Bring 'em Back Johnny

"Shut up," she growled, and I did. She stared at me for a while. "You really don't remember anything do you?" My face crumpled in anguish.

"No," I groaned.

"You really want to know who you are?" I steeled myself for more bad news.

"Yes." She looked at me and nodded.

Then Vicky went to the TV and plugged a portable drive into the back. She hit a button, and some credits started rolling. We were watching a porn movie called 'Back from the brink' starring someone called 'Bring 'em back Johnny'. There were other names too, but as soon as I saw that first one, I knew. Johnny was me, and I was Johnny. My full name was Johnny Long, and I was a porn actor, a cock for hire. Vicky stepped the movie forward, and suddenly I was on screen. I had straggly long hair and what could only be described as the stereotypical porn star mustache, but it was definitely me. I was fucking a woman that looked almost exactly the same as Vicky. She had the same figure, the same hair and even a face that was the same. They could have easily swapped their ID's. But there I was on film frantically fucking Vicky's sister, and she was howling in agony as I hammered into her viciously with my grossly oversize cock.

Fragments of memory were coming back to me. I was called 'Bring 'em back Johnny' because I had a huge cock. Fourteen inches in the old money and very thick too. My screen name referred to the phrase 'once you go black you won't come back' which referenced the white women who said they only wanted black cock because it was bigger. But I wasn't black, and I had the thickest cock in the porn business. It was also pretty darn close to the longest as well. So, I was billed as being the man to bring the 'lost women' back to the pleasures of white meat in a manner of speaking. But in all honesty, it didn't look even the tiniest bit like pleasure. I shuddered as the poor girl on the screen shuddered. Vicky had the sound down, but I could see that her sister was crying and constantly begging me to stop, but all I did was grin evilly and slam into her harder. On every stroke I saw my cock stop abruptly at about three-quarter length, and I saw the tortured woman jump in pain as my cock rammed into her cervix. I felt so thoroughly sick watching that I had tears running down my face. I wanted to look away from the perverted sadist that was me on the screen, but I couldn't.

Vicky was watching me, and even though she too had tears on her cheeks she smiled that malicious smile again.

"You fucking lowlife," she hissed, "Sometime soon I am going to finish you, but you can expect a lot more pain first." The scene ended, and without saying anything more Vicky unplugged her player and left the room.

Emotionally I was now spinning out of control. Despite the fact that my body was still slowly healing, my mind was now quickly falling apart. The memories brought on by seeing the movie hadn't opened the door for any other lost memories, so all I had gained from Vicky's visit was the knowledge of what a total asshole I had been before the accident. Why fate had let me, of all people, live through the crash was a totally incomprehensible mystery to me.

It is a really hard thing to explain, but even though I had previously felt extremely guilty about the accident, I had still desperately clung to the simple belief that it was exactly that, a genuine accident. I had still somehow believed that I was basically a good person, albeit one who had made a really tragic mistake. I had painted my view of myself with the positive colours of honesty, integrity, compassion and kindness. But what I had just been shown demonstrated clearly that I was anything but a man with those traits. I was some sort of sick sexual sadist who chose to make his money by hurting and violating vulnerable women.

I began to really hate myself, and I totally gave up on contributing in any way to my own recovery. This new information had finally confirmed that I really shouldn't be living.

What had progressed from a reluctance to help myself get better into a vague contemplation of suicide then morphed into a clear plan. I was still taking a hell of a lot of tablets. Painkillers, antibiotics, anti-rejection stuff for the skin grafts and various other ones that I swallowed dutifully but had no idea of what they actually were. I started to put a few aside every day and I hid them in the drawer beside my bed behind some books. It wasn't too hard to do, because the medical staff were already overstretched and they didn't have time to watch every tablet go down. I'd also been there long enough to be known as someone who dutifully took all of his medications. So, I saved them up, wondering how long it would take until I had enough to be sure of ending my life when I took them all at once.

To add to my mental misery, I also suffered through another visit from the cops, and once again they weren't at all helpful. Their first visits had been frustrating because they spent their entire time trying to get me to admit to various accusations, something I couldn't do because I couldn't remember anything. Now they had clearly decided that my lack of memory was just a ruse that I was using to try and get away with my various crimes, and they wouldn't listen to me at all if I wasn't prepared to confess. They left when they realised I was not going to give them what they wanted, but not before they promised that I was going to do serious jail time, and that I would never get a driver's licence again. With no memory and no identification, I wondered just how they planned to take my licence from me in the first place.

My previously steadily improving health took a sudden and dramatic nosedive.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" Rosemary asked, and I just shook my head.

She hadn't believed me when I told her that Vicky had attacked me, so she wasn't worth talking to any more.

"Snap out if it," Dr. Arnold growled, "you can't change the past but you still have a future." I just looked away. I didn't deserve a future.

"What is wrong with you?" Susan asked. I looked up at her balefully for some time. Then I decided that she at least deserved some sort of reply.

"Some people don't deserve to live," I replied, and she looked at me searchingly for a while.

"Why?" Susan asked.

"I was... am... a bad person," I said.

"You had an accident, lots of people have accidents and that doesn't make them bad people," she observed.

I shook my head. How could I explain that horribly explicit video to a girl who looked like a preteen?

I have to give Susan credit. She pushed and questioned and nagged at me until at last I opened up and I described that vile video, and how I had finally been shown what an absolute monstrosity I was. I didn't mention Vicky, or Vicky's sister, that was an issue between Vicky and me.

Susan pondered the revelations for a while and then she nodded.

"Appearances can be deceiving," she announced, and then she turned and left. I think she was trying to be wise but looking like she did, she really couldn't carry that off.

It is said that a problem shared is a problem halved, but sharing that one just made me feel worse. All I had achieved was to make Susan, the one and only nurse who hadn't seemed to hate me, fully aware of what an evil sexual sadist I had been.

For many hours of each day I was left to wallow in the depths of my misery as I also nervously wondered when Vicky was going to return to dish out more pain. I had decided that I wasn't going to try and defend myself. I deserved whatever she decided to do to me.

Over the next six days I steadily declined. I ate very little; I was not taking all of my medications and I had totally checked out of life. I wanted to die, and I was just waiting for my body to get with the program and follow my mind so that my living hell would finally end.

I woke in the middle of the night to find my limbs were restrained, and I had some sort of gag in my mouth. I looked up to see Vicky looking viciously down at me in the dim light. She was holding a syringe, and when she saw I was awake she grinned evilly.

"This is going to burn you up from the inside," she whispered, "it will feel like fire as it spreads through your veins, and it will create permanent damage everywhere it goes." She cackled. There is no other word for the noise she made, it was a cackle.

I should have been petrified, but I wasn't. Soon it would all be over. I smiled and closed my eyes in anticipation. I didn't struggle or make any noise. I wanted this.

I must have confused Vicky, as she was silent for a while.

"Don't pretend this doesn't scare you," she finally growled, "this is going to bring you pain like you have never experienced."

I still waited, totally docile.

I didn't expect the blow to my groin, but damn she hit it hard. I yelled into the gag, but I couldn't clutch my aching balls due to the restraints. My eyes opened, but my vision was blurred as my eyes watered in pain.

"You and I need to talk," a voice said loudly, and Vicky and I both turned toward it. It was Susan.

Vicky growled.

"Mind your own..."

"Shut up bitch," Susan interrupted, in an amazingly scary voice, "I just filmed you assaulting a patient, so say goodbye to your job." She was holding something up, I assume her phone, and Vicky snapped.

"I'll get you," she shouted, and she lunged towards Susan.

There was the sickening smack of a blow and then the dull thud of a body hitting the floor. I looked in astonishment as Susan walked over to me calmly. She grinned.

"Just because I'm small doesn't mean I'm weak," she said smugly, "now let's get these off you before someone comes to investigate the noise."

She released the restraints, and the gag.

"Thanks," I grunted, "I think." Susan nodded.

"Vicky and I are going to have a little talk," she said, "don't go anywhere."

I watched in astonishment as Susan easily lifted Vicky's inert body into a wheelchair, and then she cheerfully pushed the chair out of my room.

Not more than a minute later George, one of the night nurses that week, came into the room.

"I thought I heard a noise," he said. I pointed in the opposite direction to the one Susan had gone in.

"I think it came from down there," I said, and he hustled off.

I had no idea what to think. Susan was tiny, but she had knocked Vicky out cold with one blow. Then she had lifted a woman who must have been near on double her weight without any strain. What was it that she had said to me? Appearances can be deceiving? Yes, that was it. Wow.

But really Susan had still only delayed the inevitable. Yes, I was relieved that I didn't have to endure the pain that Vicky had intended to deal out, but that still didn't change the darkness of who I was, or any of the awful things that I had done. I still deserved to die. My mind span for a while and I finally fell asleep again.

Over the next couple of days, I heard and saw nothing of either Susan or Vicky, but I was in a constant state of turmoil. This is going to sound sexist, and I suppose in a way it is, but I don't intend it to be. I had thought of myself as a 'man' in the traditional sense of the word. I thought that I should be the one who was strong and powerful. But I had allowed myself to be bullied, even terrorised, by Vicky who was a woman. She was smaller, and she was probably physically weaker than me, but she certainly hadn't let that stop her from taking control. Then, in a totally unexpected twist, I had been rescued by Susan, who was tiny in stature but certainly much tougher than she looked.

I half expected to see a delegation of genuine masculine type men to come in and revoke my 'man card' at any given moment.

As all of this rolled around in my brain, I also worried about what was going to happen when Vicky told Susan the truth about me and, horror of horrors, showed her that movie. Would Susan change sides and support Vicky when she discovered how depraved the real me had been?

As I was trying to work through all of that mentally, my next shock came from a totally unexpected source.

One afternoon an expensively dressed, but tough looking man walked into my room. My instant thought was 'drug dealer'. He looked at me suspiciously, but after a while he smiled.

"Hey Johnny," he said, with a grin, "nearly didn't recognise you without all the hair and the mo." I must have looked confused.

"No memory I think they said," he muttered.

"That's right," I confirmed cautiously, and he nodded.

"I'm Ricky Reynolds," he said, "and it was my Beemer you rode down the mountain."

Shit.

He watched me for a while as I processed this information.

"Uh... sorry?" I ventured, and he lifted an eyebrow.

"Why?" he asked. He sounded confused.

"The girls, your car, I..." I couldn't continue. He shook his head.

"Weren't your fault," he said easily. I frowned. Had we been pushed off the road or something, and if so, how did he know?

"Huh?" I couldn't come up with anything more intelligent.

"Not like you was driving is it?" he asked. Hadn't anyone told him?

"Uh... I was," I mumbled.

I expected anger, but instead he just laughed. A full blast belly laugh.

"Who told you that?" he eventually asked.

"The cops, the doctors..."

"Load of shit," he said, "no way you was driving." I was confused, but there was a tiny glimmer of hope emerging.

"How do you know that?" I asked, wondering if he might actually be right.

"Beemer had an automatic box, you don't drive nothing but a stick," he said with a lewd grin, "Johnny, the man with the big stick, just got to flaunt it." I immediately realised that what he said was true. To keep up with the image Johnny only ever drove a manual.

"But they said..."

"All shit, coppers just want someone to blame. Can't pin it on Fliss 'cause she bought it, but she was driving. You would've been in back with Chrystal."

My immediate reaction was one of relief. I hadn't killed those women. But I was also curious.

"You don't seem to be too concerned." I observed, and he nodded in acknowledgement.

"Had a lot of time to get over it ya know, and you and Chrystal I cared about," he said. "But 'cause neither of you would work with anyone else any more I'd already lost most of my money on you. Fliss couldn't stay off the gear and Tammy didn't have the body to sell well. Car was covered by insurance." Ricky looked at me, and then he looked like he had a revelation.

"Ah shit," he groaned, "you don't even remember Chrystal, do you?"

"No," I said, "uh... should I?" He shook his head.

"Man, that crash did a fucking number on you," he said. "You and Chrystal, well actually Sally-Anne was her real name, you was going ta get hitched in Summer."

I stared at Ricky in astonishment. I was engaged?

Ricky's pocket moaned lustily, and he took out his phone and looked at it.

"Gotta take this," he said, "I'll be back another time."

He was talking to someone before he got out of the room.

I lay there stunned. I had lost my fiancée and I hadn't mourned at all because I had no memory of her. Man was I fucked up.

It took a while for me to put things together. I knew there were three girls with me in that car, and I had been engaged to one of them. Ricky had said that one had a poor body for porn, and also that she hadn't been the one I was engaged to. One was a drug addict, and she wasn't the one I was engaged to either, she had been driving. I also knew one of them was Vicky's identical sister, and she wouldn't have been the one with the poor body for porn, because she was smoking hot. That meant she was either my fiancée or the drug addict. Having seen how much she had hated having sex with me in that film it was pretty obvious that she was the drug addict. Of course, my next thought was had I helped to drive her to that?

I should have been feeling better about myself because I wasn't driving the car, and I hadn't been responsible for the deaths of the three women. But suddenly I had to deal with the fact that my cruelty had probably been a major factor in a stunningly beautiful girl becoming a drug addict, which was probably what had caused the deaths of the three women.

But I had also finally reached somewhat of a mental turning point. I didn't get rid of my hidden supply of tablets, but at the same time I stopped adding to the cache, and I went back to taking all of my medicine like a good boy.

Maybe Vicky had really spooked me after all?

Finally, all of my casts and all of my long-term bandages were off. I was still getting minor skin graft work in some places where the initial treatments hadn't been fully effective, but I was pretty much up to rehabilitation now.

I was transferred to a general ward, which would have been great if Vicky had still been after me, but it was very noisy and, I suspected, much less sanitary.

The night when Susan had spectacularly taken Vicky out had been just over two weeks back, and I hadn't seen either of them since. I had been out of traction for a week, which was a huge relief, but it had also opened up a whole new world of agonising physiotherapy when my wasted legs were added into the regime.

Sadly, I had not regained any further memories yet either, and there were some definite rumblings from the accountants beginning about how my seriously high hospital bill was going to be paid. Sure, we have free public health cover here, but they weren't even sure if I was actually an Australian citizen who qualified for it. They needed a name, and I didn't have one.

Emotionally I was teetering.

Then Vicky turned up at my bedside during a quiet time. I tensed up as she carefully drew the curtains around my bed, and then she turned to me. There was something in her expression that I just couldn't read.

"I was wrong about you," she finally said, "and I apologise for the cruel things that I have done to you."

I just stared, wondering what the hell was going on. Was she just saying this because Susan had made her? Was she trying to put me off my guard before she did something else to me? I had no idea, but I really didn't like this at all.

Vicky watched, and when she realised that I wasn't going to say anything she continued.

"Susan made me talk to Ricky, and when I told him about the film, he said that it was only acting. He sent me some outtakes from that film and Sally-Anne didn't hate what you were doing, she really loved it. That's why she was exclusive with you and you two were getting married."

I was stunned. It was Vicky's sister that I was engaged to? What the?

"Ricky said you definitely weren't driving either..."

"Stop talking for a moment," I said, and she did. She didn't look happy, but my mind was trying to get around her major revelation and I needed time to process.

Vicky waited.

"Acting? She didn't hate it?" I asked hopefully.

"No, she loved it. In one of the bits I saw she said she was having trouble trying to look like she was distressed while she was... err... coming so hard..."

For what felt like the first time since the accident I smiled, like really smiled. I had been beating myself up and thinking how bad I was because of something that was totally fake. But then I suddenly also felt really foolish, I mean who has ever been stupid enough to believe that the plot of a porn movie was real anyway? Well, apart from me. And Vicky.

"I really hope you can forgive me," Vicky said, "I want to be... well... at least... friends..."

I briefly considered that, and then I wondered why. She had viciously attacked me while I was vulnerable. She had almost driven me to suicide. What she had done was at least almost unforgivable. But then again, she was my dead fiancée's identical twin sister and also, she was really hot.

"Pleeeeeeease," she said, drawing the word out.