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DAHLIA
We ate in silence for ten minutes, most of the food having gone cold, but I did my best to choke down something. Ashley nibbled a bit after recovering from being shocked, but the sound of breakfast was broken every few minutes by her sniffling and sobs.
After we all finished, Sam gave me my new marching orders.
Bong. "Dahlia, since you’re so intent on helping your new housemate, I want you to give her the tour. Instruct her on how things work here. All others will receive their morning task via their wrist device. That is all."
The last thing I wanted was for the new girl or for me to get punished again. Before that could happen, I stood and tapped Ashley on the shoulder. "Come on. I’ll show you around."
When she took my hand, her fingers were trembling. I squeezed it, hoping she could sense the assurance I tried to impart in that simple gesture. The others watched us walk out the door, Drake’s eyes bored into me with manic intensity. He looked absolutely terrified.
"What is this place?" Ashley whispered as we walked down the hall.
"He calls it the dollhouse," I said, sighing heavily. "We are his ‘dolls,’ and we do what he asks of us."
"Oh god. Do you have to, uh, do you have to fuck him?"
I almost laughed, but managed to keep it in. "No. Not like that. We punish people. Bad people." I thought for a moment, then added, "We punish each other too. Like earlier with Payton."
Ashley shivered. "I don’t like that guy. He hurt me."
"I know, but Payton isn’t mean. He only did it because if he said no, Sam would hurt him even worse. That’s what you need to understand here. There is no saying no. You have to do it or something bad will happen to you."
She dropped her head and gave a small humorless laugh. "Sounds familiar."
Unsure what she meant by that, I led her around the corridors of the house. Upstairs and down, the library, music room, bedrooms, all of it, until at last we came to the viewing and torture rooms.
"How old are you anyway?" I asked.
"I turned eighteen last week."
"Sweet fuck," I muttered. I pointed at the rooms. "Anyway, these rooms, um, well, they’re where the worst stuff happens here."
Ashley stared at the door to the viewing room. She looked like she wanted to ask a question, but before she could, my device buzzed.
Take Ashley inside. Her first task awaits. You will assist her in rendering punishment.
Staring at the message, my stomach dropped. The girl was fragile, almost like a china doll. Beyond those doors, someone who deserved what was coming waited, but simply deserving the punishment didn’t make it easier to dole out.
"It’s time to go in," I said after she gave me a quizzical look.
"Why?"
"Sam says you have to punish someone in there. Don’t worry, I’ll help you do it."
Ashley shook her head slowly, a look of horror dawning on her face. "I don’t think I can."
Desperate for her to understand, I grabbed her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "You have to. Like I said, there is no saying no. If you refuse, he’ll hurt you. Badly. He might even force me to do it. Christ, he might even tell me to kill you. And if I say no, he’ll move down the line until someone says yes. Then you and I both die. Get it?"
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she was smart. Instead of arguing further she gave me a hesitant nod. "Okay. I’ll try."
She slipped her hand into mine, and I led her into the viewing room. The window lay ahead, pitch black. A rectangle of ebony.
Bong. "Ashley, welcome to my dollhouse. Inside the next room you will baptize yourself in pain and agony, though it will not be yours. When you exit this place, you will have truly discovered the glories of punishment. Dahlia? Please lead her in."
Ashley gripped my hand tighter as I walked her toward the door to the torture room. A strange sense of connection floated through my mind. The feeling wasn’t nice. It was like Sam and I were partners working to break Ashley in. It made me physically nauseous to think about. Death and torture was a private and intense moment. Almost like sex. The polar opposite of sex really. Like a mirror image. Passion and pleasure versus pain and agony.
The door of the viewing room clicked closed, and the door to the torture room swung open. As we stepped through, the fluorescent lights above switched on. The scream that erupted from Ashley’s mouth was bloodcurdling and terrified. Had I not been holding her hand so tight, I thought she might have tried to run.
