The Mind Killers

The buzz of the fluorescents became the only sound. A thread of conversation trailed off from the corner booth. The woman who’d been speaking had her back to the door and only stopped when her husband’s eyes found and locked on the couple who stepped through the door. I felt dumb, brainless shock, like a punch in the stomach.

They were like Janus. Beautiful. Perfect. Eyes of cobalt blue. Arousal flushed over me like a wave. Shame reddened my cheeks, and I stood straight, hoping they’d notice.

At the same instant, I hated them both. I wanted them both. How? They’d not spoken. His shoulders? Her translucent skin? The casual, easy confidence?

I needed them to let me say yes.

They stood just inside the door. He was just over six feet. She was in heels and was an inch or so shorter. Like Janus, I thought their beauty was so perfect that it seemed like a costume. But when their gaze passed over me, thinking stopped, and I shuddered.

His eyes locked on mine, and my knees turned watery. I wanted him to notice me, approve of me, but like the turn of a lighthouse, the beam of his gaze moved on, and I felt like light had vanished from my world.

The gaze found the couple in the corner, and when the woman saw the pair, her face flushed then locked on the woman. Venomous jealousy flared. She rose, closed a hand over her husband’s wrist and jerked him out of the booth. He reached into his pocket, wadded a few bills, and tossed them towards the table. Two tumbled and fell to the floor.

The man and woman at the entrance smiled with perfect courtesy as the couple passed and departed. The husband’s gaze remained fixed, locking on the swelling curve of the woman’s breasts as his wife dragged him outside.

This left the diner empty. The fluorescents continued to buzz.

The bell tied to the door handle still jangled when they turned back to me. I swallowed, my face hot. They strode to the counter. I stepped behind the chrome cash register as though it would protect me and gripped the edges.

He placed a hand on the counter, and I felt the fingers as though his touch came through the speckled Formica, warm and insistent. He smiled.

His eyes invited, just like Janus’, and the desire to say yes, to him, to anything waited and hoped for a chance. When his eyes flicked over my body then returned to my eyes, I couldn’t move, praying he’d approve. He smiled, and I almost said yes before he spoke.

“We’re looking for our friend,” his deep voice informed me. “His name is Janus.”

Two blocks away, the corner apartment above the dry cleaner. The code on the green, metal door was 312. Two flights, take a left. His is the last door.

Janus is beautiful, just like you. I’d do anything for him, just like you.

I opened my mouth, every detail ready to spill out of my brain, and they stopped, like they hit a wall. I croaked nothings, and as I did, my body shuddered as though every pleasure center was struck by lightning. I gasped and clutched at the counter.

The blue eyes narrowed, and his hand reached and closed over mine. Warm and dry, my grip on the register melted. His tug was gentle, and I stepped before him, eyes on his. Heated arousal and shame had turned into a taut, fibrous rope that creaked under the tension. I wanted to tell him, but I couldn’t make my mouth move.

“It’s very important,” he said and gave a slight nod.

My chin lifted and fell in sync with his.

“Very important,” I replied, a weak whisper.

“Do you know where he is?”

My body shuddered. It’s painful, close, at the cusp. My thoughts became a fog. I stared, mouth hanging open, and said nothing.

He looked away, and it hurt. I wanted to beg for him to look at me again. Instead, he glanced at his companion. They nodded to each other. He looked back at me, and I sighed. His smile was gentle, and the eyes…

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Deborah Anne Nichols.”

“Debbie?”

“Ann,” I replied.

“A pleasure, Ann. I see this is difficult, but it’s very important. Try to imagine telling me where Janus is.”

I saw it. We stood facing each other, me looking up at him. The words flowed out, and he was so pleased, and my body shook with need. He’d smile. I’d shake with pleasure. He’d tell me I was a good girl. It would be…

“Now,” he said, “Make the picture real.”

He leaned forward, bringing his face closer. The eyes changed, the cobalt blue becoming insistent. I needed to succeed. I opened my mouth. The first syllable croaked

“T-, T-“, I struggled.

He’d be angry, and I wouldn’t be able to stand it. I tried again.

“T-, T-“

His smile hardened, and he pulled away. I began to reach, but he’d looked over my shoulder to the window into the kitchen. Then, he glanced to his companion. Hips swaying, she came around the counter and passed through the double doors, disappearing.

A sting of fear ran up my spine. Paul was in the kitchen. I should warn him.

He returned to me. I forgot everything.

“Let’s sit.”

He let my hand go. I felt like I was sleepwalking as I went to the table where he’d sat. Drifting into the chair, I sat across, placing my hand on the table top, relieved when he covered it with his. His presence closed around me. I imagined laying my head against his chest and feeling the fabric of his shirt against my cheek.

“Ann,” he said, sending shudders of pleasure through me, “When did Janus come here?”

“Two months.”

My voice echoed, dull, flat, and quiet.

Janus had walked in. Handsome, even a little disheveled. He ordered the special without looking at the menu, his eyes going to the windows. Ate half of it, and when I slid his check onto the table, he looked at me. The eyes, then my face went slack. Of course he didn’t need to pay the bill. It was fine, and I thanked him for coming in.

“Didn’t pay his bill the first night,” the man said.

I blinked. I’d not said anything. I’d not heard my voice. I shook my head.

“He ate half of it,” he smiled, “Go on.”

“Go..”

He squeezed my hand. “After that night.”

Tying my apron around my waist, stepping out of the double kitchen doors. Janus sat in the corner booth. I flushed when I saw him even though I didn’t see him. The silhouette. Shape of his shoulder, the way he held his head. Never needed to pay. Make sure he gets pie. He gets what he wants.

Smiled at me, and I drifted over. Whispers. So gentle, so exciting. Nodding. Yes. Yes to anything. He was happy.

Paul looked at me from the kitchen when I came back to the counter. “You ok, Ann?”

“Fine,” I lied.

“You’re bright red.”

Hands go to my cheeks. Hot, and with Paul watching, it got worse. I want to hide.

“Ann,” Janus said from behind.

I turn. Janus is at the counter. He beckons and leans across like he might kiss me. I almost leap at him. Our faces are inches from each other. He kissed my red-hot cheek.

“Good girl,” he whispers.

My body convulses, muscles clenched, and I can’t move. I’m braced against the counter when I can think again. Janus is passing through the door. Come back. I need more.

“Ann,” the man says.

I looked away. Never look away, but I hear Paul from the kitchen, a choked kind of gasp. She’s hurting him?

“Ann,” the man says.

His eyes. Cobalt blue.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Does he still come in?” the man asks.

I shake my head. “He calls. I bring what he asks.”

The blue eyes narrow. “Food?”

“I bring what he asks.”

“Anything?”

“I bring what he asks.”

“Did you bring him something tonight?”

“Dinner. Meatloaf, mashed potatoes.”

He almost laughs. “Janus wanted meatloaf and mashed potatoes?”

“His favorite.”

The laughter vanishes. “Ann, I’m worried.”

“No-“

“It’s ok.”

“No, please.”

The eyes soften, and his hand is warm. It’s not ok, but we’ll fix it.

“You forgot the mashed potatoes,” he says.

“Forgot, no.”

Janus thanked me, said I was a good girl.

“Yes, you forget things,” he nods.

“I forget things,” I nod. Janus taught me that.

“Janus needs you to fix it.”

“Yes, need to fix it.”

I start to tremble. I forgot. The Styrofoam container. Meatloaf inside. Potatoes, I don’t see them. I don’t remember seeing them. There was a blank space, nothing in the container. Empty. I forgot. Oh no. I try to rise.

“That’s right,” he says and releases my hand.

I go to the kitchen. Paul is pressed against the wall. She is close. His face is taut and pained, and he’s nodding. Her whispers slice the air and enter my brain like tendrils of smoke. I drift towards her before I remember. Mashed potatoes.

I fill the to-go container, watching my hands move all by themselves. Back in the dining room, he’s waiting, and he opens the front door. I float through. And stop.

Where do I go? I forget things. No, not now. I have to fix this. Janus will be disappointed.

“Ann,” the man says from behind.

“I-“

“Janus called. You bring what he asks.”

I do, always. I bring what he asks. But, he tells me where. Always. Always tells me where.

“Help me,” I say.

“You bring what he asks.”

Oh no. I forgot. I always forget. Please. I can’t remember.

“Please. I don’t know.”

I turn, and in the dark, he frightens me. The cobalt is gone. The eyes shine. Hard, irresistible.

“Ann,” the gentleness is gone. I’ve disappointed him too.

I might cry. I can’t remember.

He sighs and shakes his head, pulling the door open and gesturing inside. The gesture is a quick snap, impatient and frustrated. My lips are held together and quiver as I step through.

She is coming through the double doors. She’s disappointed too. No, not her too. She looks past me and shakes her head.

I can’t move, and she starts towards me, her eyes flicking to mine, and each time our eyes meet, I go blank. Blinking, the bell on the door is rattling, and the diner is empty.

Clenching my eyes shut, I wonder where the mashed potatoes came from. The couple came in. I toss the container into the wastebasket by the counter and go to bus the corner booth. Twenty dollar tip.

In the kitchen, Paul is sitting on the floor, his back against the walk in cooler. A thin sheet of sweat covers his face.

“You ok?” I ask.

He looks at me, blushes, and glances towards his pants. Weird. I dump the dishes into the sink.

It’s late, and no one comes in. I’m tired.

Paul coughs, and dishes rattle against each other. The phone rings.

“City diner,” I answer.

“Ann.”

The walk is quiet. I push 312 onto the panel.

I don’t knock, and the door opens. The Styrofoam container is on the desk. He didn’t eat all of his mashed potatoes.

I step to the window and go blank, still.

Janus goes to the window and looks out.

“Two visitors.”

“Yes, sir.”

“They asked questions, but you were a good girl.”

I shudder. “I forget things.”

He turns and smiles. “The right things.”

I’m still again, and it feels like a dream. Janus’ voice caresses my mind, but I don’t need to hear. He knows what I should think, knows what I need to forget.

The dark beyond the windows and the flash of headlights is pretty. Lights and his voice. I absorb it all.

“Ann.”

“Yes, sir,” I reply.

He’s looking at me. Cobalt blue eyes. Another dream.

“Ok Ann.”

I smile. He comes close and kisses my cheek. I close my eyes at the pleasure, a shiver up my spine.

The door is open, and he’s standing beside it.

“Goodbye Ann. You’re a good girl.”

I shudder again and drift through.

On the street, a headlight flashes over my eyes, and I forget where I was. The neon diner sign blinks.

I was taking out the garbage and took a little walk.

Paul is leaning on the counter.

“I’m going to grab a smoke. Call me if someone comes in.”

I nod.

I go behind the counter and lean on it. Diner’s empty. We close in an hour. Payday is tomorrow. I hope tomorrow is quiet too.