Flame

by Romig, Aleatha

  As Eloise showed me an easier way to find my room, I politely nodded and made small talk as Marion’s promise gave me strength to take the next step. I recalled our last conversation.

  “When I set my mind on something, I go after it. My mind is set,” Marion said.

  Retrieving my hand, I took a step back. “On what?”

  “No, little lady. The question is on whom?”

  I stood as tall as my bare feet would allow. “Marion, either you’re going to help me get Ruby or I’m leaving.”

  The glass door opened and Eloise appeared.

  “Where is my phone?” I asked her. “I need to call for a car.”

  Her eyes opened wider as she alternated her gaze between Marion and me.

  “Eloise?” I questioned.

  “Yes, Eloise,” Marion said. “By all means, please assist Ms. Miller so that she has all of her belongings.” He turned back to me. “There is no lock on this ranch. You’re free to come and go as you wish. However, I’m expecting a guest this evening, and I would suspect you’d want to be present.” He took a step back. “However, little lady, I’m not making any assumptions. Perhaps you’d rather book a flight.”

  “Who is your guest?”

  “I haven’t met her yet, but I’ve been told she’s a delightful young lady.”

  My mouth grew dry and eyes moist as I stared from one person to the other.

  Eloise was the first to allow her smile to bloom, lifting her cheeks as her eyes shone in the morning sun. “Please let us know if there’s anything particular we should have in Miss Miller’s room. It’s been a long time since this house has seen a young lady, and I know times have changed.”

  I focused on Marion as tension flowed from my limbs. I reached for the back of my chair for support. “Ruby? Here? How?”

  “You should know,” Marion said, “I enjoy keeping some secrets.”

  “You said you don’t lie.”

  “And I don’t.” His blue eyes shone. “Keeping my cards hidden for now.”

  “Ms. Miller,” Eloise said, “I came to tell you that your clothes have arrived. May I show you a bit of the house and a simpler pathway to your room?”

  “Really, she’s going to be here?” I asked Marion as my heart grew heavy with a feeling it was about to burst.

  “I hope this is only the beginning of seeing you smile.”

  “Ms. Miller?”

  I turned to Eloise. “Yes, please show me.”

  As we walked Eloise pointed out different rooms and amenities while constantly reassuring me that everything was available to me. Hardwood dominated the décor, giving it an authentic Texas feel.

  Attached to Marion’s large home office was an equally grand library with a grand fireplace and shelves that reached to the high ceiling. I recalled the shelves in my room. “Does Marion…I mean, Mr. Elliott…enjoy reading? There are so many books.”

  “He does. His love of literature came from Mrs. Elliott. They’d passed it on to McKenzie. How about you?”

  McKenzie.

  “I do. I usually read on my Kindle.” I didn’t know where it was. “However, I believe diving into real books would be an adventure.”

  “And Miss Miller?” Eloise asked.

  “She loves to read, too. It was an activity that kept her curious mind working while at the same time keeping her from trouble.”

  Eloise reached out and took my hand. “I can’t tell you what this means to us. We’re so excited.”

  For us to visit?

  “I hope we can return in the future. I’m thankful for Mr. Elliott’s help.”

  “Let me show you more.”

  Before going upstairs, Eloise took me to the outdoor pool.

  “It’s heated, but I’m sure you’d rather wait for warmer weather.”

  I peered up at the blue sky as the sun shone down upon my face. “This is much warmer than Detroit.”

  She smiled. “I suppose that’s true. I will be sure you have bathing suits delivered if they weren’t in this first shipment.”

  “I’m really not comfortable with Mr. Elliott buying all of this.”

  “As I said, we’re all elated. I promise he doesn’t mind. And besides, there is also a sauna and hot tub in the pool house that can be used even in these winter months.”

  I followed along until we made our way upstairs. The stairway we used was three times as wide as the one in the back of the house. This one had curved architecture giving it a Southern plantation feel. As we walked the hallways, this time I lingered, looking at the photographs of oil wells and beautiful skies filled with oranges and reds of sunsets as well as others with billowing clouds of an impending storm. There were also photographs of horses and beautiful pastures.

  “These are lovely.”

  “Mr. Elliott enjoys photography,” Eloise answered.

  Really? That was also not listed in his biography. There seemed to be much more to Marion Elliott than I’d realized.

  When we entered the bedroom deemed mine, Eloise opened the closet to show me racks of clothes.

  “This really isn’t necessary.”

  Next she went to the chest of drawers and opened each one. No longer were they empty, but now each contained some items of clothing including undergarments and lingerie. The final drawer she opened was in the dresser. From its depths she pulled a small wooden box. Placing it on the top of the dresser, she opened it.

  “Oh,” I said.

  Within were my necklace, earrings, and phone.

  “Thank you.”

  She handed me the phone. “I’m afraid it isn’t charged. I have a charger downstairs that I can bring up to you.”

  “Thank you again,” I said as I held the necklace between my hands, remembering that Patrick said it charged via body heat. If that were the case, it too was most likely without a charge.

  “May I follow you down to the kitchen and get the charger?” I asked. “And then I’ll take a shower.”

  “Certainly.”

  With my necklace in place, I followed Eloise, this time down the back stairs. On my way back to my room, I found myself once again in the maze of doors when unexpectedly, one opened and a man stepped out.

  Startled, I sucked in a breath as the charger slipped from my grasp. “Mr. Hillman?”

  Before he spoke, Antonio Hillman unapologetically took me in, from my head to my toes, his dark gaze scanning. With each second, I was more and more aware that my only covering was the pale green robe.

  “Ms. Miller.”

  My gaze scanned from right to left. “Is Andros...?”

  “Is he here?” Antonio asked as he took a step toward me. “No. He was called away.” Antonio bent down and picked up the charger. “I believe you dropped this.”

  Taking it from him, I nodded. “Yes, well, I need to change.”

  “You don’t remember me, do you?”

  I took a step back as instinct bid my feet to run. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “We’ve actually met a few times. The tournament was the first time we were properly introduced.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”

  A closed-lip smile came to his face. “I never forgot you.”

  My head shook. “I do need to be going.”

  “Elliott thinks he has this wrapped up. He doesn’t know that I have bigger plans than both of them.”

  Another step back. “Mr. Hillman, I really must pass through.”

  He stepped to the side with a grand gesture. “Do you know what piques my interest in...” He shrugged. “...anything?”

  “I’m sure it’s a fascinating story. Perhaps another time.”

  “Competition,” he continued. “I thrive on it. You see I don’t seize opportunities that no one else wants, even if they’re ripe for the picking. I like to watch to see what is trending. I love to watch.”

  I clenched my teeth as he spoke, praying he wasn’t insinuating a different kind of voyeurism. “Another time,” I said again as I stepped past
him, praying he wouldn’t decide to reach out.

  “Madeline.”

  I turned around, breathing easier since I’d made it closer to my room. “Yes?”

  “Another time,” he said with a grin.

  Turning away, I hurried down one hallway and then another. By the time I reached the hallway with my bedroom—thank goodness I’d left the door open—I was running and nearly out of breath. A quick glance over my shoulder confirmed I wasn’t followed.

  Once inside, I closed the door and fiddled with the lock, hoping it worked.

  As the mechanisms engaged, I took a deep breath and then another until my pulse found its normal rhythm. I couldn’t pinpoint why Antonio Hillman made me so uncomfortable or why I’d had that reaction. I just knew he did.

  Plugging in my phone, I stepped into the large bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Maddie

  Seventeen years ago

  Tears filled my eyes as I looked at the examination table, yet I didn’t argue.

  Sometime during the last few months, my will to fight had died. I’d become a shell of a person who obeyed to be fed, no different than a stray dog begging for food or performing tricks for treats.

  I sat on the edge in silence until the door opened.

  The person who entered looked like a doctor—more than Wendy had at Dr. Miller’s. This woman wore a white lab coat over her clothes and had a stethoscope around her neck. She didn’t address me upon entry, mostly speaking to Miss Warner. The only exceptions were when she asked me a direct question.

  “Any pain?”

  I looked to Miss Warner.

  “Answer her, girl.”

  “Sometimes during sex.”

  She seemed unconcerned. “How about regularly? Any tightening of your uterus or lower back pain?”

  Other than that back pain caused by sitting on a concrete floor?

  “No,” I replied.

  “Do you feel the baby move?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Lie back.”

  She laid the stethoscope on my midsection, moving it from one side to the other. “Strong heartbeat,” she said.

  My heart leapt as I longed to hear what she had. Of course, it wasn’t offered to me and with Miss Warner standing guard, I knew better than to ask.

  The doctor took a measuring tape and measured from my belly button down to I didn’t know where. Then she measured from the top of my baby bump, again down.

  “Scoot back and put your heels in here,” the doctor said, pointing to the stirrups.

  The conversation from that point on excluded me. I was present, the subject of their comments, but at the same time, I wasn’t.

  I listened as she spoke, poked, and prodded.

  Using a cool gel, she placed something inside me; after removing it, she pushed her finger inside first my vagina, and then my anus.

  “Malnourished,” the doctor said, “but the baby takes what’s needed. It doesn’t leave much for her. The girl is measuring thirty-two weeks. Her cervix is healthy and there’s no visible sign of disease, open lesions, or discharge. Still, we should run a panel. She does have various stages of lacerations and contusions. Some, like her anus, will take time to heal.”

  “How long?” Miss Warner asked.

  “I recommend no anal and a topical medication. It would be good for a more hygienic atmosphere and an antibiotic for good measure. If you follow that protocol, I’d say a week or two and she can resume normal activity.”

  Miss Warner shook her head. “We don’t have that kind of time. Can they be covered?”

  What did she mean?

  “The first option would be best for her.”

  “She isn’t my concern,” Miss Warner said. “Can the bruises and cuts be hidden long enough to withstand the auction?”

  Auction?

  The doctor sighed. “Yes, I believe so. Over there.” The doctor pointed at the cabinets. “In that second drawer.”

  Miss Warner stepped away from my view. When she returned, she had what looked like a tray of makeup, containers with multiple shades of flesh tones.

  “I’ll apply a layer of antibiotic ointment first and we can cover most of the bruising. There’s some on her legs and arms too. Do you want them all covered?” The doctor shrugged. “I suppose it depends. I’ve heard that some buyers like to know how much their purchases can withstand.”

  Miss Warner shook her head. “This is a special audience. Cover them all.”

  I gripped the edges of the table as the two women critiqued my body and all of its parts. They discussed shading as if I were a canvas, a piece of art. I supposed that was true. I was. Such as a piece of art at a show, I was about to be auctioned and sold to the highest bidder.

  The more the idea settled, the less disconcerting it was.

  I had no doubt. They’d totally broken me.

  Yet in this unreal situation, I chose to see hope.

  I hadn’t given birth, and I was to be auctioned.

  Did that mean I’d be with my child?

  As I lowered myself from the table and continued to follow their instructions, I held on to that hope.

  Once the doctor left, Miss Warner applied makeup to my face. I was certain it was to accomplish a similar goal of covering bruising—however, I hadn’t seen my reflection in months so I truly didn’t know. As she applied color to my cheeks, the last sandwich I’d eaten percolated in my stomach and threatened to reappear. Flashbacks of the department store caused my knees to weaken.

  “Stand still, girl.”

  Inhaling, I complied, fully naked before her.

  Girl.

  Miss Warner knew my name, called it multiple times a day, and yet, when she addressed us personally, we were all girl.

  “Close your eyes.”

  Eye shadow and liner were applied, followed by mascara. Lip stain was next and then a gloss.

  I flinched as she ran her finger over the areolas of my breast. Whatever she was applying reminded me of the rouge I’d seen on my grandma and her friends when I was very young.

  “Men like to see darker nipples and areolas. It makes them believe you’re aroused.” She looked up at me. “This is a unique opportunity. Behave or you’ll end up back here. If that happens, that ass of yours will never heal. I’ll make sure of it.”

  My eyes widened as her words settled in. If it went well, I could never return. If it didn’t, I would.

  “What do you say, girl?”

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

  The dress she provided was more of a drape, white, flimsy, and mostly transparent. It lay over my shoulders and was cinched at the waist by a gold rope-like belt. My hair was dried and wrapped into a bun or twist at the back of my head and secured with a clip. Lastly, she provided a long cape to cover the transparent draping slash dress.

  “Follow me,” she instructed.

  I looked down at my still-bare feet, and then quickly followed to a waiting car.

  As I stepped from the building, I expected the cold and snow I’d last experienced. Instead, I lifted my face to the dark sky. The breeze upon my skin was balmy. Above me, leaves rustled in the trees. My baby hadn’t been the only change over time. The seasons had also changed.

  I didn’t even know what month it was.

  An unfamiliar large man opened the back door of a car.

  Miss Warner looked me up and down. “Make me proud, Maddie. You can do this. You’re one of Dr. Miller’s girls.”

  She used my name.

  It was a small thing, and yet for some reason, it filled me with gratitude.

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

  I sat in the back seat. As the man closed the door, I heard Miss Warner’s instructions. “The senator is expecting her for an important guest. Don’t touch her. We have plenty here for that.”

  I didn’t hear his response.

  Once the man was in the car, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching me in the mir
ror. I tried to look around, to gather information on where we were or where I had been. My arrival to this place was fuzzy at best. After Dr. Miller’s office and my introduction to hell, I fell asleep. I didn’t know if I’d been drugged or simply exhausted from the four rounds of sex and abuse. When I woke, I was in a moving van and blindfolded.

  From what Cindy told me, the blindfold was a pretty standard thing. Everyone’s first memory of the place we’d been was being forced down the concrete stairs.

  Scenes continued to pass by beyond the car windows. Although I’d lived most of my life in Chicago, I didn’t recognize the area. It struck me as surreal that for as awful as the cell, work rooms, shower room, and everything was inside, that beyond its door, the world appeared completely normal. No one would know that girls and women were being held without their consent amongst these normal dwellings. There were no signs, and the area wasn’t run-down.

  All around us was middle- to upper-class standard fare.

  Such as the men who used us, exteriorly everything appeared normal and unsuspecting.

  Invisible.

  That’s what we’d been.

  Cindy.

  Jules.

  Others.

  Me.

  No one saw us, though we were right under their noses.

  I’d accomplished my goal. I was invisible.

  For a moment, I considered speaking to the driver, asking for him to not carry out my delivery to this auction. I imagined begging him to help me escape. Even my imagination was now tainted, not in rose-colored glasses as I’d once heard. No, mine was tainted by reality. This man wouldn’t help me and if he did, I’d be exchanging one hell for another. I knew what men were capable of doing. Maybe the auction was my best hope.

  On the sides of the street, the sizes of the houses grew. And then as the streets wound around, houses were no longer visible. Tall hedges, wrought-iron fences, columns, and gates were all that was seen.

  My empty stomach twisted as my pulse quickened. It was too late, and I was without choice. Sitting here was the waiting period—similar to being positioned upon the bed. This was the time questions filtered through my mind.

  Who was the honored guest, and what would it be like to be auctioned?

  Would he like me?