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Chapter 10
I didn’t have to wait long to find out where I was going. The malevolent electronic alarm went off again ten minutes after I got to my room.
Sam spoke a moment later. “Dahlia, you are to report to the viewing room.”
The viewing room? Again? I didn’t want to have to see Branson again. I’d had my revenge therapy. I was done with that.
The door clicked open, and I walked out before I had time to talk myself out of it. Even if I tried, all that would happen was painful punishments via the cuff. Either I did what the voice said or I would be hurt. I had no idea how bad the little device could injure me, but the jolts I’d received so far had been painful enough. With my luck, those shocks were probably on the lower setting.
My heart hammered in my chest as I entered the viewing room. The glass one-way window was still there, not like it would’ve disappeared, but still. The lights were on in the other room.
Branson sat there, still naked from my tailoring of his clothes. The spots on his chest where I’d sliced his nipples off were nearly black with congealed bloody scabs. Holy shit.
Branson wasn’t alone. Another man was there now too, tied with zip ties to the same kind of chair. They were beside each other, so close their elbows were almost touching. Someone had worked fast to bolt another of those chairs to the floor. He still wore his pants and shoes, but his shirt had been removed. A strange ragged scar ran from the top of his shoulder across his chest and disappeared under his waistband. It was an old scar and hadn’t happened here. At least, I didn’t think so. All along the old wound, tattoos of sutures ran the length of the scar. They made it look like he’d had some kind of Frankenstein surgery. I’d never seen anything like it in my life. Who was this man? I had no memory of him. Was I supposed to torture a stranger now?
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
I spun to find Drake in the room with me with his gaze locked on the stranger. The look in his eyes was one of shock and horror. He walked toward the window, totally ignoring me, and slammed his palms into the glass. The booming sound made the two hooded men in the room jerk in surprise. So far, I hadn’t seen Drake so rattled. Of all my housemates, he’d been the most calm and reserved.
This man changed that.
After a few moments of staring through the glass, he turned and looked at me, then reached over and grabbed my hand. “Let’s get out of here,” he said and pulled me toward the door.
“Wait,” I said, tugging him back. “You know we can’t.”
As though to reinforce that fact, both our wrists buzzed, and the little screens lit up. I looked down and saw we both had the same message: Go into the playroom.
I held my wrist up. “See? We can’t leave. He won’t let us. I’ve only been here a day and a half, and I know that. Surely, you do too.”
Drake sucked in a few deep breaths and looked toward the hallway and then back at the captive men. After some kind of internal struggle, he hung his head and nodded.
“Yeah, okay. I know. All right, come on.” He walked toward the playroom door, and I followed.
Once we were in the room with the other men, their heads lifted as they tried to see through the burlap sacks.
“Who’s there?” Branson said. His voice was thinner and more fragile than yesterday.
Panic had plagued him more after I’d punished him. Tiny shivers cascaded across his naked body. It was amazingly empowering for him to be so scared. Seeing it and looking at my handiwork took away a bit of my own fear. For a second or two I thought about how good I’d felt after hurting him, but I tamped those thoughts down. As good as it had been, I still didn’t want to be the kind of person who enjoyed doing this to someone, even when they deserved it.
Ignoring the men, I turned back to Drake. “Who’s the guy with the scar?” I asked. “Seems like you know him.”
Drake looked at me and then back at the scarred man. His lip lifted in a sneer. “He’s a piece of shit is who he is.”
“So’s that guy,” I said, pointing to Branson. I nodded to the other one. “What’s his story?”
“Hubert Campbell. Serial rapist. He targeted children. His preferred age was three to six, but he…” He sniffed and shook his head. “He dabbled in older kids, too.” Drake’s eyes never left the man as he spoke, as though he were trying to stab him with nothing but his gaze.“
As Drake spoke, Branson and the other man continued whimpering and struggling at the bindings that held them. They looked like animals in a trap. I could almost picture them attempting to gnaw their limbs off in order to escape.
“Later on, he got more disgusting. He kidnapped three kids and recorded himself doing things to them then sold the videos on the dark web. One of the kids ended up dying from,” he sighed and shook his head in disgust, “internal injuries. The cops caught him, but all the kids were too terrified to point him out in a line-up or testify. He got off clean because he wore a shirt to hide his scar and kept his face out of frame in the videos. He was good at covering his ass. I never thought I’d get the chance to give him what he deserves. Now, in this awful fucking place, it looks like I might actually get my shot.”
“That’s all bullshit,” the scarred man called. “I didn’t do none of that, you hear? Never touched any kids.” His voice was muffled by the sack on his head, but he was clearly scared.
Drake smirked humorlessly and pointed at him. “That scar and those stitch tattoos? How many people on earth do you think have that exact thing?”
Shaking my head, I said, “Probably only one.”
Drake nodded. He didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked like he still wanted to run out of the room. Even after all his time here, it looked like Drake hadn’t gotten comfortable with what Sam was telling us to do.
