by R. J. Blain
A small board studded with rusty nails would still hurt, although the thinner, narrower planks meant I’d only get one or two solid hits before the damned thing broke apart from the abuse.
A shitty weapon was better than no weapon at all. Clenching my teeth, I went to work prying off one of the sturdier boards. I had to resort to digging out one of the metal elbow brackets so I could work it between the board and the main frame of the stairs. The wood creaked and protested the abuse, but after careful leveraging, I pulled it free.
One nail remained embedded in my makeshift club; the rest either snapped on the way out or had deteriorated inside the wood. There was something satisfying about the way the rust flaked off it. It didn’t look sharp, but it looked wicked enough to please me. I’d make up for its blunt, crooked state by swinging the damned thing as hard as I could.
When someone came down the steps, I’d be ready to smack them in the face until they stopped moving. Then I’d take their clothes and leave.
Fair was fair, after all, and someone had taken my things. I wasn’t all that attached to what I wore, but I had earned it with my sweat, hard effort, and by dealing with the devil himself. I wanted to giggle, but afraid of drawing attention from upstairs, I clapped my hand over my mouth.
Indulging in a fit of hysterics wouldn’t help me. All I could do was rest and wait. Until someone came or I had the strength to make it out of the basement on my own, I was stuck.
Sitting beneath the staircase was likely the safest spot for me, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of sitting in mold and rotten wood. I took my club to the other side of the basement to wait until someone came for me—or I figured out some way to bust out of my makeshift prison on my own.
While I had a plan, my traitorous body ruined my chances of success. The basement’s chill seeped into my bones and stiffened my muscles. Exhaustion fogged my head, and while I had a weapon, I lacked the strength and will to lift it, let alone club someone to death with it. I stared at my hand. What little of my skin wasn’t streaked with red had turned a washed-out gray.
I didn’t need to be a doctor to realize I was in a lot of trouble. Even though I knew it, I couldn’t force myself to care enough to try to do anything about it. What could I do? I doubted I could crawl across the basement let alone make my way up the steps I had so thoroughly trashed in my efforts to make a weapon I could no longer use.
Incredulous laughter drew my attention to the staircase as Arthur worked his way down, balancing on his toes. Four steps from the bottom, he hopped to the floor and dropped into a crouch. He remained still, his attention on the debris I had left scattered on the concrete.
With weary detachment, I recognized my chance to act, and sighing my resignation, I let it slip away from me. I should have done something other than lean against the wall and tremble.
At least I didn’t hurt; the chill brought with it a welcomed numbness.
Arthur strode towards me, shoving his hands in his jeans pockets and stared down at me with a smile. “Stubborn lass, aren’t you? Made a last stand before your spirit broke, did you? Still, you lasted longer than I thought you would. I thought an elite’s pet would break fast, but you surprise me.”
How long had I been in the warehouse? How long had I been languishing in the basement? I couldn’t tell from my burns and rashes; the allergies sometimes took two or three weeks to clear up when they were really bad.
I tightened my grip on my makeshift club, fixing my glare on Arthur’s steel-toed boots. The thick leather would protect him from the nail, but the denim covering his calves would be easier for me to penetrate.
It wouldn’t hurt him much.
“Don’t have anything to say? No questions?” At Arthur’s puzzled tone, I lifted my gaze. The dae frowned, and his eyes glowed fire bright.
I had questions, but instead of asking, I scraped together what strength I had, whipped my board in an arc, and cracked it into Arthur’s shins. The nail caught in his jeans, and anger over my captivity gave me the strength to yank until it tore through denim.
Arthur howled, jerking out of my reach. The plank slipped out of my hands. I probably had moldy splinters to show for my effort, but if I did, I couldn’t feel them.
I couldn’t feel much of anything at all. The stench of sulfur intensified and choked me. I wheezed in my effort to breathe. My hand fell limp onto my lap, and I was aware of my fingers twitching.
“You’re a wild one, aren’t you?” Arthur knelt down and rolled his jeans up. I hadn’t done anything to his right leg, but his left had a bloody gash stretching from his calf across his shin. His blood was orange, and when it dripped to the concrete, it smoked.
Life really wasn’t fair. His blood could scorch concrete. I scowled at the spot. All my blood did was leak out, leaving me helpless.
I must have said something, because Arthur’s eyes widened. Either he didn’t care I still had my stick or realized I wasn’t much of a threat, because he stepped to me and knelt. When he reached for my neck, I recoiled.
“It really does hurt like hell when I touch you, doesn’t it?”
The satisfaction in Arthur’s voice pissed me off. He was happy it hurt?
“Fuck you,” I hissed.
“You’re a tough woman. I like wild spirits, reminds me of home. Nothing is quite as beautiful as a well-earned scar, and you have a lifetime of them branded on you. I had no idea you’d be such a prize when I took you.” Arthur rested his arms on his knees and smiled at me. “Yes, I’d like to fuck you, ma’am.”
I blushed, grateful for my rashes and burns since he probably wouldn’t notice his words had an effect on me. I couldn’t exactly tell him sleeping with him would probably be the last thing I ever did. “You’re out of your mind.”
“Pity. We could have had a lot of fun together, you and I. Perhaps I can change your mind.”
“In your dreams, maybe. It’s not happening in this life, that’s for sure.”
Arthur pouted. “Don’t be like that, ma’am.”
“You kidnapped me. Twice.” Flexing my hands, I considered whether or not I had enough left in me to grab the plank and tear another hole in him.
I underestimated the number of brain cells rattling around in Arthur’s head; he was on his feet in a blur, and with a soft laugh, he kicked my plan and its rusty nail far out of my reach. “I don’t think so.”
“What do you want with me? I’m a nobody.” If I wasn’t one by now, I would be if the elite believed, even for a moment, I had anything to do with Arthur’s outburst at the college. I didn’t have much faith in them assuming my innocence.
To them, I was smart, ambitious, and had plenty of reasons to turn against them.
“Would’ve been a shame to kill a sweet girl like you. Couldn’t let them keep you, seein’ what you know and all that work you’ve been doin’ for them. It’s not your fault you’ve been brainwashed. We’ll fix you, don’t you worry none. Come along all nice and quiet, and we’ll take good care of you. Get you into some nice, comfortable clothes—pretty clothes, better than those cast-offs they had you in. It’s a nice deal.”
Arthur thought I was brainwashed? My mouth dropped open, but I couldn’t force a single sound out. In a way, he was right. I had used the system to my advantage to escape the fringe and to build a future without Kenneth Smith and his drugs.
If all of my effort was the result of brainwashing, I’d accept it readily enough. I closed my mouth with a clack of my teeth. The fact I couldn’t feel anything when I should’ve been in pain—and a lot of it—was a sign my ticket was already half-punched. Fighting Arthur would speed the process up with little chance of my survival.
The thought of cooperating with him, however, left me queasy.
I really couldn’t do anything the easy way, could I? I sighed, and knowing I was making a fatal error, I snapped, “Take your offer and shove it up your ass.”
“Come on, don’t be like that. I spared your life.”
Maybe he had sp
ared me, but I had been responsible for Colby, and the thought of my macaroni-and-cheese roommate steeled my resolve. “You expect me to be grateful? You’re the psycho who lit the place on fire.”
“I couldn’t let them take the kids.”
“Well, you’ve probably gotten them all killed now. Did you really think the elite would let those who can stand up against them actually live? All you did was ensure the elite know every last one of you is a risk to them. Those kids? They could be useful. You? If you aren’t with them, you’re against them, and you’re a threat now.” I wasn’t all that cold, but I shivered as though I had taken a dunking in the Chesapeake during the winter.
Death came to everyone, and I’d meet mine with defiance.
“What would you know about the fringe?” he snapped back at me.
“Where do you think I came from? Not too bright, are you? I was one of those kids, once. I got lucky—or not, as the case is. Bach studies student until you came around. Thanks for ruining that for me. Couldn’t just let yourself take the fall, could you?”
Venting my anger didn’t help; despair swept in and took its place.
Giving up would save me a lot of misery, at least in the short term. It’d buy me some time. But would the elite believe me when I claimed I was a victim to Arthur’s scheme?
Probably not.
“You sure have a nasty mouth. Am I really supposed to think you’re one of us?” Arthur laughed. “You talk too pretty to be one of us.”
“Think what you want. Take your offer and shove it.”
“You’ll rot down here.”
“Then let me rot in peace.” Maybe with some time, I could recover enough to make my escape.
Arthur leaned towards me, reaching out to take hold of my chin. Although the sensation was faint, his touch burned. He lifted my head and forced me to look him in the eyes. “What makes you think you can refuse?”
“I’d rather die than help you.”
“You will,” he promised.
Fourteen
Honesty is the best policy, my ass.
My persistent refusal to cooperate infuriated Arthur enough he burned the staircase to a crisp. He made it halfway up the steps before his temper ignited the rotten wood and himself. Unlike Claudia, when the flames consumed him, he retained his life and his human shape for all he was fire and fire alone. He floated through the blackened hole where the steps had once been.
He left me alone in the basement, and not long after he disappeared, the lights went out.
The ruins of the staircase smoldered, but it didn’t take long for the dim glow to fade. Thin slivers of light showed through the deteriorating floor above. Wood creaked overhead, and I heard Arthur snap curses.
A soft murmur of voices answered him.
Logically, I knew the basement lights did nothing to change the temperature, but in the darkness, my shivering intensified to a teeth-chattering shake. The blanket did nothing to ward away the chill.
“Stupid,” I mumbled.
I should have at least pretended to cooperate so I could plan another escape. Instead, I had confirmed my death sentence.
“Honesty is the best policy, my ass.”
My voice remained a hoarse whisper, and judging from the way the conversation continued overhead, no one heard my outburst.
I stared in the direction of the stairwell. I wasn’t exactly a short woman, but in my condition, I had no chance of escaping the basement. Even if I could reach the door, I wouldn’t be able to pull myself up. My abused hands wouldn’t support my weight, not after tearing up my fingertips scaling the warehouse wall.
A single plank of wood, a rusty nail, and ash didn’t leave me with a whole lot of options. How long would I last before I cracked or I died?
All I knew was one thing: I wasn’t going to let anyone take away my freedom to decide my fate for myself, no one—not Kenneth, not Rob, and certainly not the dae upstairs.
I would choose to die long before I agreed to sacrifice everything I had worked so hard to build for myself.
I didn’t need much. My plank of wood with its rusty nail was enough.
Pain woke me from a dream where I slithered on the ground as a snake before taking to the air as a bird. I had a dim recollection of something dealing with a cat, too, but I couldn’t remember exactly what. I drifted, not quite awake but not quite asleep, either.
My nose itched, and while I longed to scratch it, I couldn’t move. The sensation spread and secured me to consciousness, and as I gathered my wits, I realized I had a talent for failure. I lived, which meant my efforts to scratch open my wrists hadn’t been enthusiastic enough or Arthur had figured out something was wrong before I could die. It didn’t matter; I had survived.
Disappointment and relief waged a brief war with each other, and neither emerged the victor.
I had to concentrate to pinpoint what was wrong with me; my ribs and chest throbbed, although I had no memory of what I had done to myself. Shouldn’t my wrists have hurt the most? I had cut them open—or I had tried to. Had I dreamed of trying to kill myself?
Hypothermia did strange things to people, and I remembered shivering on the basement’s damp, concrete floor. Was it cold enough for hypothermia to set in? Was I cold enough I no longer thought I was freezing?
I’d seen it before in winter. In the fringe, there were too many who ventured out in the night insufficiently dressed. Someone would find them in the morning, lying in some gutter. Sometimes they stripped themselves of their clothes, leaving them scattered around their bodies.
If I was suffering from the cold, I was still coherent, which put me ahead in the game. Heat smothered me and made it difficult to breathe, but my teeth weren’t chattering, nor was I shaking helplessly. I didn’t have any urges to throw off my clothes, either.
Was I even wearing clothes? I considered checking, but I doubted I’d like the answer and had no reason to believe Arthur would have dressed me after going through the effort of getting rid of my things. The itching, which had intensified, robbed me of my ability to distinguish much from feel alone.
The only way to learn where I was would be to open my eyes, which I deemed as too much effort. I didn’t need to take inventory of where I was quite yet; I had other things to worry about first.
I thought it through, resisting the urge to sigh as I considered each possibility in turn. I remembered attempting suicide to rob Arthur of what he had planned for me, which led me back to the two most-likely scenarios.
Arthur had likely checked on me after I had lost consciousness and stopped the bleeding, or I hadn’t done a thorough enough job.
If I had failed to gouge open my wrists, I could guess why. My trembling had probably been my downfall. A steady hand was needed for success, and while the rest of me had been more than ready, my body had betrayed me once again.
One day, I’d catch a break. One day, I’d make a plan, execute it, and have it work as intended. I had done well enough in the warehouse, although Arthur had ruined my efforts.
The dae was really pissing me off. I wanted to strangle the life out of him as payback for what he was putting me through. Before him, my life had been tolerable, unpleasant in some regards, but well within my ability to manage.
By kidnapping me, Arthur had quite probably ruined everything I had built. Allowing me to die would have been the merciful thing to do.
Even if I escaped, I’d likely be a fugitive, and Kenneth would delight in using my downfall to his benefit. My best bet would be to make a strategic retreat to his place to recover. To do that, I needed to retrieve something from Terry Moore, which meant I had to free myself from Arthur and finish my job.
Kenneth didn’t give out free meal tickets, and he could find another bitch to replace me. Total failure was unacceptable, and unless I had something for him, he’d throw me on the streets—or make me commit to a losing proposition. If I brought back something good enough, he’d allow me to lie low in one of the safe rooms hidden away in h
is basement until I recovered enough to do more work for him.
If he believed he had a chance to keep me as one of his pets, he’d probably even smooth the way for me to slip back into the system so I could continue to sniff for him.
I wouldn’t like it, but I could find another way to earn my freedom and obtain a life worth living.
Why couldn’t I be like other people? They were capable of being satisfied with where they were, content to let life happen to them. Me? No, I had to always be thinking ahead. I couldn’t be happy with the fact I was still alive. If I had been content with my lot in life, a lot of things would be different.
I wanted something more than heeling at Kenneth’s call.
But what could I do? For the moment, my best bet was to play dead, rest, and bide my time until I could act. My first task was to escape or die trying. If Arthur thought I was going to cooperate, I’d show him the error of his ways. I defied Kenneth whenever possible, and Arthur would learn I’d fight him until my last breath to spite his attempt to change me.
I wasn’t broken.
I didn’t want anyone trying to fix me, not Kenneth, not Arthur—not anyone, for that matter. I wasn’t property, either, especially not Rob’s, no matter how many times the dae insisted I belonged to him.
Once again, the thought of Rob stoked my anger. I had unfinished business with him. Why did he annoy me so much? Was it the fact he was a man worth taking a second look at?
Why did all the men in my life have to turn out to be insufferable assholes?
I hadn’t run into the dae often, but he had somehow earned his place as my top annoyance, with Kenneth coming a close second.
I didn’t belong to anyone.
I resented Arthur, I hated Kenneth, but Rob infuriated me as no one else had in a long time. I considered my options once more and rearranged my priorities.
First, I needed to get away from Arthur. Assuming I survived, I needed to find somewhere to hole up, rest, and heal. I’d steal what I needed from Kenneth’s stores; if my boss noticed, I’d deal with him later. One way or another, I’d have to handle the problem of Terry Moore so Kenneth wouldn’t have even more reasons to want to kill me. As long as Arthur wasn’t another one of Kenneth’s hounds, I would even the scales between us.