3.
There was a rooster call, and I slowly raised my eyelids. It was still very cold, and my clothes were damp, as my teeth were chattering uncontrollably. My boots were wet, and the steel in the toes made no comfort for keeping them warm. Somewhere along the way, I had lost my hoodie jacket. I crossed my arms and started rubbing my chest trying desperately to keep myself warm. The rays of the sun weren't bright but were creating enough light for me to see my newly kept dungeon. About ten feet in front of me from where I was sitting on my bed, there was a staircase leading upward. To the right of me, there was the dirtiest rusted out toilet that I had ever seen, and next to it was a porcelain pedestal sink with a single cup sitting on top of it.
Finally able to see myself in the light, I tried to take survey of the damage that had been done. My wrists were bloody. The blood had slithered from my wrists, and rolled down to my fingers. My wallet was gone, along with my two knives. My watch and my metal studded leather cuff were missing from my wrists. My cell phone was gone to. Of course my keys were missing because I left them in the truck. The only thing that resided in my pockets was my Chapstick. This was a relief, for my lips were chapped as hell, and I applied it liberally. The cool stinging brought little relief.
I couldn't remember the last time I had taken care of business, and though it didn't look very inviting, I had to piss like race horse.
There was no way in hell that I would sit on the decomposing, un-cleaned, smelly, decrepit looking toilet seat. I was the kind of person that used an ass gasket wherever I went. I slowly undid my belt, unbuttoned my jeans, lowered my zipper, and like molasses pulled down my damp heavy pants. In an instant the stubbly hairs on my legs went straight up. I felt like I had jumped in a pool of ice water. The damp dungeon was cold as hell. I closed my eyes and I clenched my teeth and I just let it all flow out. In the whole nights events this was the most relief that I felt. I looked around and of course there was no god damn toilet paper. "Christ" I spoke it loudly. No bloody toilet paper. What the hell could I expect? It wasn't like I was staying at the holiday inn.
I heard footsteps above me. I heard unlocking. The wooden flap that was my new door slowly opened. It squeaked and creaked upon opening. One brown boot stepped down and then another. Slowly descending down the stairs was a chubby man about 5 foot 10, wearing blue jeans, boots, and a camouflage hooded jacket. The man had shoulder length hair; with little curl's at the end. He had a 10:00 PM shadow beard upon his face. Expressionless he came to the bottom of the stairs with a gun in his right hand pointed directly at my face.
I wasn't a total expert on guns, but I shot competitively with my father for many years, and by the looks of it, it was a .45 semi-automatic. Big holes I thought to myself. I stood there, with my hands by my side, awaiting instruction, eyes wide.
He stood there for a bit with the gun pointed at my head. He held out a black pillowcase. I figured he wanted me to put on my head, but I waited for the command.
"Take dis pillowcase slowly, and put it over your head." Both hands reached out by now. One hand on the gun, and the other on the pillowcase. His voice was rich with Louisiana. He must have been Clive.
I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. By this time my heart was pounding inside my chest. I opened both my eyes and I made direct eye contact with my now captor. His eyes were of a black kind. I couldn't see anything but total gloom. I couldn't read anything, so I obeyed. I slowly raised both my arms. The chains lightly clinking as I lifted them. My whole life at the moment was in his hands. As of the morning I finally saw the light, but as I pulled the case over my head, darkness ensued. I took another deep breath, and released.
As I had darkened out my world, I heard his voice once again. "Now hold still, and don't you move. I ain't afraid to shoot ya. I've got dis gun here, and I ain't afraid to use it."
I heard another unlocking sound, and then another. All the way, I heard my chains rattling. Both my hands on my side, I felt a pulling. I was being let out, slowly. Walking upstairs with a bag over my head was difficult and after stumbling a few times I managed to make it up.
After we had left my dungeon he pulled me close. I felt as he pulled himself behind me, and the gun was pointing into my back. I tried to keep in mind how many steps I was taking. He stopped. I heard him unlock something, and a sliding noise. After that the walking became more difficult. It was snow that I was walking in. It must've been a sunny day, for the sun rays were beaming on my damp black shirt. I felt the warmth, rejoiced the warmth. Still counting, we came to a stop where he opened another door.
It was a house, because as soon as we opened the door I was hit by the intense smell of breakfast. My stomach began to rumble. It was hours and hours ago since I had my last meal. Bacon and hash browns flooded my nose. There was soon the whiff of coffee that teased me so. God, I could have used a cup to warm me up.
We came to another stop. He put my hands on which felt like a stair rail. We slowly descended, away from the beautiful sunshine, coffee, bacon, and hash browns. The lower level from what I could not see, but could feel was dark, dank, and musky. We reached the lower level, and I heard another door open. He sat me down. I heard my chains clinking again as he locked me down warding off any escape. There was a flick of a switch, and I could see a dim light oozing through my head bag. The door was shut, and I was alone again.
I didn't know how long I sat there. There was a table in front of me, and by the feel of it, was metal. I didn't have very much slack on my chains. I lifted my arms as far as I could upward; I put them to my sides, and had barely any slack. I figured I was chained to the table. I figured since I was alone I could pull the bag off my head, so I did. The room had four walls, all flat white paint. Above me were two grungy fluorescent lights. And of course, in front of me was a metal square table.
I sat there for some time just staring into the white walls, dozing off. I heard rustling upstairs. I heard voices, men voices. My head was still pounding, and I lowered it onto the cold steel table. As I began to enter the world of unconsciousness, I heard the door behind me open.
I lifted my head quickly and tried to be as alert as possible. He sat in the chair across from me. He laid a manila folder, and a bag upon the table. I saw the driver. His eyes were as cold as ice. They were the only set of blue eyes from hell that I've ever seen. His head was shaved, but it was a buzz cut. His red hair slowly drifted from his sideburns down to is neatly shaven goatee. He was tall and husky. We sat there in silence and he said nothing. He just looked into my eyes. I couldn't take it anymore of it, so I looked into my lap.
I heard a rustling noise and looked up. He was taking things out of the bag. They were my things. He pulled out my wallet, my two knives, and what looked to be my phone in pieces. Shaking the bag, my cuff and my watch fell out. He looked at the cuff and then he looked at me and said "a bit kinky aren't we?" Smiling he laid it down on the table.
He opened my wallet and pulled out my driver's license. He placed the license on the table and looked at it. He then placed both his elbows on the table, pulling his hands together and crossed fingers. He then looked at me, blue eyes blazing like hell.
"Tell me your full name please."
I just looked at him. The only thing I could think of was: you have my license there, why don't you look at that? "Look at the driver's license?"
It was quick and swift. Before I knew it, I had a backhand to the left side of my face. It was stinging. My jaw had dropped open, and I was trying to compute what had just happened.
He looked at me again and repeated the question. "Tell me your full name now." It wasn't very polite this time, but I figured I'd better comply. I didn't want another strike to the face.
"Lillian Ann Cross." I said swallowing hard.
He leaned back in his chair and smiled a wicked crooked smile. "Good, that's what I wanted to hear." He examined the license a little bit longer than he looked at me. "Now, tell me your weight, hair color, and eye color."
Becoming short fus
ed, I had quickly forgotten the last bashing. I took a deep breath, looked at him in the eyes, and hoped I gave him a good blazing. "Go fuck yourself, you evil little redhead."
Once again, short and quick, there was another backhand to the left side. This time my lip caught my tooth busting it open. Blood gushed over my jaw. I tried to catch the bleeding with my hand, and winced as the pain flowed through my body. I then once again complied and gave him what he wanted to hear. "I weigh 120 pounds, I am 5'2...I have blonde hair, and hazel eyes."
"Good." He said. "You are learning." He leaned forward and looked at me again. He had his fingers entwined, elbows on the table, and both thumbs touching his lips. "The more difficult you make this, the more difficult I make this for you." He had some sort of sweet sadistic satisfaction in his eyes. It made my stomach churn. I really wanted to go home.
"Lillian, do you know why you've been brought here today?" He released his arms from the table and sat back in his chair. He looked at me again, eyes cold.
"Unpaid parking tickets?" I shot out my patented half smile.
Once again I was struck on the same side. My sanity was losing control. I closed my eyes tightly and tried to Ward off the pain.
"Go fuck yourself." I said. I lifted my arm and extended it as far across the table as the chain would permit. Blazing my middle finger to him, I tried to get it as close to his face as I could. "You go fuck yourself, and you die mother Fucker." I was totally waiting for another backhand. I sat back and made sure my tongue was where it should be, so I would not bite myself again. There was nothing, nothing at all. I was waiting for the strike, but it didn't happen.
He didn't move, and his expression didn't change. He just raised his right hand, dropped it quickly and bashed it down on the manila folder that was lying on the steel table. He then slid it in front of me. He looked at me again with that sadistic smile. I knew he had something wrong in store for me. "All right you little bitch, no compliance equals I need to play these cards."
He raised his eyebrows and urged me to look. I hesitantly raised both chained hands and pulled it within eye view. I opened and looked at its contents. It was a blurry 8 x 10 photograph. It took me some time to adjust to the blurriness, but I was blown away as soon as I recognized who was in the picture. My heart just turned into a black hole. My life just became that much more difficult. My life was now in the hands of his mercy.
I leaned back in my chair, shaking my head. Staring at the ground I replied "fuck me."
A mile wide smile the size of the Grand Canyon developed on his face. In his mind it was nothing more than mission accomplished, the cat was in the bag, and the fish was on the hook. "Now little girl, you see how the game is being played. All I have to do is make one phone call, one God damn phone call. You don't obey, you don't comply, that phone call goes through and your mother will suffer the worst torture before her death. Understood?"
I pretty much just sat there like a wax figurine; the only thing I could muster was a slow oozing nod. Even though my heart was still physically beating, mentally it stopped. If I did not obey, then my mother would suffer terribly. That was what I thought to myself, there was no other way. I was not going to let my mom down. I dropped my defenses and I agreed to myself that I would comply. I would however, not lose my ability to be a smartass. If I was going to let these people have total control, then at least my smartass ability would keep some sort of protection in my mind.
So it came down to it. I leaned forward crossing my arms and laying them down on the cold steel metal table, chains clinking all the way. I looked up into the cold empty eyes of the man who would gain control of my body, part of my mind, but never my soul. I nodded once again, slowly closed my eyes, rolled them back up and said, "all right guy, you have my compliance, what would you want me to do?"
Leaning back in his chair and resting both his arms on the armrests, he finally introduced himself, and his intentions. "My name is Barrett, Barrett Jackson."
I tried really hard not to laugh. My mouth slowly dropped open; my eyebrows slowly sloped down with my mouth. "So? You?" I really tried to behave and hold my tongue but once again my smartass remarks kicked in. "So you're named after that famous car auction, right?"
I'm not sure, but even though all four walls of the room were a bland flat white, it seemed I had sparked a fire in Mr. Jackson's complexion, for the redness in his cheeks seemed to spill over onto the walls. Maybe it was the lack of food, or the multiple bashes to the head, but I swore to God that I saw his white skin a flaming.
There was no hesitation in the man's movements. He stood up right quick, and with a full closed fist, I took one to the left side. At that point something on my face exploded for I saw, and heard the blood splatter on the wall. The taste of copper pennies flooded my mouth, and everything became a whole lot more blurry. With the last few brain cells I had, I tried very hard to pay attention to the devil man.
"Are you ready to pay attention now?"
I nodded. Blood was running down the side of my head and dripping off my chin.
"Good." He said. He sat back down and leaned in the back of his chair. With his other hand he cradled the fist he used to smash my face. "Now listen closely." He leaned in closer to me, elbows on the table, making direct eye contact. He wanted me to be sure that I knew that he was serious, no bullshit. "You will be eating, sleeping, and shitting what I'm about to say to you for the rest your life."
My heart sank at the sound of it. The rest of my life, was this guy serious? Whatever the hell did I get myself into, or the most irritating part, who the fuck got me into it?
"Are you familiar with cockfighting?"
I nodded.
"Good." He said. "This however, is on a bit of a bigger scale. This is called Hen fighting. You see, unlike cockfighting, there is a lot of money involved, I mean a lot." His eyes just got bigger as he looked at me. I felt as if he had done this a couple times before. "You?" He lifted his arm up and pointed at me. "You will be transformed into a fighter. You'll be taught many methods of fighting, and you'll go up against other girls who have learned many different other methods of fighting."
All of this just seemed so unreal. My whole life I was never a violent person, and could never imagine of harming another human being. I used to go hunting with my dad, but that was hunting. You were out there with a purpose, and my father always made sure that none of the carcass was ever wasted. But this, this made no sense to me at all. Sure I saw fight club, and watched UFC, but this? I had questions, I had a lot, but I thought this time I should let him finish; for it was my life that was in the balance.
He continued on with his instruction. "We have a sponsor, and he is the one who is backing you, paying for your room, your board, feeding you, paying for your procedure, and making sure that you are trained properly." He paused for a moment trying to regain thought. "Everyone, here has a stake in this. We all have something to lose." That part was so very serious; I knew that he had something to lose to.
I felt like my head was mashed potatoes, and I was trying to ingest all of it. I was not a fighter. I was a silly little girl that used humor all day. My main goal every day was just to make somebody laugh. I became sick to my stomach. I tried to focus but it was all way too much. Fighting what, and learning what? At the time there was only one question that came to my mind and I had to ask it. "Why me?"
He drew a deep breath through his nose and exhaled it out his mouth. The expression on his face was a perplexing one. It seemed it was a difficult question for me to ask. He lowered his head and looked at the cold steel table. He sat there for maybe thirty seconds until finally he looked up, making eye contact with me once again. "You're not the first one. I have trained other fighters." He leaned back in his chair again.
It seemed I had struck a nerve. The man that I just met, that I could've sworn was the devil had feelings. I didn't think harsher of the question, I just needed an answer. What did I have that any of the other girls didn't?
"Y
ou see." He just started shaking his head left to right. "All girls use in these hen fights are usually homeless woman. Most homeless women don't have families, and if they disappear nobody cares." I could tell this part was a tad bit uneasy for him because he sat up in his chair and placed both his hands on the armrests and started swaying back and forth. "You see, because homeless women have nothing to lose, they have nothing to gain either. So, there's a point at which down the road they give up." He started shaking his head again. He stopped and looked at me. "The biggest problem is the health. At the time that we do pick them up, they are too unhealthy to survive the procedure."
I raised my right eyebrow. "The procedure, you keep bringing this up, but you have yet to explain this to me." At this point the smart ass was gone. I was really concentrating and focusing on the conversation at hand. Yes I was a joker, but I knew when it was a time to be serious.
"In hen fighting," He stated, "beside the use of weapons, we are allowed to manipulate the human body. So? Surgery, any kind of body manipulation is possible, as long as the human body can survive." His eyes drifted left to right, and I could see he was thinking very thoroughly. "Our sponsor has a lot of money. He is the head of a major pharmaceutical company. This procedure that we have adapted has been performed on a few girls, none of which have survived."
"Because?" I lifted both my arms wide. It was sad, but it was getting interesting.
He looked at me sharply, short fused. "Because their health was not in order, or so I was told."
"Oh." Gravy? My apple a day that kept the doctor away was now benefiting in my hen fighting competition, fantastic.
Barrett's low toned voice cut through the room and his words just shattered my mind. I felt as if I was given a death sentence, but I had no other choice. He played his cards well, and with the hand he played, he won. I put my thumbnail in my mouth and bit it hard. I took a deep breath and let it out fiercely. "All right guy, you have my life in your hands." What other choice did I have? I did not want any harm to come to my mother.
He stood up quickly and slammed both his hands down on the table. A crooked wicked smile protruded from his face. "Now that you understand the game, it is time for meat tenderizing. I must warn you though, this will not be easy. You will feel the most pain that you have ever felt in your life. The tenderizing is just the start. We need to know how high your tolerance for pain actually is."
Oh yeah, I was beginning to understand the game. But I was smart enough to know that at all games, it was possible to cheat.
He left the room, slamming the door behind him. I placed my right arm on the table cradling my bruised and abused head in my hand. I massaged my forehead trying to release some tension. From what I could feel my head was moist with blood. I was in pain, I had an extremely empty stomach, and I was trying to make sense of all the morning's events. I tried to close my eyes and wait for sleep to come. As soon as I started to slip into some sort of unconscious slumber, I heard the door open again. I lifted my head, put my hands into my lap, and patiently waited for the bag to be once again put over my head.
There was a shuffling sound and clomping of heavy boots behind me. I heard a familiar voice from the ride over. "You want me to bag her boss?"
As usual Barrett became short with Clive's forgetfulness. "Clive you idiot, bag her and take her to the war room please? It's time for tenderizing."
God help me if they were going to tenderize me like a steak. I was a human being not a piece of meat, but unfortunately, when there's money involved, none of that really mattered...
As the black bag slid over my head I held my breath. I tried to close my eyes and think of a better place. I heard my chains clinking again and the sound of unlocking. Once again I was being led. We didn't walk very far, I counted around eight paces. We came to a stop and I heard another unlocking sound. It was really irritating being yanked around like a damn dog on a leash, but I had no other choice; I just went with the flow.
With the door now opened we walked into the room. Our steps just echoed. I was walked another fifteen paces, until I was abruptly stopped by Clive. No words no nothing, just the sound of my chains rattling. The clacking continued and the slack of my chains seemed to disappear. My arms began to rise. Higher and higher until they were both strung above my head. I began to feel the tension as they raised me higher on to my tippy toes, barely touching the floor.
This was nothing more than an awkward position. I felt nothing but extreme vulnerability. The door opened once again, and there was another set of footsteps menacing my hearing. They came closer and closer until the bag was ripped away from my head.
There was an explosive bright light blaring into my eyes. The rest of the room was completely dark. It took a while for my eyes to finally settle, but I recognized the man standing in front of me. It was Barrett. His face was dark and cold. His eyes filled with complete evil. He raised both his arms and slowly slid up my cheekbones. He came so close to my face our noses almost touched. He abruptly turned my face and whispered into my right ear, "sorry, but this is going to hurt." He stepped back until he faded into the darkness and then I heard, "Clive, do it."
Clive once again emerged from the shadows. He walked in front of me with his hands at his sides. "Dis is meat tenderizing. Hold on to ya nipples." He lifted his right hand and backhanded me in the face. It was only the first of many to come. Hits to my right and hits to my left, over and over again till I could feel the blood gushing out of my face, out of my cheekbones, and from my lips. I tried to cry out in pain, but there was just too much pain to deal with.
My head just drooped. I had absolutely no more energy to keep it up. Arms raised up high, I felt as if I was nailed up to a crucifix. Blood was slithering down my face and dripping everywhere. I heard the echo of Clive's boots nearing again, but I really didn't give a shit.
After they had made ground hamburger meat out of my face, it was time to condition my stomach. Blow after blow I took. I threw up bile countless times. After each hit I let out a gasping yell. My legs buckled my head went gray. My arms took on the full weight of my body. Limp, I just swayed.
The blows finally stopped. I couldn't understand anything but I heard voices. I finally felt my center of gravity changing and I was being lowered onto the cold cement ground. I tried to catch my breath. If only I had enough energy to get up and run, but I didn't. I hated myself for that.
The last thing that echoed through my head, the one thing that disturbed me the most, was I heard Barrett say, "Take off her clothes, Clive."
Clive came up to me and pushed me from my side to my back. I felt him pull off my shoes, undo my belt and pull off my pants. He sat me up. Clive removed the chains, and then took off my shirt.
As soon as the shirt was removed, Clive walked away. Out of it and without support, I fell back down to the concrete. I kept myself in a fetal position. I held myself tight, hoping to Ward off any intruders with the tiny amount of strength I had left. Nothing, I waited but nothing. I wasn't hassled, and I wasn't violated. There was just a strange smell of heating metal in the room.
I didn't remember how long I laid there motionless, but I tried my best to stay awake. I couldn't tell who it was, but somebody walked up to me, with something flaming red in their hands. It hit me like a volcano. There was a searing pain that struck my right thigh. I woke up instantly and started to scream, loudly. I started to smell burning flesh. Just as the pain began to subside, I blacked out.
The Switchblade Mamma Page 3