by D. A. Maddox
You’re already in it, he reminded himself.
And the girls would not stay here forever while he dawdled.
Just do it and get it over, he thought. You’ve come this far. They’ll never know. No harm done.
He inched forward the last little bit. His hand reached out.
Just a crack. And be quiet, Robbie.
His fingers hooked the corner. Ever so slowly, he pulled the panel back—
—and was momentarily blinded by a small, targeted flash of light, brighter than the incandescent tubes in the ceiling. And laughter—clear laughter aimed straight at him. Pointing fingers. A phone. Words.
Heather: “Got you, you big pervert!”
Jasmine: “Hi, Robbie!”
Maddy: “Totally busted.”
She was the one with the camera. Maddy. His crush.
They heard me after all, he thought, his mind going instantly numb at the realization.
They were fully dressed, still in their running sweats. They’d turned on the water to lure him farther in, to coax him into finishing. To get him.
Jasmine lifted her baggy gray shirt and flashed her red sports bra at him. Her boobs were strapped in tight, but they were quite ample, and she managed to jiggle them. Then she bent over, cackling uproariously.
Robbie scrambled back, as if it would do him any good. He nearly lost his footing and crashed straight through to the floor. As it was, he inadvertently kicked another panel out of place.
“Too late, pervert!” Heather called up at him. “You’re already dead!”
And from Jasmine, “Taking this right to the campus police, Robbie, okay? You hear me? You got that, asshole?”
He forced the panic down even as Maddy snapped more pictures. Made himself turn around, however slowly, just so he could slink out of here. He hoped they wouldn’t come outside to taunt him even more.
Asshole, he thought. That’s right. That’s what I am. Now and forever.
“Don’t!” he answered them from above, his plea futile and pathetic in his own ears. “Please! I’m sorry!”
“Going to be sorrier.”
And that had been Maddy. There had not been any pleasure in her voice—but there hadn’t been any mercy in it, either.
Robbie scuttled away, recklessly fast, and was grateful at least when the girls didn’t meet him outside. He ran, without knowing where to go.
****
They dragged him, dead weight. His feet trailed behind him. He could feel the cold floor through his socks against the back of his toes. He watched it glide past, sterile white tiles.
They set me up, and I fell for it.
How had he not figured it out sooner? In a strange way, his father had been almost right. The bribe he had tried to pay, the story he had wanted to purchase—three young women conscripted by the opposition party to undo the senator through the exploitation of his son—had been partly true.
No. Dad didn’t know any of it. He made that up. Doesn’t matter if part of it was true.
The truth was, Robbie had succumbed to a dare proposed by a man he had thought was his friend, and the young women had only wanted to bust someone they considered a creepy-ass rich kid stalker. None of which Robbie could deny, not even now, not even knowing how they had conspired behind the scenes to ruin him.
The arms poking out of the short sleeves of the jumpsuit, each held by one of his jailors, were still pinkish from being scrubbed raw under hot water—and from the full-body shaving the day before. A lingering burn reminded him of the leather flogger straps against his ass and the back of his balls. His face smelled of baby wipes and Michael-sperm.
Well, you got me, he thought. Congratulations, Michael. Go, you. Hope you enjoy my fake wiener.
The only one, apart from himself, that felt in even the least way bad about it all was … Maddy.
I know, he thought. And I still don’t hate you. Don’t even blame you.
Robbie started moving his feet. Started walking on his own. Lifted his head.
“Oh, good,” said Nurse Reyes-Garcia. “That is good, Robbie. Keep that up, please. You are doing fine.”
I don’t blame you, either, Matron, he thought. You’re doing your job. You didn’t like that last part. But you always do what you’re supposed to do.
All the way back to his cell he walked, where he would have his cot and his combination sink and toilet unit, where he could sit in the chair in front of the desk with the lamp affixed to it. Where he had an e-reader. Where he could only sleep or read, except at mealtimes or to clean up, until they came for him tomorrow one last time.
The door opened with a click and a hiss. Robbie passed inside on his own. Behind him, Officer Kersey departed, the quick clip of her boots by now easily distinguished from his Matron’s slower, more patient pace, even without him looking. He lay down on the cot, turned his eyes to the thin window in the wall of concrete. Toward the outside, where normal people did normal things. Where they were as free as people could be in America these days.
But he soon rolled onto his side and faced the wall, aware of the shadow of his Matron in the doorframe without looking at it.
“Robbie?”
He didn’t answer her.
“This is your last chance,” she said.
For what? he wondered, but he remained quiet. And it wasn’t that he wanted to affect catatonia. He had no desire to play worse-off than he really was. He simply didn’t want to talk. He wanted her to go away so he could wash his face, all by himself and with no one looking.
“Will you please see Doctor Cossack today, while there is still time? He is going home early if you say no.”
There were interesting patterns in the concrete. Seen this close, he could think of them as … as a moonscape, or something. A faraway world with creatures too small to make out. He could go there for a short while, if only she would let him. He could draw that place in his mind, save it and store it until he would later recreate it on canvas.
“If you do not answer me, I shall send him to you, just to be on the safe side. It will not take long—”
“No,” Robbie cut in. “I’ll be fine, Matron. Just like you said. Thank you.”
Another hiss and click as the door shut.
Tomorrow is going to be worse, he thought, although he could not imagine how. Tomorrow is always worse.
****
“Make the recommendation,” Nurse Reyes-Garcia said fifteen minutes later. “This young man has learned his lesson. Robbie will never commit another misdemeanor deviance in his life, I am sure of it. There is nothing more for us to do.”
Doctor Cossack leaned back in his chair, smiling indulgently. “Why would I do that?” he asked. “I haven’t even spoken with him.”
“You have seen the footage,” she insisted. “You have seen the toll this is taking on him. Make the recommendation. Let him go.”
Doctor Cassock turned his laptop to her. On the screen, the monitor in Robbie’s room showed him at the sink. He was running water, slapping it onto his face and spluttering it back out through his fingers. “He’s all right,” the doctor said. “He’s playing you for pity. Really, Helena, I’m disappointed in you. If I didn’t know any better, I’d venture to say you liked the kid.”
“I care for all of them. You are not in my position. You would not understand.”
“You’re right. I don’t.”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia’s lips tightened. “You are a good doctor,” she said. “Everyone who sees you says so. But not once have you considered early release for the protective custody prisoners in the CJH program. Have you been watching the crowds outside of this facility? Do you recall the first two penitents, how public outcry nearly shut us down at the very beginning?”
“I recall,” he said evenly, taking off his glasses and polishing them offhandedly with his tie. “That was your heavy hand—yours and your husband’s, as far as the girl was concerned—not mine.”
That stopped her, because for all of the doctor’s
stubbornness, his intractability, he was right about that much. She felt the old guilt, and a faint reminder of its reprieve. “We followed up with them,” she said in her defense. “They have … improved since then. They both have jobs. The young man has since been married. As a result of their experience, I implemented a host of limits and controls to guard against a recurrence—”
“Now you’re making my argument for me.”
“And what I have learned from that experience bears directly on this situation—”
He put the glasses back on. “Justice isn’t always pretty. After the pilot episodes, the people tuned back in, Helena. When we went live again two weeks later, the people were there. The ratings went up. I can’t imagine why they feel sorry for the goddamned crown prince we’ve got in lockup here, if I’m to be completely honest—but the people will watch, Helena. You’ll see. What do you suppose they’d say if we sprung him early?”
“Doctor Cossack, please do not tell me you are making this decision based on ratings—”
“Stop. Mr. McNeal committed a crime. He’s a criminal. There’s no question of his guilt. Who am I to second guess the recommendations of the judge—or your own, for that matter, since you arranged the young man’s schedule?”
Nurse Reyes-Garcia fumed at him.
“Are we done, Helena?”
“No,” she said, standing. Resigned. “Sadly, we are not.”
****
Once more, after Robbie would have come back from dinner, Nurse Reyes-Garcia returned to his cell. She was immediately glad she did, and more than a little relieved. When she keyed open the door, she found Robbie again on his cot, flat on his back with the e-reader.
He is okay. Probably.
“What are you reading?”
“Would you believe Dostoyevsky, Matron?” He still didn’t look at her.
She laughed good-naturedly. “No, Robbie. I would not. Considering your age and generation, I might have guessed some novelization of a popular video game. I am impressed you know Dostoyevsky.”
“Guess I don’t, really.” Robbie thumbed the screen back to show her. It wasn’t Crime and Punishment, nor was it something so vacuous as a video game adaptation. It was an old, classic dystopian future thriller, one that had flourished in recent years after not quite making it in its day.
You are a good person, Robbie, she thought. Stronger than you think, too. Stronger than I thought. You are not defined by one decision. Remember that. Keep it close to your heart, and take it with you tomorrow.
Then, to make sure he would, before she could stop herself, she said it aloud.
Robbie’s eyes were on the ceiling. His breath caught, but he kept his control. He asked, “Can I see Maddy one more time? I know she’s here, Matron.”
“No, Robbie,” she said. “That is out of the question. Maddy is … struggling, at present, just as you are.”
The focus of his gaze never flinched. “Tell her it’s okay, Matron. Tell her to do everything she’s supposed to do. Tell her I understand. No matter what I do or say tomorrow, she needs to finish. I know how I got here. I’ll be all right.”
“I will tell her,” she promised him.
“Thanks,” he said, flipping back to the place in the book where he’d left off, running a quick hand over his eyes.
“Mind the time,” she said in parting. “Get some rest. Tomorrow it is time for you to pay the piper.”
She was going to leave. Her hand was on the switch. But Robbie put the book down and turned to her. “And how many days have you been waiting to say that, Matron?” he asked with a sly smile.
“Three,” she answered with a wink, flicking the switch. “Sleep well, my resilient young butt plug.”
Chapter Seventeen
Pregame
Maddy came into the main “living” area of their shared quarters while it was still dark outside. She rubbed her eyes. Yawned and, squinting without her glasses, checked her phone for the time: five in the morning.
She had messages.
“God, no,” she muttered. “Damn it, Mom, you said you wouldn’t.”
She turned the light-switch knob right, just a wee bit, allowing only the faintest orange glow to permeate the room. From the ceiling, an electronic whir. The camera was on.
“Really?” she said under her breath, mindful not to make too much noise. Her friends were still asleep. Then, on a whim, she whispered, “Well, good morning, America,” and twirled, finishing the gesture with a finger-wave. “If you’re awake and watching this, you seriously need a hobby.”
She was glad she was in her full-length nightgown, and for some reason wished she had remembered her fluffy, pink monster slippers with the plushy monster claws on the end. Let the voyeuristic masses fill the dead air with conversations about that.
Today’s the day, she thought, and tonight, the game becomes real.
She knew it was already real for Robbie. How real, exactly, was a mystery to her, but the last two days couldn’t have been easy. She wondered if the experience had changed him, helped him to grow up in some way. Officer Jenny had suggested it might. Robbie hadn’t struck her as immature—not in the one real conversation they had shared together. But there was no doubt he’d be different.
Jail would change anyone, Maddy thought. Any jail—but especially this one.
The door to Heather’s small personal sleep space was wide open. Maddy crept closer to shut it for her—then realized there wasn’t anyone inside. Her bed was still made, her Volunteer Humiliator clothes laid out and ready to be laundered and pressed, a chore they would all have to see to before lunch.
She looked across the room to where Jasmine’s door was open a crack as well. She crept over to it, painfully aware of the camera tracking her progress. She wanted to hold her hand up behind her as she passed it, obscure the view with her open palm like a caught criminal herself, but she knew the stupid thing was too far above her for that. She peered through the crack.
They were in bed together. They were nude—or at least Jasmine was, lying on her back, dead to the world, the sheets on her half of the bed flung aside. Her legs were partly spread, her pink vulva and ginger pubic mound laid bare. Heather was at her side, curled up against her with the bedclothes concealing her body from the waist down. One hand rested on Jasmine’s breast, the nipple pointing up from between her fingers as though that part of her alone remained yet awake.
Okay, she thought, easing the door carefully and quietly to a full close. Your night was spent better than mine.
She’d had no clue, hadn’t heard a thing all evening. They’d kept it quiet—and quiet wasn’t exactly Jasmine’s specialty. They’d hidden it from her.
No, don’t be like that. You told them it was a one-time thing for you. And they left the door open a crack, just in case.
So—go to them, if you really want.
She sat down at the table and opened the message tab on her phone.
Mom: Hey, how are you holding up? Sorry. I can’t help myself. One day you’ll understand.
Maddy let out a breath, allowed herself to smile.
I’m good, Mom, she hammered out with her thumbs. Then she added, Except I think yesterday I discovered I’m bi but I wouldn’t admit it and now I’m bisexual-jealous because my friends have been having sex all night in the next room without telling me.
She backspaced, keeping only the first three words. Mother’s love was infinite, but Maddy didn’t enjoy the thought of what a confession like that would do to her.
When a response came back thirty seconds later, Maddy pictured her mother sitting upright in bed as soon as she’d hit the “send” button. She shook her head. Here we go, she thought.
Mom: The Cartwrights invited us over to watch yesterday, since you were going to be on TV. Don’t worry. We said no, and we asked them to skip it.
Thank you, Maddy texted back. You’d only freak out, and I’m perfectly fine.
She knew the Cartwrights too well. They’d appease her moth
er with a promise, then they’d watch anyway. Mrs. Cartwright would try to wheedle behind-the-scenes details out of her, probably weeks later, although her husband would be too shy to ever say anything.
Overhead, the camera shifted position. Maddy turned to show it her back, shielding the phone.
Mom: They’re not forcing you to do anything uncomfortable?
Maddy closed her eyes and prayed for patience. She texted, I have to wear silly clothes. Tonight, I have to do silly things. It’s like a game. That’s all. Please, Mom, we’re NOT talking about this, all right? How’s Dad?
This time her mother made her wait. Eventually, she sent over the words: Same as ever.
Maddy believed it. Her father had been pretty nonchalant about the whole thing from the start—partly because of the money, Maddy was sure, but also because he’d been more apt to acknowledge the fact that Maddy wasn’t a child anymore. Going on two years now, he’d treated her accordingly, staying out of decisions like her course list at college, how much money she stashed away in the bank, the people she chose as friends. Generally, he didn’t bug her unless she came to him for advice—although he did take those opportunities to unload every scrap of paternal wisdom he could think of. And Maddy had rewarded that trust by doing well in school and staying out of trouble. Why couldn’t Mom?
Only … today, Mom didn’t push the issue. She let her last text just hang there, as though in surrender. Maddy kept waiting for Round 2 of the inquiry, but it didn’t come.
Her thumbs twitched over the screen. I have to hurt him, Mom, she suddenly wanted to text. They’ve scheduled Robbie for punishments tonight, and I have to do most of them. Say something, Mom.
But she didn’t type any of that. She saw the Fred doll in her mind, rewarding her efforts at training with yelps and screams, letting her know she was doing it right. She saw Heather and Jasmine and Officer Jenny applauding her, cheering her on, encouraging her, as a strange sense of wicked delight—unexpected and scandalous and dark with mischief—dampened her crotch. She felt a hint of that sensation threatening now.