Mrs. Johnston

Lisa Johnston fainted for the first time in her life on the night of May 17, 2024, just seconds after entering her living room with what she believed to be the biggest bowl of popcorn ever popped in hand. Fridays in the Johnston house were Lazy TV Fridays, where Lisa, along with her husband, Paul, and their six year-old son, Zack, would lounge on the living room sofa with snacks and consume mindless television. Between work and parental obligations, there wasn’t a lot of lazy time in Lisa’s life, so she cherished these Friday nights.

Paul and Zack were already on the sofa when Lisa entered the living room. That’s when, peering over the mountain of popcorn in the comically oversized bowl, she caught a glimpse of the television, just as Paul’s channel surfing had landed on a professional wrestling show on the ACE network, Zack calling out, “Stop, stop, let’s watch,” and in that glimpse of the television she saw a man that looked so much like Jason Snow she got instantly light-headed. When her eyes refocused, and she heard his voice–”You again,” he said–leaving no doubt that it was Jason Snow on the Johnston family television, the edges of her vision caved in and her legs turned to mush.

Suddenly she was on the floor with no recollection how she’d gotten there, Zack and Paul’s faces above her, Zack crying, Paul saying, “Lisa. Lisa, can you hear me? Lisa, how many fingers? Lisa.”

Lisa propped herself up with her hands. She had no idea why she was on the floor covered in popcorn.

Then she got another look at the television screen.

That’s when Lisa Johnston fainted for the second time in her life.

When she woke up again, she was on the sofa. She could feel Zack’s head buried in her stomach, could hear him sobbing, and from somewhere else in the room she could hear Paul saying, “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly it. She just collapsed. Then she woke up and collapsed again. Thirty-eight year-old female. Yes.”

Lisa said, “Paul?”

“Wait, I think she just woke up.”

Paul’s face appeared overhead.

Lisa said, “Hang up.”

“What?”

“I’m fine.” She sat up and blinked and then braced for the incoming hug from Zack. “Really,” she said to Paul. She shushed Zack comfortingly. “Really. I’m okay.” She put her fingers in Zack’s hair, dark curly hair like Paul’s.

Paul said, “You need to go to the hospital.”

Lisa shook her head. “Tell them I’m fine,” she said. And now she looked at the television again, and for the third time she saw Jason Snow. Older, bearded, and with a clean-shaven head, but undoubtedly 100% the for-real one and only Jason Snow.

Paul said, “You don’t look good.”

“Paul,” she said, and then she swallowed. She had been dreading this moment from the day she had realized she was in love with him. She sucked down a huge breath. “We have to talk.”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“We really, really, have to talk.”

“Lisa?”

She shook her head. Crying now.

“That’s not my name.”

~

A phonecall at 2:48 A.M.

“I got somethin.” Beau, the FBI something-rather, on the other end.

Jason sat up in his motel bed. “You found Haley?”

“The other one. Danielle? I got a name. Come over to my place.”

“You can't just tell me over the phone?”

“Somethin I want to show you. 65 Molly over west. Apartment 7.”

“All right. Give me half an hour.”

~

65 Molly, Apartment 7, was about what Jason expected. The kitchen, through which Jason entered, was cluttered with empty liquor bottles, shoes everywhere, sweaters on the floor. On the table was what appeared to be a couple of spots of cocaine sitting openly on the blade of a butter knife. You could smell the dishes in the sink.

After answering the door, Beau, in a pair of boxer shorts, gestured for Jason to follow him inside. He had half a quart of whiskey in hand.

“Look,” he said after they’d entered the living room. He pointed at the television on the wall.

Jason looked. On the screen was a paused image of himself, Jason Snow, circa 2008 or 9.

Beau said, “Look at that beautiful son of a bitch.”

But Jason was distracted by the living room–bottles, cans, clutter, drugs; the walls themselves seemed to sweat–and by, curled up on one end of a 1970s style green-and-yellow sofa, a woman, maybe thirty years old, in nothing but mismatched underwear. Fast asleep.

Beau said, “Hey seriously. This guy up here. That's fuckin you.”

“You're drunk.”

“What can I say?”

“You told me you had somethin. On Danielle.”

“I do. But I wanna show you this.” He put the bottle down and cleared some trash off a nearby end table and picked up a remote control. The image on the television screen began to move, Jason Snow against Killean Sirrajin. “Do you see that?”

“What about it?”

“That guy up there. He's so cool. Look at all that hair, man. That used to be you.”

Jason smirked. He understood why Beau might think that version of Jason Snow was “cool,” but all Jason saw in himself was the double life he'd been living at the time—the drinking, the crime, the lies. He broke the heart of everyone closest to him in those days.

He said, “You got somethin on Danielle or not?”

Beau smiled and pointed at Jason as if they had somehow finally gotten on the same page. Then he sat down on the sofa next to the girl, cleared some clutter, and began chopping up what was definitely a pile of cocaine next to an open laptop with a rogue playing card. “You and Cancer Jiles comin up. I was thinkin we could do some video review before the big day. Get you ready.”

Jason crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn't stop peeking over at the half-naked girl next to Beau. “I told you I’m not gonna help you gamble. Especially on my matches.”

Beau said, “Here's the thing. Tracking down these three girls. These two sisters of yours and your daughter.”

“Sisters-in-law.”

“Right. Whatever. Listen. It's trickier than I thought. Maybe you yourself were never the biggest FBI target, but you were wrapped up with some serious bad motherfuckers back in the day. I can tell that much.”

“You’re sayin this like I don’t know already.”

“Look. You want me to put in this kind of work? We're gonna have to sweeten the pot. But you’re in luck.”

“Oh really.”

Beau smiled again. “You see the Vegas odds on this match of yours? You, my friend, at ReVival 49? Are an underdog.”

Jason squinted.

Beau said, “Surprised?”

In fact, Jason was indeed surprised. He couldn't remember the last time he hadn't been the betting favorite in a match. To that end, he'd been honest with The Anglo Luchador last week at ReVival 48—he had come to feel like his name itself had become worth as much as any championship in wrestling. Guys fought Jason Snow for the sake of their legacies, and it showed in what they brought to the ring. His recent match with Chandler Tsonda, which had felt to Jason almost like a fight to the death, was just the latest example. Jason never got anything less than his opponent's biggest bullet.

Beau said, “And a pretty decent dog at that. Here. Have a look.” He turned the open laptop to face Jason. And Jason could see the browser open to a gambling website, but he didn't look any closer. Beau said, “You know what this means?”

“Vegas thinks Jiles is better than me.”

“It means more money.” Beau leaned forward and laughed. “It means you can actually pay me what I'm worth. You give me five grand. I'll get a few bucks from elsewhere. I have my ways—. And I'll pool it all together. One big bet on the underdog, Jason Snow. The old man-come back-to-life. But in the meantime, we need to put in some quality time on this sofa and do some video review of Mr. Cancer Jiles. Mr. I’m-So-Cool versus Mr. I-Used-To-Be-Cool.”

Jason had, in fact, never thought of himself as “cool” in the least. The very idea seemed alien to him.

The girl on the sofa coughed. Jason glanced at her. “And what if I lose?”

Beau snickered. “You're Jason Snow. You don't fuckin lose. Look. Look at that guy on the screen. That guy doesn't lose. That guy’s unbeatable.”

On the screen, Jason was indeed making the pin. Successfully.

The girl coughed again, hard this time, without ever seeming to wake up.

Jason said, “She okay?”

“Hm?”

Jason pointed at the woman.

Beau looked at her as if he were just now noticing her presence. He shrugged and leaned down to the coke on table.

On the screen, the younger Jason Snow was catching his breath, victorious. Jason tried to remember that night. To remember what it was like to be that young man.

To Beau he said, “What are you sayin here? You tellin me I have to win for you to help me?”

“I'm tellin you if you want me fully motivated, you need to keep me fully paid. I got debts, man.”

On the screen, the younger Jason Snow headed back toward the dressing room. He had the 5-Star title in tow. Meanwhile, the present-day Jason Snow wondered just how far down the path toward hell that young man had so far traveled. How many lies had he told by that point? How many crimes had he committed? How many murders? Part of him hated the young man on the screen. Because the young man on the screen had the devil inside him. He remembered.

To Beau, he said, “How do I know you can even deliver?”

“Deliver what?”

“Information. I don’t even know if you even really work for the FBI.”

Beau smiled one more time. “I can tell you the FBI–who I do work for–gave all three girls the same last name. Kept them a family, you know.”

Jason's breath caught in his throat.

Beau turned his fingers into a gun and pointed at him. “Sarah Ferris,” he said. “That’s your Danielle. Don’t bother lookin her up. She’s off the grid.”

“What about the other two? Haley and Emily.”

“Maybe I have their names, maybe I don't. Go win your match. Make me a thousandaire.”

Jason said, “I could just beat you half to death. You’ll give it up sooner or later. We could do it that way.”

Beau never stopped smiling. “Ah,” he said, “but that assumes I do have the information. Which maybe I don’t. And if I don't have the information, trust me, I’ll have it soon. Unless you beat me half to death. Then you walk out of here with one name and that’s the closest you ever get. Risky gamble, you ask me. Probably better to sit your ass right here on this couch with me and the missus and watch some game tape of Mr. Jiles.”

All Jason could do was stand there. “What in the fuck do you do for the FBI?” he said. “Seriously.”

Beau stretched out his arms, both hands now shaped like a gun. “The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said.

~

Two days later, a phonecall at 3:17 in the afternoon.

“Hi.” Female voice. “This is kind of awkward. I found this number on Raven Snow's tombstone?”

Jason had lying on his motel room’s floor, trying to stretch out the pain in his back, at the time the call came through. Now he shot upright.  “Danielle?” he croaked.

“Danielle? No. No. My name is Janet. Janet Darcy.”

Jason closed his eyes. “Janet,” he said. Raven's best friend. “It's been a long time.”

“Can I ask who this is?”

Jason sniffed. “It's Jason. Snow.”

It was a long time before she said, “Oh my God.”

~

They met at a coffee shop later that afternoon, east side. Jason couldn't help but suspect Janet wanted to meet in a public setting because she had heard stories about him. He would forever be paying, he knew, for the sins of a man he no longer was.

They sat at a table outside in the late spring sun, near the sidewalk. Janet took her coffee extra sweet while Jason drank his black. The years had not been kind to her. She'd put on weight, put on age.

Janet said, “You look so different. No offense.”

Jason rubbed his shaven scalp. “I get that a lot. And that people thought I was dead.” By the look on her face, Jason could tell that she'd been planning to say that next. He smiled. “Thanks for seeing me,” he said. “You didn't have to.”

“I was curious. I guess when I think about it, I never did actually hear that you died. But somehow I guess I just always assumed that I had. Heard it. Like everyone else. But here. I came here to give you this.” She went through her purse until she came up with a photo that she handed over. Jason looked at it. The photo was of Raven holding baby Haley upright by the hands. “I found it a few years ago,” Janet said. “Haley took her first step at my house. We took this photo later that day.”

Jason nodded. He couldn’t stop staring at the photo. “Thank you,” he said. He had no memories of Haley at this age–around a year old–because he’d been in prison at the time. He’d missed so many of her firsts.

“It didn’t seem right for me to keep it now that I know you’re back around. Can I—Can I ask you something?”

Jason looked up from the photo.

Janet said, “Why did you come back? After all this time?”

Jason cleared his throat. “I want to find Haley,” he said. He turned the photo toward Janet.

“Oh.”

“And Danielle. Emily.”

Janet nodded.

Jason said, “When I saw flowers at Raven's grave, I thought they might be from one of them. But I guess you've been visitin.”

“I have been.”

“Can I ask you somethin?”

Janet waited.

“Have you heard from them?” he asked. Janet had known Danielle quite well.

“Jason...”

“Yeah?”

“I've heard things. Stories. About you.”

Jason nodded. “Yeah. I know you have.”

“Are they true?”

He considered that for a moment. Considered his answer. “Probably,” he said finally. “But I’m not that guy anymore.”

She stared at him across the table for a long time. Then she said, “I heard from Danielle.”

Jason felt like he'd been struck by lightning.

Janet said, “A couple of years ago. She called me.”

“Do you know where she is?”

Janet shook her head. “I only know one thing. Danielle’s not her name anymore. It's Lisa now. Lisa Johnston.”

~

Forty-five minutes later, the door at 65 Molly Street, Apartment 7, gave way on the first kick. From there Jason stormed through the kitchen and into the living room where he found Beau, completely naked, half-erect, rising from the green-and-yellow sofa. The girl, also naked, did likewise, but she was also screaming at Jason. And now moving toward him.

Beau grabbed a pistol off the coffee table but when he saw it was Jason barging into his home he spread his hands and said, “What the fuck are you doin?” which gave Jason just enough time to take three steps past the screaming woman and punch Beau squarely in the mouth.

Beau's face looked like it exploded and he fell backward over the sofa. Jason leapt it and came down with a knee on Beau's chest and grabbed the wrist of his gun-wielding hand and pinned it to the floor and twisted it until Beau released the pistol. Then Jason hit him. Hit him again. Then he picked up the gun and hit him with that.

Beau screamed, “Stop! Stop!” He was missing teeth.

Jason hit him again. “Lisa!” He yelled. “Her name is fucking Lisa!” He hit him again. Hitting him to cut him with the gun. So many wounds on Beau's face now you couldn't even see them for all the blood.

Jason was only mildly aware of the woman scratching at his face and eyes.

“You do. Not. FUCK WITH ME!” He hit Beau again with the gun.

“Please!” Beau coughed on blood.

The woman ran off. Probably to call the cops.

Jason grabbed Beau by the ear on one side and by his curly hair on the other and pulled him face to face. “This is the devil,” he hissed. “I will fucking kill you.”

And then he decided to do it. Kill him. He picked up the gun again and put the barrel in Beau's eye socket and pulled the trigger.

Click.

He pulled the trigger again.

Click.

The gun was empty.

Beau said, “Stop. I can explain. I can explain.”

Jason pushed himself off Beau and sat on the floor. “You've got three seconds,” he said. “I don't need the fuckin gun.”

Beau held a hand out like that might stop Jason from coming forward should Jason choose to. “Her name,” he said, and then he stopped, as if shocked by the amount of blood on his hands and arms. He took a second to breathe. “I need a doctor,” he said. He was crying.

“Her name. What about it?”

“I got the girls confused,” Beau said. “It was the–” He spat some blood. “It was the younger sister–”

They both looked at the doorway to the kitchen where the naked woman had appeared with a butcher knife, shrieking, sprinting this way.

Beau screamed, “Stop!” Eyes closed now. “Just. Fucking. STOP!”

The woman stopped.

Beau opened his eyes again and looked at Jason.

Jason said, “Danielle's name isn't Ferris.”

“No,” Beau said. He spat again. “It's Johnston. Lisa, like you said.” He took a few breaths. “She got married. Five or six years ago.”

Jason looked at the naked woman, frozen above him with the knife stab-ready. He looked at Beau. At the blood. Then he looked at his own bloody hands.

So quick. It had all happened so quickly. Jason had always known he'd never truly killed the devil inside him, just buried it. But he'd had no idea it was so close to the surface still. Until now.

Beau said, “You fuckin fuck.”

Jason stood up.

Beau cried hard on the floor. “I owe money,” he said. “I owe so fuckin much money.”

Jason took a breath. Looked at the girl. “Put that down,” he said.

She didn’t move.

Jason turned away. “All right,” he said. “All right, I’m gonna get out of here. I suggest you get any drugs or whatever else you got that’s illegal out of sight. Later tonight I’ll be back, and I’ll have your money.” He shook his head. “And we can watch some tape. If you want.”

Beau looked at him as if he were dealing with a madman. Which, Jason supposed, might well be the case.

Jason said, “And put some fuckin clothes on.”

~

Lisa Johnston's little sister, Sarah Ferris, called at 8:22 PM.

“Hello?”

“Danielle?”

Sarah—her real name was Emily—only referred to Lisa by her real name, Danielle, when she had something serious to say. So Lisa knew already what this call was about.

“Yeah.”

“I just saw Jason on Youtube,” Sarah said. It sounded like she was crying. “He's back.”

“I know,” Lisa said. “I saw him on TV”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just don't know what to do about it.”

“What do you mean? We have to reach out to him.”

Lisa closed her eyes. The conversation with her husband, about her former life, and the FBI-backed lie she'd been living now for fourteen years, had not gone well. She had no idea what the future held now.

She said, “Sarah,” to reinforce their new names, their new lives. “We can't. He's a monster. He’s a real life monster.”

It took Sarah a moment to say, “He wasn't to us.”

Silence.

Then Sarah said, “We have to tell Haley.”

“That's not her name anymore.”

“We have to tell her. He's her father. She deserves to know.”

Lisa bit her lip.

Sarah said, “She's going to find out anyway. It's all over the internet. It's better if it comes from us.”

Lisa’s voice shook when she said, “If he finds  out what happened to her...”

“I know. I thought about that.”

Lisa began to cry too.

Sarah said, “Danielle?”

“You're not supposed to call me that.”

“Danielle I want to talk to him.”

“Emily.”

“I feel like I have to.”