the curb in front of the house and started walking. He was halfway there when the garage door went up and another man came out with a bag of golf clubs.

"Shit," he once again muttered to himself. He wasn't planning to take on two guys. The trunk was blocking him from their view. He could turn around but that wasn't his style; besides, he wasn't about to wait any longer. When Castens closed the trunk, Morg was standing there. From his reaction, he knew Castens recognized him.

"What do you want?" Castens nervously asked.

"I came to get the answers to some questions, and I'm not leaving until I get them," Morg responded in anger. So much for keeping his temper.

"Oh really," Castens sneered. "And what if I don't feel like answering any questions? You going to take us both on?"

Morgan leered at the other guy. "You going to back this asshole's play?"

When he saw the look on Morg's face, the spectator took a step back and held out both hands with his palms out. "Hey, hey, don't get me in the middle of this," he said.

With Morgan still cautiously watching the other man, Castens saw his opportunity to sucker punch him. He lashed out with a wild right, but Morg saw it coming and instinctively raised his left arm to catch the punch on his shoulder. With a limited amount of formal training in his background, Morg cocked his right wrist and punched his opponent just under the sternum with the heel of his hand. Morgan heard the air forced from his adversary's lungs as Castens opened his eyes wide while gasping to breathe. It looked as if the fight was over already, but the jackass was still on his feet. A problem Morg solved with a crashing right fist to his jaw.

Not sure what the golf buddy was going to do, Morgan glanced in the man's direction. The guy was watching his friend roll around coughing and moaning on his driveway. He looked up at Morg. "Hey, he threw the first punch. I saw it," he declared. "Let me guess, your wife's name is Bea or Brea, or something like that."

Morgan was surprised at the comment. "How do know that?"

"Hotshot there has been telling us about her for the last two or three months."

"Us?"

"Yeah, there's four us who meet for golf every weekend."

"We all told him he was playing with fire, but he was bound and determined to get into her pants."

"Did he say if it ever happened or not?"

"Not as far as I know. I guess he came close, but some motel house dick crashed the party," chuckled the stranger. "I don't think he's seen her since then."

"My wife thinks he drugged her," Morg stated.

"I wouldn't doubt it. He's been bragging about having a source for GHB. I guess it's some kind of date-rape drug. He even offered some to us, said the girl doesn't remember having sex so there's no way to prosecute. We all told him where he could stick it."

"Can I ask you a question? You seem like a decent guy. Why hang around with a slimeball like this?"

"It's only for four hours on a weekend," he answered, "and he plays a good game. One of the other guys even likes him a little."

Morgan just shook his head as he turned and walked back to his car. The encounter hadn't gone as planned, but he felt he at least had enough information to confront Brea. As the adrenaline started to subside, he realized he was hungry and stopped off for breakfast on the way home.

It was almost eleven when he walked in. Brea and Cory were sitting at the kitchen table with coffee cups in front of them. He looked over and saw there was one cup left in the pot. Silently, the girls watched as he took a cup from the cabinet and poured himself the dregs.

"Cory, will you give us the room, please."

She looked over at Brea and saw terror in her eyes. "Ah, Morg, would you mind if I stayed. Maybe I can help moderate."

Morgan gave her a look. That's all it took.

"All right," she said, bowing her head in surrender, "just please remember, she loves you with all her heart, Morg." With that, Cory retreated to her bedroom.

Morgan took her seat and started the conversation immediately. "Did you have sex with him?"

"NO," she emphatically responded, "and I never intended to, either. I know he drugged me that night at the motel, Morg. I would have never gone there with him otherwise."

"Then what the hell was it all about, and don't give me any of this, 'not really' crap. If you weren't going to fuck him, why were going out with him?"

"I was just flirting, or at least that's all it was to me. I know it was wrong and I knew he wasn't beyond sleeping with a married woman, but it was never going to happen, honest Morg, I was NEVER going to sleep with him, and I never ever thought he'd go so far as to drug me."

"So, this was all just some kind of game for you, then? You were just teasing him? Catch me if you can?"

"It didn't start out that way, it just kind of progressed."

"How did you meet him, anyway?"

"We ran into each other at the mall, one day."

"What do you mean, ran into him? You knew him before?"

"Yeah, I was dating him before you and I got back together. I cut it off as soon as you and I became exclusive, though. I hadn't seen him since, until one day at the mall. We had lunch together. I didn't think it was any big deal and had no intention of seeing him again, but about a month later, I was supposed to have lunch with Linda Whitacker. I was all dressed up, had my make-up on, and was about to leave when she called and canceled. It was disappointing, I was really looking forward to having lunch with someone. I couldn't call you, you're always eating on the fly, so I called Bob.

"Of course he was very flattering, telling me how nice I looked and giving me compliments the whole time. They were nice to hear, but really had no effect on me, so when he called a couple of weeks later and asked me out to lunch again, I didn't see the harm."

"If you didn't see the harm, how come you didn't tell me you were having lunch with a former boyfriend?"

"For obvious reasons, Morg, but come on, I know damn well you flirt with waitresses you find attractive. You don't come home and tell me about it because it's just innocent fun."

"I've never gone to a motel with any of them," Morg countered.

Brea let out a small sigh. This was going to be the hard part, the part of the story that Morgan may consider was worthy of divorce, but she was finally ready to face the music. "Call me naive, but I didn't realize what he was up to until our third lunch together."

"Uh-huh, and what was he up to, Brea?"

"You know, Morg. Married or not, he wanted to get me into bed."

"So, once you knew that, why did you continue to see him?"

"Because it became a challenge, a contest I knew I could win," she admitted. "He was always so confident when we were dating, always so sure of himself. Back then, I found it very appealing. I guess I'm a little older now; anyway, that third time we had lunch together, he started hitting on me. I thought, 'you arrogant SOB, you know I'm married and you still think you're going to get me in the sack.' That's when I thought of just stringing him along until he gave up. I even had a little speech prepared about you and what a great lover you were and how much I loved you. I thought I could knock him down a peg or two that way."

"You did more than have lunch with him, Brea. It was after nine o'clock at night when Stan saw you at that motel."

She nodded her head as tears welled up in her eyes. "When he called to arrange another lunch date, I told him I couldn't because you were working the night shift. That's when he suggested we have dinner instead of lunch. I knew I was crossing the line, big-time, but I really wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, so I accepted.

"I think he was pretty sure it was going to happen that night and I took satisfaction in seeing his disappointment when it didn't. Unfortunately, he didn't make an actual proposition so I didn't get a chance to give him my speech, but I really thought that was it. I didn't figure I'd hear from him again, so when he called a couple weeks later, I was surpised. He must have figured out your schedule because he knew you'd be on nights.

"He asked me out for dinner again. That was the night he took me to the motel. I imagined it would be his last-ditch effort. I was expecting a full-court press, but accepted because I thought sure I'd get a chance to say what I wanted. I never expected the drugs. At first, I thought I'd had too much to drink, but I thought about it the next day. I only had two Strawberry Daiquiris and I don't think I even finished the second one. I swear he drugged me, Morg. I can't prove it, but I know he did."

"I don't doubt it," Morg muttered, much to Brea's surprise.

"Then you believe me?" she asked with a hint of hope in her voice.

"Yes, I believe you," he replied with a sigh. Morg gazed off as he silently looked out the kitchen window. It wasn't hard to see that he was still bothered.

Brea couldn't stand the silence. "Then you're not considering divorce?"

"I didn't say that."

"But... but you said you believe me. I didn't have sex with him and never intended to."

"Maybe not, but you did deceive me and without much effort. You had five clandestine dates over three months and I never suspected a thing. I believe you when you said you never intended to fuck him, but what about next time?

"Up until now I've trusted you completely, but you've shown me you have no problem doing something behind my back if it serves your interests. Maybe next time you WILL want to fuck some guy."

"No, no, no, Morg, I would never do that, never," she emphatically denied. "I believe in the vows we took, I promised to be faithful, to honor and cherish in sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, until death do us part. I meant it, Morg. They're the most important words I've ever spoken."

He was watching her closely. Tears ran down her cheeks, her hands were white from nervously clinching them together, and her whole body was shaking. She'd never been much of an actress, her pain was real, but then so was his.

His dad always told him, "when you have an important decision to make, think about it from all sides. Play devil's advocate, weigh the good against the bad, then go with your gut." He stood up and started walking for the door.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know, Brea. I just feel lost right now. I still don't know what I'm going to do."

"When will you be back?"

"I-don't-know," he said more emphatically. "Just leave me alone for right now. I'll be back when I come back. That's all I can tell you for now."

Brea started to cry harder as he walked out. Cory spent the whole time in her room, trying not to listen, but she clearly heard the door close. She came out and saw Brea sobbing.

"What'd he say?" she asked.

"He... he's still not sure what he's going to do. I told him everything, Cory, just like you said. I told him the truth and he said he believes me, but now he doesn't trust me anymore." She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes. "I didn't mean to betray him, Cory, honest, I never thought of it that way."

"I know, hon. You can see it from his side, though, can't you?"

Brea nodded as she continued to dry fallen tears.

Cory pulled another chair up next to Brea's and sat as she tried to comfort her friend. "Look, I have another date with Jerrod tonight. I'm going to call and cancel it."

"No, you won't," Brea insisted. "I'm not letting my problems affect you and Jerrod."

"Okay, then why don't you come with us. Jerrod won't mind and it'll do you good to get out."

"No, are you kidding? I really don't think Jerrod would appreciate me tagging along. You said he was taking you to Leonardo's tonight. That's one fancy joint and very romantic. In fact, we should dig around my closet. We're about the same size. Let's see if I've got a fancy dress that'll fit you."

Morg had no idea where he was going. He just needed something to occupy his time and he couldn't think of anything other than going for a drive. He was thinking he'd head for the country when his phone rang. Out of habit, he hit the hands-free button. "Hello."