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“He’s dangerous.”
“Then take care with him. I pay well. Vetrov will agree.”
The crunch of boots came closer and someone blocked out the sun.
Time sludged past, the blue sky fading in and out.
He leaned over me. “You lucky bastard. I don’t get to see you die today. We were filming you today too. One last kick for luck.”
His boot thudded into my side and the world fuzzed out again.
Chapter 3
On the second day, a guard yelled through the door, “The manager will be seeing you later.”
Overnight I’d heard others, outside, speaking to this manager, the man who wanted me to call him sir. They called him sir too. Or sometimes Gregor. I decided not to try calling him that without permission. It seemed likely to earn a punishment. How easily I slipped into the mind-set of the conquered.
His weird, stilted accent sounded Scandinavian, and already I could imagine that voice haunting my nightmares.
I’d not seen anything when they delivered me, but the wind brushing through the trees and the animal noises betrayed that on the other side of that high-up window was the outdoors. I’d also heard the cries of women, their screams of pain, and some general all-purpose sobbing. There were other captives. If anyone here was having fun, they disguised it well. I’d thought this was some sort of way-point before they sent women elsewhere, after selling them. Maybe I was wrong.
Or maybe just some of them got to stay longer, have other things done to them?
The awfulness of this place never failed to impress me.
My memoirs, if...when I got away, would get me a nomination for horror writer of the year.
I sat on the edge of the bed with my hands tucked into my armpits and hugged myself. No one had left me so much as a nail file, let alone a way to tunnel out.
My room was simple. One single bed. Clean sheets. Across from the door was a deep alcove containing a toilet with a push-button flush and a sink with no taps, just a big button for cold water. A shower was next to it, also open to anyone walking in the door. I had a curiosity streak wide enough to embarrass a cat. I’d stared at my tapless sink and shower for a few minutes before it clicked. Taps could be unscrewed, made into weapons perhaps. Though I couldn’t imagine a woman overcoming any of the hard men policing this place, I guess they were being thorough.
I rose and went to the sink to stare in the steel mirror. Just the steel collar on my neck said I was in deep trouble. Though I wore a clean black dress, with my red-rimmed eyes, streaked face, and messed-up hair, I looked like death warmed up. Where were all the other women I’d been grouped with in Australia? Had that been some of them screaming last night?
I leaned my forearms on the sink and though I stayed calm for a while, I wanted that release, here, now, when nobody was watching. The first tears merely dribbled down my face. I waited some more, my forehead throbbing, for the dam inside me to break. A sob cracked from my aching chest. I lowered my head and cried my heart out. The tears pattered into the sink. My sobs grew weaker. My legs trembled and gave way. I ended up on my knees, hanging onto the sink, still crying in silence.
Least when I was done, it wasn’t far to go to wash my puffy face.
I was drying my face with my dress when I heard the small hatch in the door being slid aside. Then the door unlocked and I turned to look. Mr. Gregor himself. Where some big men stalked, his steps were careful and calculated. The blond stubble on his head looked unchanged. I imagined him beginning each day staring in the mirror, seeing his own incisive blue eyes, while he painstakingly scraped a razor over his scalp.
A chill shivered through me.
“Come here.” The door shut behind him as he beckoned.
I hated that he could see I’d been crying. Hated my weakness showing. But I took a breath, pressed my forearm into my eyes and did a quick sniff as if it was nothing and maybe I’d had something in my eye. I walked to him even though hugging the wall was where I wanted to be.
Whenever I was close to one of my captors, fear kicked in. I’d been in their hands for long enough to have memories that haunted me. Zoe being made to sit still for the knife as Scrim taunted her – that was one of the worst.
“If I do this.” He clicked his fingers. “You’re to kneel.” Again he clicked them.
I kneeled and felt the skirt of the dress settle on my thighs. I waited, staring at his shorts. The man had bright green surfer shorts on today and it was so weird seeing those, and his hairy knees. Slice was the brand name. How apt.
“Give me your arm, Jazmine.”
I held it up and tried not to flinch when he took my wrist.
“This is yours now. Wear it every day.” He slipped a silver bracelet on my wrist and fastened it – something tiny, with petite wings, dangled from the chain, catching the sunlight streaming from the one tiny and barred window high up on the far wall. “If I see you without my angel, I punish you. If I ever take it off you, it will be because you’ve been very bad. Okay?”
I nodded.
