by E A Lake
“Me?” she scoffed. “Oh God no. You’re too good for me. You wouldn’t touch me with a 10-foot pole. No one would. Though I can’t figure out for my life what’s so wrong with me, why no one wants me. Not even a drunken Quinn Reynolds who had every opportunity the night of Sara’s wedding. Even a drunk turned me away. I guess I’m just pathetic; wouldn’t you agree?”
I shook my head and turned away. Not having a memory made all the drama so hard to digest. If I could only remember something, one small nugget of my past. Maybe then things would begin to fall into place.
“Shaklin’s coming,” I heard shouted from somewhere outside. “Meat time. Everyone get all pretty now.”
Morgan brushed past me, clipping my left shoulder with her right. “Come on, ladies. Let’s get a dress on for the boss. We’d hate to get chewed out for being improper.”
That woman had problems, I decided. Deep-seeded, large problems. She needed therapy. Badly. But I supposed that didn’t exist anymore. If there weren’t working computers, or cars, or electricity, how did I expect Morgan would get any help for whatever bothered her so deeply?
“It’ll be okay,” Sara soothed as she passed me, heading for her bedroom. “Everything’s going to be okay, Quinn; you’ll see.”
Somehow, I doubted that. Either Shaklin was going to discover me cowering in the women’s quarters and have me shot, or Morgan was going to kill me with her bare hands. And at that moment, I wasn’t sure which was the worse option.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Let me start off by saying that we’ve had a fine week, ladies. You should all be proud of yourselves.” Shaklin seemed to have a flair for the dramatic and had been droning on for more than a few minutes about the farm, the house and the kids. Behind him, a rather plain woman stood holding three hunks of something wrapped in white butcher’s paper. I assumed it was the weekly meat ration.
To say this woman, “Two” as the gals had said when they spotted her, was plain actually made her sound exciting. Though she appeared to be slightly younger than the first wife I’d seen, she lacked all color and shape that both “One” and my alleged sister possessed. I suppose her mousey brown hair being pulled into a tight bun behind her head wasn’t helping any.
“Yes,” Shaklin continued. “There’s been an incident or two that has gotten my shackles up, but all in all, it’s been a good week. And I have the 12 of you to thank for that.”
The guard on duty, Billy I believe his name was, rolled his eyes more than once. That fellow made me smile.
Wife Two stepped forward and handed Shaklin one of the packets while she distributed the other two. I watched as he approached my group of friends.
“Livy, I’m giving you an extra-large hunk of meat this week,” Shaklin said, seeming almost embarrassed. “I feel bad for what I had to do to Sara.”
“You should,” Morgan spewed.
Shaklin looked at Morgan, shaking his head. “If you could just once keep that yap of yours shut, Morgan. Just once I’d like to finish a sentence without you spitting a bunch of shit my way.”
He left Liv and approached Morgan. I had a bad feeling about the situation.
“I take care of you all,” he began again, his voice raising as he spoke. “I feed you, I clothe you, give you a decent place to live. I keep you safe, tell my men they can’t touch or harass you in any way. And the thanks I get from you is a constant string of backtalk.”
He began to pace, circling the twelve nervous women.
“I don’t have to give you meat every week, you know,” he ranted. “I do it out of generosity; I do it to show my thanks. Now, most of you appreciate what I do for you. But a few of you don’t seem to have the same feelings.” He stopped directly in front of Morgan. “Do you know what Hell is Morgan? Do you know what it’s like for unattached women in the world now?
“I could cut you loose and you could find out just how far that mouth of yours gets you. Maybe a group of thugs will find you and use you as their bitch. Maybe an enterprising gentleman will take you in and you’ll spend the rest of your days on your back, tied to a bed, being sold for a can of beans. Maybe some group of road scum will find you and just beat the living shit out of you, day after day just for fun. They do that now, Morgan. Were you aware of that?”
I noticed her eyes glued to the ground near her boots. “No, sir,” she replied quietly.
In an instant he was on her, pulling on her long ponytail. Her head shot up, staring at the sky. “I take care of you, Morgan. I’m not gonna turn you out until you give me reason to. But believe me, you’re getting mighty damned close, girl. You keep pushing and you won’t like what you get. I promise you that.”
He released her with a shove and she fell to the ground in tears. None of the others dared come to her aide.
“I want you all to have a nice Sunday now,” Shaklin said, returning to his unfazed wife. Apparently, she’d seen it all before.
With that, and one last glance at Morgan, he and Wife Two left.
Was I here to help these women? And if so, what was I supposed to do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We ate quietly, but we ate well. Shaklin had delivered a large beef roast, thinly sliced, that Liv cooked up in a cast-iron frying pan. She also made some green beans instead of carrots and served pan-fried potatoes on the side.
“I sure hope Belinda brings us some butter soon,” Liv announced during the meal. “I used the last of ours frying the potatoes. Breakfast is going to stink if we don’t have any butter to fry the eggs in.”
“It’ll be fine,” Morgan murmured without looking up.
I noticed Sasha had chosen to mostly chase her food around the chipped white plate during the meal. Her fingers fidgeted as she occasionally shot a glance and occasional small smiles at her best friend. For her part, all that kindness went unnoticed by Morgan.
Beside me Sara picked at her food, seeming to have lost her appetite as well. The whole lot of them were down, and I couldn’t blame them. I mean, who liked to be chewed out right before a meal? Certainly not me.
“Is it really like that out there, Quinn?” Sasha asked nervously. “Is it really as bad for women as Shaklin said?”
I shrugged and opened my mouth to answer, but someone beat me to it.
“He doesn’t know shit,” Morgan replied bitterly. “All he’s doing is eating up our supplies and making us out to be fools. Shaklin’s going to find him eventually and then there’ll be real hell to pay.”
I’d had enough. Glaring at the pale strawberry blonde, I set my fork on the table.
“And just what am I supposed to do about any of this?” I asked. “Why don’t you let me in on whatever the big secret is and we can all move forward. That make sense, Morgan?”
It felt like her eyes were burning into my soul. “You need to remember who you are, what you are first. Otherwise, this is all meaningless.”
I stared back at her intently. “Enlighten me.”
“Just eat your food, Quinn,” Sara said softly. “We can talk about this later. Let’s not spoil the meal.”
I noticed Morgan begin to chuckle. “Not spoil the meal? Right, Sara. Let’s just let Shaklin kill me. How’s that for spoiling a meal?”
Sara shook her head. “I just meant—”
A knock at the door took us away from the conversation I planned on picking up later.
“Shaklin’s coming back,” Billy announced as he stepped inside. “Get your pretty clothes back on and meet out front.”
“Great,” Morgan grunted. “We can’t even eat in peace now.”
“And he’s got two of his goons with him,” Billy continued. “Robertson and Yelk.”
Sasha’s face became instantly taunt. “Why does he have Yelk with him? He’s not allowed down here. Not since that problem with—”
“Get dressed and we’ll worry about that later,” Morgan said, stripping off her top as she left the table. “Quinn, be sure to keep as much out of sight as you can. There cou
ld be an issue and if someone sees you in a window or you react in any way. It could be your last day alive.”
I wasn’t sure what was going on. Except for Sasha’s startled reaction — which I was getting used to — the other three went about things like it was a typical day. Another day in Shaklin’s world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
For the first time, I noticed all 12 women were dressed the same. Each had on an ill-fitted brown dress that hung to their ankles with a pair of worn, dull brown boots. If Shaklin had a uniform policy, brown was the chosen color.
“Everyone get their boots off,” Shaklin announced, sounding almost bored. “It’s been reported we have a toe fungus problem in the men’s quarters and I think it’s only prudent to have a look at your feet as well, ladies.”
As though it were no big deal, each woman removed their footwear. Lifting their hems slightly, they watched as the two hired men circled the group. Billy had called them goons but to me they looked like plain, regular guys. Neither was as large as Shaklin and both appeared to have not one bit of malice in their being from what I could tell.
After several laps, one of the two stopped behind a young lady from cabin three. “Come take a look at Charolette’s feet, sir,” the man said plainly.
Shaklin approached the youngest of the 12 and knelt before her. I saw his head twist and turn as he inspected her feet carefully. As he erected himself, he towered over the waif.
“Can’t really say,” he said to the man behind the girl. “Could be the start of something. Maybe I’ll have Four run down with some Epson salts when she brings the week’s supplies.”
“I wash my feet real good, Mr. Shaklin,” Charolette replied with a sweet smile. “Twice a day, soap and water.”
Shaklin smiled at the girl as he stroked her head. “Fungus can be a funny thing, Charolette. Sometimes they just get you. Come out of nowhere and the next thing you know, you got a problem.”
The girl nodded, accepting his words as gospel truth. Then she flinched and I noticed Shaklin had grabbed a wad of her fine brown hair.
“Tell me something, Charolette,” he asked, still using a kind tone. “Aren’t you happy here? Don’t you think you’re well taken care of?”
The girl began to shake and I felt my hands tighten by my side. The scene looked toxic to me. I’m sure the other 11 would have agreed with that if they had dared to open their mouths.
“I love it here,” the girl yelped as Shaklin re-gripped her hair.
I saw Shaklin smirk and nod at the man behind the girl. He grabbed her shoulders, holding her in place.
“That ain’t what I heard, Charolette,” Shaklin growled. “I heard you were thinking of leaving. Thought maybe if you ran away, you’d find a man who would take care of you, appreciate you. Is that true?”
“No sir!” she shrieked as he ripped her head to the right.
His foot rose and I watched in horror as his boot heal came down on the girl’s tiny foot, crushing the bare appendage into the dirt. She wailed a terrible sound as he repeated the process and ended by grinding his heel harshly into the broken foot.
Releasing her hair, the man behind her released her arms and Charolette fell to the ground, reaching for her damaged foot. Shaklin stepped back and spit on her.
“Let’s see you leave now, sweetie,” he purred. “Let’s see how far you get. Let’s find out who wants to take in a little crippled girl.”
I saw movement to the right and shuddered. What the hell was Morgan doing?
She dashed to Charolette’s side and knelt. As she began to inspect the broken foot, Shaklin ripped her from the ground by her hair and tossed her aside.
“Leave her be, Morgan,” Shaklin growled. “She got what was coming to her. Leave her be.”
Morgan rose and tried to repeat the process. All that got her was a sharp punch in the gut, delivered by Shaklin himself. I noticed several of the other women raise a hand to their mouths, most silently begging Morgan to stay out of the ruckus.
“I need to look at her foot,” Morgan said almost out of breath, holding her stomach. “It needs to be tended—”
As she tried to rise, one of Shaklin’s men delivered a kick to her face. Morgan flipped onto her back, hitting her head on the ground. Bright red blood immediately gushed from her mouth, or lip, or nose…maybe all three. She was down and not getting back up. Instead, she laid on the ground, writhing in pain.
“Clean up your messes, ladies,” Shaklin said, waving his men to follow as he went to leave. “No more talk about running off. No more back talk. And I’d better see nothing but smiles tomorrow at the big house, or else this will look like a day in the park compared to what I’ll have in store for you.”
Five women circled Charolette as Shaklin disappeared around the tree line. Five others circled Morgan. After brief inspections, one group helped carry the wailing Charolette into her cabin. My three housemates helped the fourth from the ground and guided her back to ours.
As they entered the house, something came to me. I knew why I was in this place at this time. I wasn’t sure if it was the same reason they thought, but I knew what had to be done. And it needed doing soon.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The blood poured from Morgan’s mouth like nothing I’d ever seen before. Sasha and Sara did their best to clean up the wound as Liv kept them supplied with clean wet rags for their work. And throughout it all, Morgan never said a single word or shed a single tear.
“I get it,” I said, kneeling beside the injured party when the sisters finally left her. “I understand now. This isn’t a safe place. We need to get you out of here. The sooner the better.”
She refused to even acknowledge my presence. I wasn’t sure what I’d done, but I sort of understood. I was in this place for a purpose, something to do with them. I had let them down somehow. I had let Morgan down somehow.
“If you’ll just tell me what I’ve done,” I pled. “Morgan, I promise I’ll make it right. Just tell me what I’m supposed to do.”
Her head spun and I got a front view of her injuries up close for the first time. Her nose was swollen and still had blood trickling from each nostril. Her upper lip was swollen to three times its normal size. Both eyes had black circles beneath, telling me blood was pooling there as well.
“Just leave,” she said spitefully. “When it gets dark tonight, slip out through the corn and just leave. Leave us alone. You can’t help us. I was a fool to think you could. Just a stupid fool.”
“Don’t say that, Morgan!” Sasha said, coming to her friend’s side. “We’ll figure this out. I know we will.”
Morgan smirked at the woman. “Charolette’s foot is never gonna heal properly. She’s not going to be able to walk on it for months. He’s going to kill me before winter. I know he is.” She reached and took hold of one of Sasha’s trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter anymore, sweetie. It’s what’s gonna happen. And there’s nothing we can do to stop it. And we certainly can’t expect any help from a man who doesn’t know what he is, or why he’s here, and may never remember any of it.”
“Tell me why I’m here then,” I said. “Just give me the honest truth. Am I here to get rid of Shaklin? Am I here to sneak you all away? Maybe save Belinda in the process even. Or am I here to take back what’s mine and provide you all with decent lives?”
Morgan look at me as though I was the most pathetic form of human life. Her sad eyes spoke volumes, saying I was so lost that I’d never find my way out of anything, much less the mess we were all in.
“It’s time,” she said to Sasha. “Show him the note. Let him see the truth.”
Sasha turned for the bedroom, but was cut off by her sister.
“Please don’t do this,” Sara begged. "Not now; not yet. He isn’t ready.”
“Sara,” Morgan said, looking over her shoulder at the woman. “It’s okay. It doesn’t matter anymore. It just doesn’t matter.”
“Please,” Sara pled. “Please not now. Please don’t
do this to me. I want him to remember. I don’t want him to find out like this.”
“Go get the note, Sasha,” Morgan urged. “Do it now.”
Sara disappeared into her room, closing the door behind her, but I could still hear the sounds of her crying.
But what about some note had the young woman in tears? What could possibly be so bad that she’d begged to delay the others from showing me the truth?
“It’s kind of bloody still,” Sasha said, handing me a crimson-stained folded up piece of paper. “It was in your left pocket; the side you got shot on.”
I stared at the paper, wondering if I was about to recall my life. Amongst other things that I still had questions about, this was an answer that I felt meant the world to me.
“Go ahead,” Morgan said, still sitting on the couch. “Open it, read it. It ain’t gonna make one damned difference in any of this. Not one bit.”
Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. But I’d never know until I read the thing.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I could tell right off that it was in a woman’s handwriting. And somehow, it looked vaguely familiar.
My Dear Quinn,
I’m in trouble and I need your help badly. Actually, there are four of us who need your help. You know who we are. I don’t need to mention our names.
We are being kept at a farm just south of Hymera. It’s Tony Shaklin’s farm. I think you know where that is. We are slaves with no way of leaving. But we want to leave. We need to leave. And I know you can help. If the rumors we’ve heard about you are true, you are our best chance of getting out of here alive.
It will be easy to find the farm. Go south of Hymera until you hit the cow and pig manure stench. Tony has a large herd of both. We are in one of three small cabins on the southwest corner of the property, surrounded by a small wood lot. There’s corn out back and you’ll have to hide in that until nightfall.