"You can't get away with this," I said. "Once I'm outta here. Once Lincoln finds me there'll be hell to pay. You don't know who he is. What he's capable of!"
"Honey, I'm the one with the weapon. I'm the one you should you should be worried about."
He grabbed his dick and thrust it at me.
"Come on. I know what you rich girls like. You all wanna fuck a cop. Play it rough and dirty when you can."
"Get away from me!"
He was climbing up the bed toward me. Coming closer and closer until my back was pressed up against the wall. There was nowhere else I could go. When I thought my heart couldn't beat any faster, he took my wrists between his strong fingers and pushed me down into the bed.
"Please," I begged with tears rolling down the sides of my face. "Don't."
He licked his lips again and pushed me deeper down into the mattress.
"Please! Don't do it. Why wear a badge if you're not gonna believe in it."
He froze. His grip on me tightened. I'd hit his weak spot. He eased off a little but still kept a grip of my arms as his erection pressed into me.
"You like playing games?" he asked. "You like fucking up people's heads? Because it's not working. You can't play me."
"I just want you to let me go."
He lifted a hand to my face and traced a finger down the side of my cheek.
"I could have you right now if I wanted and there's nothing you could do about it."
I clenched my eyes shut and thought of Lincoln.
"Do you know the things that will happen to you if you do this?" I said.
He pressed himself into me harder.
"Stop talking, bitch!"
He slapped one hand over my mouth and unzipped his pants with the other.
I screamed against his palm, tasting the saltiness of his sweat. I kicked beneath him and struggled against his monstrous body but there was nothing I could do to stop him. There was no way I could move. Nowhere to go. It was going to happen whether I wanted it to or not.
The tears came fast and thick, making his hands slippery as it slid across my mouth.
"No!" I tried to scream but it came out muffled. "Please, no!"
He stared into my eyes as he ripped my jeans down over my hips and I braced myself for the rush of pain.
Then the door clicked open.
"Fuck! Gary what are you doing!"
His friend in blue was standing dumbstruck in the doorway with two cans of soda in his hands. He dropped them and rushed over.
"Get the hell off her!"
Gary zipped himself up and laughed.
"Woah, calm down buddy. I was just fooling around."
His friend glared at him in disbelief.
"We don't hurt her. Okay? Jesus fucking Christ!"
He clapped his hands to his head in despair.
"You can't just... You can't just... You're supposed to uphold the law. Not violate it!"
"Chill the fuck out," said Gary and rolled his eyes.
Taking a seat back in the wicker chair, he placed his gun back on his lap and lit a cigarette.
"Bored as fuck in here," he said and blew smoke up to the ceiling.
His friend ignored him and sat beside me.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
His eyes were soft and his face round and kind. He looked just as upset I was.
"No," I said. "I'm really not okay."
Tears fell onto the bed between us creating dark patches on the bed linen.
There must have been something that struck a chord with him, something that pulled at a human part of him because he rubbed my back like a father trying to cheer up a child.
"You wanna go for a walk?" he asked.
I nodded and dabbed at my eyes.
"That would be great," I said. "Please get me outta here."
Chapter Three
PHAEDRA
The floorboards smelled like rot and mold and mouse droppings. No amount of scrubbing or bleach could take the smell away. Somehow it only made it worse.
I dropped the cloth to the ground and wiped at my stinging eyes with the back of my hand.
My parents’ house. The family home. It was the only place we could hide. The only place where the children wouldn't be found. Rumors were beginning to run rampant around Broadwood. People weren’t holding back anymore. It was only a matter of time until they took the law into their own hands and arrived at my door with blazing torches and pitchforks.
That’s how I imagined them. Like vigilantes from a bygone era. The truth was that they probably wouldn’t give me such a warm introduction. In this modern world they’d take me out with their cars, ransack the house and film all its depravity with their brand new phones and broadcast it to the world.
At the back of the building, I heard a creaking floorboard. Just like when I was younger and I'd hear my mother step out from the kitchen to make her way down into the pantry in the cellar. Except my mother died years ago. Decades ago. And it is now only her ghost that creaks along the floors. Or maybe it is just my memory tricking me.
The house had been abandoned since long before I entered the Waters House but like a cat who can sniff its way home and return to mock its owner, I returned to the house as a sort of pilgrimage.
With no other children, my parents left the house to me in their will but I never wanted it. Couldn't bear the thought of living in it with all its sadness and gloom.
Now, as I tried to clean it, the walls were streaming with condensation. The floors sunk into themselves as they rotted upon the blackened foundations, ancient and crumbling. I leaned a hand out to the wall and fell how wet it was. The house was crying.
Or was it the children?
Getting them out of the Waters House so they wouldn't be discovered by Detective Berger and his team was a feat in itself. Keeping them captive here was something else. It churned my gut to know they were down there but there was nowhere else they could go.
Kennedy, the bastard. He was no help at all. The order of keeping the children hidden was all I was given. Bringing them to the house under the veil of night time was all I could do.
Now, far out in the country with the house shrouded by cornfields with nothing but the occasional sound of a screeching owl, there was nothing to do but clean and listen to them howl for their parents.
Their voices drifted up from the basement. Their sobs echoed up through the floors. I so badly wanted to rush down and hold all of them in my arms and kiss them until they stopped crying. But I would never do that.
It was always my policy to not get too close to them. They disappeared, got rehomed, went away with Kennedy and often didn't come back. I couldn't bear the thought of loving them. Not if it meant I would have to say goodbye.
Out on the porch, Kirsty was sweeping the leaves out into the mud. An intense look of concentration was burrowed into her forehead. Her lips were pulled tight into a straight line. I knew she wasn't concentrating on cleaning. Instead, she was trying to block out the sounds of the children below.
The numbers in the house were dwindling. When it was time to leave there were only a few girls left and only one who was part of the original team. If you could call it that. The word team gave off vibes of camaraderie and friendship, of fun and high spirits. There was none of that between us. Just a shared unmentionable secret we were condemned to keep against our will. Kirsty was the only girl I could trust. The only one who hadn’t succumbed to Bosworth’s desire to kill.
"I can hear them too," I said as I walked outside.
At last the rain had stopped but the wind was still running rampant through the corn. Whispering secrets into the leaves as it rose and fell across the field.
"How can you stand it?" she asked, her bottom lip quivering as she spoke. "I don't think I can do it anymore."
"Of course you can."
I touched her back and she began to sob, still sweeping the same patch of floor despite the leaves being long gone.
"Can I ask you somet
hing, ma'am?"
"Please, call me Fay."
She sniffed and propped the broom up against the wall. Since we'd left the house and moved out to the middle of nowhere, her usual peroxide blonde hair had become jet black along the roots and the color had faded to a brassy copper.
Her usually manicured nails were now broken and her favorite sweatshirt had obtained a hole in the sleeve where she poked her thumb through.
Her face was clean and free of makeup. I thought she looked beautiful despite the horrors in her bloodshot eyes that showed themselves like a map of her terror filled life.
All the girls looked beautiful without makeup, without their slutty clothes and cheap perfume. Jet especially. She was an angel when you saw her first thing in the morning when she was yet to apply the thick layer of raccoon like eyeliner around her crystalline blue eyes.
I thought about her now and felt a lump in my throat. Remorse was more than a feeling. It was an all-encompassing identity. Once you become a killer you can't go back. You're forever relegated to the underworld. If only she wasn’t the only one…
"Fay... How can you do it?"
I knew what she meant but I stared off into the distance and waited for her to pinpoint her line of questioning.
"How can you?" she asked.
"Do what?"
She picked up the broom again and began winding her hands around it. We both stood still for a moment, the tension between us building until we could almost taste it on the wind.
"You'll get a splinter if you do that," I eventually said and marched indoors.
She was quick on my heel and caught up with me in the kitchen.
"I need to know how you do it!" she pressed. "Because I feel like I'm falling apart."
Beneath our feet, the sobbing continued. It wasn't long since I'd fed them but it was cold down there and dark. No place for a child. Not unless they were expected to be hidden. At least the noise they made wouldn't attract suspicion. The nearest house was half a mile away and you could see the old farmer coming in his red tractor, waving and smiling his toothless grin as he approached.
"We're all falling apart," I said. "Every single one of us."
That wasn't the answer she was looking for. She cornered me beside the refrigerator and grabbed my shoulders. Beside her, I was just the frail old woman I tried to forget I was. Her youthful hands dug into my skin as I looked up into her fiery eyes.
"How can you do it? Listen to the sounds of them crying all the time. You couldn't hear it back at Waters. But here you can hear it all the time!"
I took a deep breath and felt my body tremble.
"Just because you couldn't hear them before doesn't mean they weren't crying."
I pushed her away and strode through the house. But she wasn't giving up. Her legs were so much longer than mine, so much stronger. She pounced on me from behind before I could lock myself in my room.
"Don't you have a heart?" she cried.
"I did," I replied. "A long time ago."
Her face softened and she began to whimper into her sleeve, wiping away salty tears as new ones took their place.
"I can't stand it," she said. "I don't want to be here. I don't want to hurt children. Can't we take them somewhere safe and-"
I slapped her face to silence her and she dropped her mouth open in shock. Raising her hand to her cheek, she continued to cry in silence as her tears dripped from her face.
"You know fine well we can't rescue them!"
She lifted her hand from her face and I could see the bright red handprint I had left on her porcelain skin. If I didn't feel guilty before...
But hitting and screaming was all I knew how to do. There were times when I fantasized about rescuing the children. About even rescuing the girls and scooping them all up and kissing and hugging them like the mother I always wished I could have been. But the judge wouldn't let me do that.
He'd hardened me. Made me cold and unfeeling. He'd made me do things I'd forever regret and made me think that somewhere deep inside him, he had a certain capacity to love me if I did what I was told.
It was all lies.
He never loved me.
I was just his pawn.
"I'm sorry," I said and held her hand. "I didn't mean to do that."
Kirsty was still stunned. Her mouth still dropped open.
"Please. Come inside. I'll make you some cocoa and we can talk. Would you like that?"
She nodded and meekly wandered into my bedroom.
"There's a good girl."
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared out the window.
"I'll be back in a moment," I said but she didn't respond.
I waited until the door clicked shut behind me before I let my own tears fall.
The house was beginning to drown.
~
The metallic surface of the toaster showed my grotesque reflection. The face that stared back at me wasn't one I recognized. The features were enlarged like a caricature's. The skin was mottled and dark red. I touched my fingertips to my cheek and thought I resembled a gargoyle.
When I pulled my fingers away, the feel of the scar was still on them, ragged and keloid.
The pain from the burn Kennedy gave me had healed but the hurt inside still ran deep. Each time I looked in the mirror it was there, purple and crimson and raised off the surface of my skin like rail road tracks. He'd disfigured me. Made me feel hideous but it wasn't anything I wasn't feeling already.
I wiped my face dry and shook myself back to reality.
Below, the crying was starting to fade as the children fell asleep. I hoped they wouldn't dream or if they did, that they imagined being held in their parents' arms.
Stirring two spoonfuls of cocoa into the boiling milk, I added a generous scoop of sugar before topping it off with some whipped cream.
When I returned to my room, I presented it to Kirsty with a certain amount of pride. Her eyes widened when she saw it and she lifted herself from the bed to take it gratefully in her cold hands.
"It's freezing in here,"I said with a shiver and moved to switch on the electric heater.
It smelled like dust as it warmed up but the heat against my shins was a welcomed sensation.
"Thank you," said Kirsty as she dunked her finger into the cream and sucked on it. "It's been so long since I've had cocoa. My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid."
"That wasn't so long ago," I observed.
"Nah, I suppose it wasn't.”
The bedside lamp cast a glow across her youthful features. She didn't look too dissimilar to me when I was her age. Although I was starting to forget what my life was like all that time ago.
Occasionally, at times like this, memories came to me in rose-tinted visions where life was sweet and the most important thing I had to worry about was what shade of lipstick suited me. It had been years since such trivia occupied my mind.
"It's quiet downstairs now," I said.
To emphasize my point and the isolation of the house, a gust of wind blew through the broken tiles on the roof. Somewhere beyond where the fields met the forest along the skyline, a fox screamed.
"Really quiet," said Kirsty as she sipped on her cocoa with a sigh.
She leaned back against the headboard and looked out through the threadbare curtain.
"Can you sleep when it's this quiet?" she asked. “I like to fall asleep to the sound of the traffic.”
"I don't sleep," I said.
"I'm not surprised."
There was a curious glint in her eye. She gave me a sideways glance and hugged her cup to her chest.
"How did you get caught up in all this?" she asked.
As always, I knew what she meant but feigned ignorance.
"What do you mean?"
"You know exactly what I mean..."
Her eyes were stormy.
"You're a woman like me. We're supposed to be caring and nurturing but here we are with a basement full of kidnapped children. It's not what I wan
ted when I ran away from home. I wanted a better life. There was a time when I even dreamed of being a mom myself but that can't happen now! Not with all this... With all this..."
She waved her hand around unable to grasp the horror of her thoughts.
"We're not supposed to be doing this," she said. "Is there no way we can..."
"Rescue them? No. We'll all die if we do that. Judge Kennedy won't allow it."
She drained her cup and set it down on the window ledge.
"I'd die for them," she said. "I'd die if it put a stop to all of this."
I would too but the truth was that I was too scared to.
"So how do you propose we save these children. Call the police, eh?"
I snorted with derision but inside I really wanted to know if there was a way we could do it. A way we could all live in peace and the children could return to their parents.
"I know we can't call the police," she said. "I'm not stupid. I know who's involved, who pays us. There just has to be another way."
Bosworth, I thought. He wanted to save the children more than anyone but he wanted us all dead first.
I couldn’t blame him. I'd wanted to be dead myself for so long. But I didn't know what scared me more, staying alive living in this quagmire of filth and depravation for the rest of my life or dying and discovering there really was a God.
God wouldn't let me pass in peace. He'd send me to hell to suffer until time no longer existed. He would make sure I'd endure myself what I'd created up here on Earth. Sooner or later I would have to find out if there was an afterlife. Until then, I was living each day as it came with the belief that somehow it would all turn out to be okay.
"I'm sorry. I need to make a phone call," I blurted out and bolted from the room. "You can stay here tonight," I said over my shoulder as I departed. "If your room is too cold."
"Thanks," came her murmured reply. "I'll make up a bed on the floor."
Back in the kitchen, I pulled my phone from the top drawer and tapped the name that was always top of my call list. It rang and rang as my heart pounded. There was a silent terror inside me that panicked that I'd never hear his voice again. I hated him but he was all I lived for and no matter how much I hated him, I hated myself more.
Jewels and Panties (Book, Six): Puppet Master Page 2