Flame

by Romig, Aleatha

  I took the last step down. “Eloise, are you trying to say you’re the one who undressed me?” Perhaps it was my affinity to make people comfortable, but without much knowledge of her, I liked this woman.

  “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. You were...a bit incoherent. Very tired,” she corrected. “Mr. Elliott explained that you’d been overwrought with recent events.”

  “I think it was more than that, but I’m not upset to learn it was you and not...” I didn’t finish.

  Eloise’s shoulders came back. “Mr. Elliott, he’s a good man. He wouldn’t...”

  A smile came to my face as my stomach again rumbled. “I guess it’s obvious that I’d like some of the breakfast you mentioned.” As she started to lead me away, I asked again, “My jewelry? You see my necklace has sentimental meaning. I would hate to lose it.”

  “I’ll bring it to your room along with your dress, shoes, and other belongings.” Her voice lowered. “I can also bring you some fresh undergarments.”

  “Thank you, Eloise, I would appreciate that.”

  She stilled. “If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to ask. The bathroom is fully stocked and your clothes are to arrive this afternoon.”

  What?

  “My clothes?”

  “Mr. Elliott hired a personal shopper, but I am certain he won’t mind if you decide there are other items you’d like.”

  “Eloise, I’m not following you. Why would Mr. Elliott be supplying me with clothes?”

  A closed-lip smile came to her lips as her head tilted. “I understand. I know nothing has been announced yet. Oh,” she said excitedly, “as you probably guessed, the stairs you found are the back stairs for the staff. After you eat, I’ll be happy to give you a tour.”

  Why did I need a tour or clothes?

  “Eloise, I’m not staying here.”

  She leaned closer. “Yes, dear.”

  This wasn’t making sense.

  Eloise turned away and began to walk. “Now, come with me. Mr. Elliott is out on the patio this morning. I’m certain he’d like you to join him. Do you want coffee...?” Her questions continued as I followed her away from the kitchen, through a large dining room, a sitting room, and another, until we reached a wall of windows. On the other side, a glass rectangular table with eight large wrought-iron chairs and plush cushions were visible. In the distance were large barn-like structures and miles of fencing.

  As Eloise slid the door open, Marion’s eyes met mine.

  Immediately, he stood, forgetting his iPad and coffee. “Madeline.”

  Marion was dressed more casually than he had been at the tournament, wearing a light-blue button-down shirt, open at the collar, with sleeves rolled up revealing his tanned forearms. It was tucked into blue jeans and his belt was secured with a giant buckle. His cowboy boots were covered in dust as if he had worn them for working in the corrals I could see, and not for show. Small lines formed around his eyes as he smiled my direction, making me aware of my clothing, or lack thereof.

  Tightening the sash on the belt, I took in the fresh air and sunshine streaming through a pergola covered in flowering vines. Looking about the patio, I searched for Andros and Antonio.

  “Are you looking for someone?”

  I wasn’t supposed to know they were there. “I’m just looking. Your home is beautiful.”

  “I’m so glad you approve,” he said as he pulled back the chair to his right. Before I could respond, he rattled off a list of foods for Eloise to bring. Once I was seated, he returned to his chair at the head of the table. The entire time, his blue eyes stayed fixed on me. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  With my hands in my lap, I looked down at the robe and sat taller. “Marion, we need to talk. What happened last night? And what is going on?”

  Maddie

  Seventeen years ago

  My baby was getting bigger. I hoped I was eating enough for its nutrition. Cindy had been right about my name being called more frequently as my midsection grew. I tried to block out the things the men said. I wasn’t certain that they all had mommy fantasies as she’d mentioned. My theory was that it had more to do with an outlet for multiple wants. They had fantasies of what they could and would do to a woman who was pregnant. Perhaps they felt their own wives wouldn’t approve or would realize what sick fuckers they married.

  That’s what we provided. We were their opportunity for the men to live out what they couldn’t elsewhere. I even had repeat customers. That sounded ridiculous, but their patronage assured my baby a bit of food.

  I’d never been a big fan of peanut butter and jelly as a child, yet here I craved them. They weren’t readily available when I lived on the street. Sometimes shelters and even the mission had them. At the mission I learned it was an economical and yet nutritious option. I remembered Kristine talking about protein in the peanut butter.

  I guess it was weird to think of her without dwelling on what she’d done, that she’d sold me. Maybe it was because despite that, for a brief time, she had been my best maternal influence since my own mother. It was hard to remember my parents.

  With each passing day, memories of what life had been like before this cell or hopes of what it could be faded farther and farther away. Things like a life with Patrick and a house in the suburbs with a fence seemed ridiculous when food and living to the next day were now my goals.

  Miss Warner didn’t always provide peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Sometimes it was bologna or cheese. The bread was always white and chewy, and everything was always cold; a cold piece of yellow cheese or a cold piece of bologna or peanut butter and jelly between two pieces of bread. If we were lucky, if she was in a giving mood, or maybe if we’d especially pleased the customer, there was an extra bottle of water. If that were the case, the water had to be completely drunk upstairs just like the food eaten. Nothing was allowed back into the cell.

  Food attracted mice.

  That alone, even without the threat of physical punishment, was enough motivation for me. I’d hated mice and rats since moving to the street. They weren’t only thieves; they were dirty.

  Speaking of which, I’d now experienced a shower. Three in total. It was everything Cindy had warned. Maybe it was because I was prepared, but of all that had been done to me, it wasn’t the worst. That list was too long to rank.

  When I was downstairs in the cell, I kept my hands on my stomach. The butterfly flutters had given way to full-out kicks. It was probably because as the baby grew, I didn’t. Yes, my midsection had grown, but my circumstances made me a less-than-perfect host.

  Some days I’d lay upon the hard concrete and pray for my name to be called, for food and the hope of more water. My needs had become so simplistic. Each movement within me reminded me that taking care of that little being was my only priority.

  I vacillated on preferred gender. It didn’t matter to me—I just prayed for health. I dreamed of holding a small baby in my arms and counting the fingers and toes, staring into eyes like mine or Patrick’s, smelling the sweet baby scent.

  I dreamed about that, but with each passing day feared it wouldn’t happen.

  My baby was to be sold.

  It wasn’t a secret.

  We all knew.

  Would a boy bring a higher price or a girl?

  I didn’t know how any of this worked, but my hope was that the more someone paid, the better chance my baby had of having a good life. Maybe he’d live in one of the big houses downtown or perhaps out in a suburb, like Patrick and I had talked about.

  The two of us wouldn’t have the white picket fence, but perhaps our child could.

  The girls in the cell were now up to twelve in number. I knew names because I heard them called. I knew faces because what else was there to see? I even knew the color of dresses. My white one was hardly white any longer. Everyone’s was in varying states of tattering. Showers were not accompanied by clean clothes or even cleaning the ones we wore.

  I knew all of this.
My thoughts didn’t linger on any of it.

  Call it a defense mechanism. Over time I’d grown close to Cindy. She was easy to talk to and it helped to know I wasn’t alone. We were all scared. We all hurt physically from what the men did to us and from sitting and sleeping on the cold, damp concrete. We were all hungry and thirsty all the time. We would talk about an entire loaf of bread as if it would be the greatest thing in the entire world. More than that, we all hated everything about here and these people and at the same time, we all loved our unborn babies.

  A week ago, Cindy’s name was called. She squeezed my hand before answering.

  “Yes, Miss Warner. Thank you, Miss Warner.”

  By the time my name was called she hadn’t returned. I wasn’t too concerned. Some customers were quick while others liked to take more time. And since our food came in the same room where we’d been taken, I knew I wouldn’t see her again until we were back downstairs. When I returned to the cell, I scanned the faces. I didn’t have to ask. The other girls simply shrugged and looked away.

  Finally, I asked one. Her name was Jules. She’d arrived after I had. She was quiet and kept mostly to herself. I sat down beside her. “Jules, did Cindy come back?”

  At first I wasn’t certain she heard me and feared speaking louder. We’d both be punished if we were caught talking. I laid my hand on her leg and she immediately withdrew. The action tugged at my heart. I understood her reaction. I had the same one, yet somehow, Cindy and I’d overcome that.

  “No,” she said curtly. “Please don’t talk to me.”

  I nodded and moved away as new tears bubbled in the depths of my throat.

  The next few hours, as I stared out at the other girls, I tried to recreate the fantasy Cindy had once told me. I imagined her, not as she’d been, but clean with washed hair and a warm, fuzzy robe and slippers with a baby in her arms. There would be another couple, the ones who had purchased her child, but they were good with kind hearts. They welcomed not only the baby but Cindy too. She would breastfeed and comfort the infant and then relinquish the baby’s other care to the woman who’d purchased that right to be called mother. The man didn’t require more of her. She was a nanny, a part of her baby’s life.

  I’d never know what happened to Cindy, and my future was still unwritten.

  Nevertheless, I could dream of a better world for someone who I had considered a friend.

  Time had passed since then. I had no way of knowing how much other than the growth of my baby within me. In my normal position against the wall, I alternated between sleep and detached reality.

  “Maddie.”

  My head popped up from where it had been lying upon my updrawn knees. Even with my baby’s growth, I was able to sit this way. Maybe I considered it a way to protect my child.

  I hadn’t heard the door open. In the light from the hallway I saw her silhouette.

  “Yes, Miss Warner,” I said, pushing my awkward body to my feet. “Thank you, Miss Warner.”

  Walking around the other girls, I made my way to the doorway. Over the weeks or months, my mindset had changed. I was less frightened by my upcoming assignment and more focused on the food. There had only been one time when I wasn’t rewarded. The customer complained that I didn’t satisfy his needs.

  I wasn’t given more information than that.

  The next time I tried harder to be what I was supposed to be. I pretended it felt good. I made noises that seemed to encourage him. I kept trying from then on, calling them daddy or sir or whatever title they wanted.

  It was demeaning and degrading.

  Perhaps that was why that part was no longer my focus. Instead, as I climbed the narrow concrete stairs, I concentrated on the food. I so hoped it would be peanut butter and jelly.

  Miss Warner didn’t stop at any of the four doors. Instead, she nodded to the large man at the main door, who inserted his key and opened it.

  Fear sparked to life like a match struck against flint.

  Quickly, the spark ignited until my body trembled with each step. I wanted to ask if I were getting another shower. I wanted to know what was happening, but I knew better than to question.

  If doing so wouldn’t earn me a sharp swat with her crop, it would land me a full-face slap. One would think they’d avoid damaging the merchandise; however, some of the customers, even if they weren’t into inflicting pain, enjoyed seeing the resulting bruising.

  We passed the door to the room with the showers and came to another door.

  Miss Warner had the key to open this one.

  My steps stuttered as I closed my eyes to the light. In the rooms with the men, there were overhead lights. This was different, brighter. I turned my head and squinted as sunshine streamed through windows. After so long without it, its presence overpowered and even disoriented me.

  Miss Warner stopped at another door and opened it, revealing a bathroom.

  It was a real bathroom with a sink, toilet, and tub with a shower. The curtain hanging to the side was clear and on the counter by the sink was a towel. Inside the shower, I saw bottles of shampoo and bodywash. The only thing missing was a mirror.

  Dumbfounded, I stood, my feet rooted in place.

  “Well, be quick about it,” she said. “Take off those rags, use the toilet, and get in the shower. I’m not leaving you alone. Clean yourself. If you don’t do it sufficiently, I will.”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off the bathroom. Not only was it real, it was bright and clean.

  How could this be in the same building?

  Pulling the dress from my head, I didn’t hesitate as I pulled down the remnants of my panties, the same ones I’d put on from the department store. I’d stopped wearing the bra a while ago. With the pregnancy my breasts had grown and the wire in the bra was painful.

  Miss Warner went to the shower and turned the knobs. “Use the toilet while we give it a minute to get warm. Collect those filthy rags and place them in the trash.” Her nose scrunched as she looked me up and down. “Use plenty of the soap and shampoo. We can’t have you smelling like a barnyard.”

  Toilet.

  Warm water.

  It was my focus.

  “Yes, Miss Warner.”

  Staying true to her word, Miss Warner remained in the bathroom, watching and directing as I complied with her instructions. I should have cared that she was present. I didn’t. After all, she saw us all naked multiple times a day as she arranged our positioning on the bed. After the customers left, we weren’t allowed to dress until she entered and looked us over.

  We were never told why she did that. I’d like to think she was assuring our safety, but even that was hard to believe. We were instructed to stand at the end of the bed until she approved our status.

  The heat in the water brought tingling to my hands and feet. It was painful and also wonderful. The sensation was as if my extremities were finally awaking from hibernation, the blood circulating as it was meant to do.

  My senses filled with the aroma of flowers as I lathered my long hair not once or twice but three times. Miss Warner directed my every move, and under the warm water, I was happy to oblige. She handed me a bottle of conditioner and instructed me to massage it in and leave it while I used the bodywash. The conditioner smelled like apples, tart and yet sweet.

  I pushed the thoughts of apples and Patrick away, not allowing myself to be sad as I was experiencing this luxury.

  The bodywash bottle said Spring Rain. Its scent was also sweet but fresh. I applied it to the washcloth Miss Warner provided and scrubbed. Beginning with my face, I scrubbed over and over, down my arms and midsection. I gently ran the soft cloth over my now-protruding stomach, wishing I could speak aloud to my baby.

  After my skin was red and cleaned to her satisfaction, Miss Warner turned off the shower and handed me a towel. For only a second, I stared up at the showerhead, sad it was over yet happy I’d experienced it.

  As I stepped out onto the soft rug, Miss Warner opened a cabinet and removed a
razor and shaving cream.

  “Do you want me to shave?” I asked.

  Her chin rose, letting me know I wasn’t supposed to speak. She scoffed. “I wouldn’t trust you with a razor.” She pointed to the closed toilet seat. “Sit and lift your leg to the tub.”

  I did as she said.

  The shaving cream was cool and tingled my skin.

  How long had it been since I’d shaved?

  It wasn’t something I did on the street. I had at the mission. A memory returned of me excitedly showing Patrick how smooth my legs felt. With a shake of my head, I pushed that away, concentrating on Miss Warner’s instructions and actions.

  She left no surface untouched as she told me to spread my legs. I’d never before been shaved bare between my legs. It wasn’t only there. At one point she told me to bend over the vanity and hold the cheeks of my behind apart.

  I winced, holding back tears as the shaving cream foamed around my anus. Swipe by swipe she purged my body of hair until from the waist down I was as smooth as a baby’s bottom. My armpits were next.

  Once Miss Warner was satisfied, she produced a toothbrush and toothpaste.

  While I was excited for the opportunity, the bristles were stiff and my gums bled. She made me rinse and rinse until the red was gone. Next, she instructed me to comb out my long hair. Even with the hose water showers, there were no combs or brushes.

  My fingernails and toenails were then trimmed.

  Finally, wearing only a towel, I was led by her to another room, following a step behind. At the threshold I stopped, my mind besieged by memories of Dr. Miller’s office. Within the room was an examination table, complete with the stirrups.

  “Up you go.”

  Madeline

  Present day

  Marion laid his hand on the table, palm up. “Madeline, I apologize for the circumstances of your arrival.”

  I didn’t lift my hand to his. “I agreed to come here. You said you could help me with Ruby. I didn’t need to be drugged.”