Alice and Friends

by catt dahman

  “You sure?” John asked before he turned, and they heard rattling sounds. Aaron shook his head as if he regretted all of this, but John brought in a water hose that made Connie go pale.

  The woman was already crying and trying to cover herself with her arms and hands, no stranger to disobeying them and getting hosed down.

  John aimed away from the supplies they had brought in, and Aaron pulled the mattresses and linens to the doorway so that they would remain dry and clean.

  The first blast of ice water took Alice’s breath. The blast felt like a spray of icy needles that instantly soaked her to the skin, making her teeth chatter as he used it on their bodies and faces, sweeping the flow.

  The men enjoyed watching the women scream and plead, depending on their mercy.

  All three women raised their arms against the icy jet, but it was relentless, finding every opening to their skin until they could only huddle in fetal positions with their backs to the spray, screaming to keep warm. They stayed in place when the water was moved away, shivering and scared, but Alice didn’t tell them how she knew the names.

  “Now, isn’t that better? Got the piss and blood off you, Alice.” Luke smiled as Aaron rolled the hose away again. “Cleanliness is, I bet you know, Alice.”

  “Godliness,” Tara spoke quickly.

  “Good girl,” Luke said.

  “Hot baths work pretty well, too.” Alice responded, waiting to be kicked or hit again for smarting off, but Luke only smiled and nodded.

  Their faces sometime looked curious and sometimes showed some dull excitement, but for the most part, the men never looked any more animated than bored soldiers or observing doctors.

  “Baths…they’re earned, my dear.” He and his three brothers with their good teeth and nice smiles looked at the women as if this, too, were normal.

  “Maybe you three will make us happy, or maybe Cain will take a liking to one of you. Cain liked Jodie. Oh my, she’s not here anymore is she?”

  Alice didn’t bother to ask if the two had escaped or been set free, but those words made her shiver again with fear. She felt the answer was at the tip of her consciousness.

  “Cain is getting restless,” Tom said.

  “Her,” Luke pointed to Tara. “If she resists even a little, use the cattle prod.”

  The woman, her hair dripping with cold water, stood as she was pulled to her feet, letting her hair fall forwards to block her face as she stood before the men. She had survived rape before; one of them might smack her a few times or let Father yell at her, but those weren’t new; she could survive.

  Tara knew this was just an excuse for punishment.

  John motioned for Alice to get up. She shook her head, but saw him glance at Tara.

  Alice climbed to her feet, unable to watch Tara tortured. She was ready to fight again if this were the time for her to be raped. “Bring it,” she said stubbornly.

  “I guess Cain will at that, Missy. If you cause a ruckus, we can use the cattle prod. Do you want that?”

  Luke unlocked the cuffs and put the key back into his pocket. Alice took note of the keys and where he kept them. Keep screwing up, she urged him.

  “No.” Alice rolled her eyes as she followed the men upstairs past several closed doors. She shrugged away their hands and walked by herself, keeping her head up. She wouldn’t tell them how she knew the names, and they weren’t happy with her, so there had to be some form of punishment coming to her. Whatever. She was out of the basement and was watching for her chance to get away.

  Aaron locked the door behind them, sealing Connie in alone as she moaned from the cold concrete floor.

  Tara walked next to Tom, but they stopped outside a doorway. Alice was pushed into the room next to the one where Tara stood. Alice would have thought her punishment might be along the lines of watching someone hurt Tara and blaming her for the pain.

  Maybe she got it wrong.

  There went years of practicing, trying to figure people out and guessing their motivations and behaviors.

  Eh, this was forgivable since it wasn’t the same as watching her stepfather beat her mother senseless one night when he had lost his head in a loud fury, breaking her mother’s bones and then pushing her down a staircase with great passion.

  She had been fairly good at judging when he was most dangerous to her and her mother and could avoid him. Knowing how bad the beating would be wasn’t a great thing, but she always knew they could survive it.

  She and her mother knew what set him off: dinner being cooked wrong, a lazy response when he asked a question, going up the staircase too loudly, not anticipating what he might want, or daring to meet his eyes when he was furious.

  Alice hadn’t thought he would do anything that final, but he had. She had only been twelve and unable to guess intentions back then, so her mother had died of a broken neck at the foot of the stairs. Nothing had led to the event; he had a bad day at work, and after watching the news, he came up the stairs and began punching Alice and her mother.

  Her mother had been humming an old Elvis Presley tune. Maybe that was what caused his anger. Maybe it had been something on the television.

  Raising her hands to protect her face, Alice’s mother stepped backwards, ducked a punch, and fell. She pin-wheeled and somersaulted and then finally slipped to a crumpled heap with her head bleeding and bladder letting go.

  Close to shock, Alice had ducked into her bedroom, and then screaming in fury and fear, she had run out at her stepfather.

  It was only a lucky blow when she had hit him with her favorite baseball bat; it had been unlucky that she had swung at him so hard that it had cracked into two jagged pieces, meaning she couldn’t get in another hit.

  He was only slightly dazed, more amazed and shocked that she was fighting back than that he was actually injured. He roared at her.

  She hadn’t meant to hit the banister instead of him the second time, but then she had never been in a situation in which she had to defend herself this way. She had been tired of being hit and was devastated that her mother lay at the foot of the stairs, and yes, she was very pissed off at this man.

  She saw her own death looming.

  It was hell to see her mom lying crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, dead, and broken. It was another level of hell to know she was next only because she had not watched and seen signs that this situation could happen; maybe she was partially to blame.

  But the worst part was when she kind of forgot what she was doing and concentrated on what was important and drove the jagged piece of wood straight into the man’s heart; she looked at him with his mouth in an O shape, eyes wide with disbelief.

  She didn’t remember later doing it, but she must have since they had been alone. She didn’t really recall much after the first slap to her face that evening.

  There had been a lot of blood. Her hands and body had been soaked in crimson, but she had continued to stab, fascinated by the process of his blood leaking; voices had surrounded her, horrified, soothing, questioning, and pityingly.

  For a long time, she just slept and didn’t want to face what had happened or what she had done.

  In time, the events were as elusive as a foggy dream, except for remembering the low hum of voices, the soft voice of females who reassured her that all would be okay and asking her to let them handle the situation, and how relaxing and wonderful the sleep had been.

  “Strip, or I’ll do it,” John said, making her aware that she was in a room with a nut. He held a fluffy blue blanket up so that Alice was covered from their eyes; it was a very soft fleece, one that looked inviting.

  She was ready to fight hard, but she wanted out of the wet, cold clothing, and the blanket seemed like Heaven to her. Besides, why not strip?

  If they wanted her undressed, they could certainly manage it with her taking some hard bruises if they did it.

  “You are perfectly safe and won’t be touched at all in any way. I don’t lie,” John told her. He seemed to know wha
t was worrying her.

  “No worries about rape?” she asked as she slid her jeans down.

  “Sex,” he corrected. “ And no, not today,” he answered.

  His words disturbed her more than anything so far. Not today implied that it would happen, but more than that, she had the distinct feeling that whatever else the man did, he didn’t lie.

  That opened up possibilities that could help her, but it also meant that she had better want an answer before asking. She held herself back from describing a legal definition of rape. She was back on track with being able to read the man’s intentions and honesty.

  With her back to him, and as soon as she was naked but for her panties, she took the blanket and wrapped it around her body, savoring the soft feel of the blanket and the warmth it provided.

  He handed her another blanket, this one pink, to put over her shoulders like a shawl. Something this simple felt wonderful, but she didn’t thank him. They were giving her comfort before subjecting her to something terrible, so it would be much worse.

  Maybe she had been right about their hurting Tara to scare her, but how were they going to do that? And how would they hurt the other woman?

  When Luke told her to sit down, she did so, in one of the wide, comfortable chairs, curling her feet up with her in the seat. Aaron handed her a cup of steaming liquid. She sniffed it experimentally.

  “It isn’t drugged,” John said.

  It smelled unusual but good. Taking a sip, she tasted cinnamon, tart apples, and a honey-sweet flavor. “What is this?”

  Aaron sat next to her in a chair with a cup of the brew. “It’s homemade, spiced, apple cider, like a mulled cider. It really clears your head and warms you up. It’s pretty healthy, too. Do you like it?” He sounded so normal.

  “It’s very good. Thank you.” That was as nice as she planned to be, and she would play along for a while until she knew which game they were playing now.

  “I have a question for you, a decision for you to make. And this is very, very critical, Alice; do you think Tara should visit with Cain sober or with a little helper in her cider?” Aaron was very conversational, but it was like when Alice’s stepfather would ask if she wanted the beating on her butt or legs. Did she want to correct her attitude right fast or have the snot knocked out of her?

  “What? I don’t know…a helper?” What did that mean?

  “Drugged or sober?” John explained.

  She tried to taste anything strange in her cup, but she hadn’t tasted it in the water, so how could she know?

  Whatever was happening, no matter how bad it might be, should be dealt with sober so that Tara could fight back or have a chance; Alice wouldn’t want anyone to face something drugged and helpless, feeling like a victim at someone’s mercy. “Sober.”

  “Sober, it is.”

  Luke left the room and then returned with a teapot. “More?”

  Alice held her cup out to be filled; thinking about throwing it in his face, but it wouldn’t do much, so she sipped the cider quietly, needing the warmth.

  If they were honest, then her cider was clean, and it was very soothing, and if it had honey and apple juice, then it was nutritious; she had to remain healthy and strong so that she could think.

  Besides, oddly, the warm liquid gave her a sense of familiar comfort.

  Luke dimmed the lights and drew back burgundy, plush curtains so Alice could see that there was a window in the wall: smoky, and about the size of a television. It must be a two-way mirror although she had never seen one except on television.

  In the room, there was no furniture, walls were painted dull grey and were blank, and the floor was bare concrete.

  Tara was in the center of the room with Tom and an older man that Alice assumed was either Cain or the father of these nuts. Having just finished stripping off her wet clothing, Tara was hidden behind a powder blue sheet that Tom had allowed Tara to wrap around herself.

  She felt a tremor of dread.

  Alice thought that this was new to Tara as the woman kept looking about the room as if she had never seen it before and was scared out of her mind. There was no window or anything else, but the mirror that Tara might or might not know was a two-way type.

  Sitting here in contrast to the other room and to Tara’s situation, Alice felt she had been right before, thinking that Tara was to be harmed and that Alice would have to see it as a punishment for what she had reacted to that once, and now, it was set up as part of her training.

  The older man stepped out and then back into the room with a plastic cup that seemed to be steaming.

  “It’s just hot cider, and nothing is in it,” John told Alice, “just as you suggested.”

  Alice thought about those words. Something about it was important, but what it was, she didn’t know. Why did that matter so much?

  Tara took a few swallows and was beginning to stop the shivering that had wracked her body. Her throat bulged as she gulped the hot beverage; the bluish tint left her lips, and color came back into her face as she seemed to be regaining her senses and becoming more alert.

  Why did Tara get a plastic cup, and why did she get just a sheet when she was shivering terribly, and why had Alice gotten two blankets and a soft, warm chair?

  The older man and Tom said something to Tara, and she shook her head furiously with a frown, but they ignored her as they walked out of the room. Tara looked angry. She tossed the empty cup at the door. The door didn’t close entirely but opened at once as another man entered the room.

  They couldn’t hear Tara, but the woman back-pedaled to the far wall with huge, terrified eyes, as her mouth strained open, and she screamed hysterically over and over, eyes almost feral with fear. Almost.

  Alice struggled to understand exactly what she was seeing because it didn’t make sense. The man who joined her in the room was immense, to say the least. Although all the men stood about six feet tall or a bit more, this brother was a good seven feet tall, maybe seven and half, not fat, but hugely built with slabbed muscles all over his pale, naked, hairless body. He looked wrong, as if he had been sculpted incorrectly or if the sculptor had added more tone and extra bones in his design. The head was way too large and misshaped.

  When he turned to the mirror, Alice spilled the rest of her cider into her lap as she recoiled.

  At the top of his head above his forehead was almost a split; it didn’t continue straight down his face but seemed to fade away as a diagonal as it reached the left eyebrow. It was more than a deep cleft and looked as if his head had wanted to break into two parts. He would need two hats if he wanted to wear a hat.

  His face was fairly normal, albeit ugly, other than that his eyes were smallish and piggy-stupid and his nose was almost tiny; his mouth looked lipless, small, and childlike, but when he turned to the side, his face still looked at Alice, and she felt her belly roll with acute nausea when she tried to make sense of this.

  Another eye, heavily lidded, and a flattish nose jutted out of his left cheek. There was no ear on that side. Another face. Almost another head.

  A trick? Make-up? Why?

  Below his massive arm as he raised it, was a tiny fist attached to a little arm, and below that, from his ribs, were a small leg and a twisted, bare foot with toes. He had extra limbs. Small ones. He was almost two people.

  “Who? Wha…?” Alice stuttered.

  “That’s Cain and Abel. In Mother’s womb, Cain kinda slew the little fellow, Abel,” Luke said calmly. “That’s our brothers.”

  Tara was horrified as she looked him over, noticing how his small eyes glittered with excitement. He drooled. Tara begged him to go away and leave her alone, but he advanced, feinting to either side as she did.

  The massive man lunged at Tara, yanking away the sheet, forcing her forward into his arms. He gave her sloppy kisses with his jelly-like mouth, leaving stringy saliva on her skin. Her face shined with his spittle. He giggled at Tara, making her scream louder. With a big, loose tongue, he licked at her
eyes, making Alice’s stomach lurch.

  He laughed as he batted away her punches and scratches and carried her easily, like a pet, clasped to his side where he squeezed her breasts roughly. He wanted her in the center of the room.

  The little hand stroked her hair obscenely.

  Tara screamed and beat at him, but he had no problem positioning her on the bare floor on her hands and knees, mounting her from behind so he could control her better and avoid her slaps at him.

  His erection was huge, shining, and red with lust. He was too big, and she was too dry, but he shoved himself into her, making her scream again.

  “And she’s sober, nothing to dull the pain or help with the terror she must be feeling,” Luke mused. “You did so well, Alice. I can tell Cain is happy with her; he hates when they are dulled down and sleepy.”

  This was her punishment, watching Tara tortured and knowing it was her fault and that she might be next.

  Alice hadn’t realized that she was crying, but she was, and she was also making a horrible keening sound as she rocked back and forth in her chair, almost in a rhythm with Cain’s thrusts. The freak made all kinds of faces as he enjoyed himself; the little eye blinked awake, looking around, rolling in the socket.

  One of them had taken her cider cup away, leaving Alice’s hands locked into fists as she held them to her own face, trying to stop watching, hoping the images would go away, praying to disappear into the chair’s soft cushion.

  “Show’s over,” Aaron said. He paused. “No smart remark? Hmm.”

  “Alice? Alice?”

  She looked at John.

  “Come along, Alice,” John said. He took her by the upper arm and although her legs shook uncontrollably, she stood and then walked in a slow, unsteady shuffle to the door. He watched her pale face closely.

  “Alice? Tara is gonna get a hot bath and another cup of cider; do you think the cider should be plain or with a little bit extra to it?” Luke cocked his head. He had to ask twice before she understood the words.

  Her lips didn’t seem to work, and she was shaking worse than she had been when sprayed down with cold water. “Es…es…tra,” she mumbled, hardly able to speak.