"I won't misbehave."
"I didn't think you would," she said. "We will be under observation the entire time, and your arms are bound, so you will be unable to overpower me."
"Does anyone ever try?"
"Yes. Those that do always regret it."
She tested my eyes with the flashlight then nodded. "Do not stand until I tell you to," she ordered. She released the straps holding me in place, pushed the cart to the side, then picked up the control device. She stepped to my side, clasped my arm, and ordered me to stand.
I stood, wavering for a minute. The woman steadied me. When I was ready, she said, "Come."
She tugged on my arm, leading me to the door. A moment later, it opened of its own accord. We stepped into the hallway, turned right, and she led me deeper into the building.
* * * *
The cell was only a little different than the other room. A guard met us at the entrance to the cell. I stood numbly in the center while they released my shackles. A moment later they were out the door, and it closed firmly behind her.
The walls were white, with a high ceiling and ample lighting. There was a wooden bed along one wall, but no mattress, pillows, or blankets. Two security cameras were pointed down at me from different ankles. There would be no privacy.
In the corner was a toilet and, next to it, recessed into the wall, a sink. There was no paper but instead the toilet was fitted with an auto-clean function. I glanced up at the security cameras, but there was little I could do about them.
It didn't seem strange at the time, and I presumed it was the drug the woman had given me, but I didn't even contemplate any shows of defiance. Even without the drug, I wasn't sure I would have.
I unzipped the blood red jumper, peeling myself bare to my knees, and sat down. The toilet was a much-needed relief. When I was finished, I flushed then engaged the auto-clean system. I sat there while it did its job, cleaning, sanitizing, and drying me. When it was done, I stood, zipped the jumper back up, then washed my hands anyway. There were no towels, but there was a hand dryer built into the recessed enclosure, and so I was able to dry my hands that way rather than against my jumper.
I moved to the bunk and lay on my side. I thought I would cry, but instead I was numb. I wondered if that was a gift of the drug.
I may have slept. I don't know. But then the lights flashed three times, and a voice spoke.
"Prisoner two-seven-five-nine-four-nine-two-seven-one-three-eight-five, assume a seated position on the bunk and do not move."
Slowly, I sat up, curling my knees against my chest and hugging them, my back against the wall. A moment later, the door buzzed then opened. A woman in a guard's uniform stepped in carrying a tray. She stared at me on the bench.
"Where is your bedding?"
"I do not know," I said. "I saw no bedding when I arrived."
"Franny!" she said in a firm voice. "Prisoner three-eight-five has no bedding."
"What do I care?" came a disembodied voice. "It's just a blood slave."
My guard huffed.
The guard turned her attention back to me. "When a guard enters your cell, you will remain on the bench until the door closes after we leave. Do you understand?"
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
She set the tray down. It actually looked like a decent meal, although there was no silverware. I guess I shouldn't have expected any.
"The tray is indestructible," she said, "but you do not want to find out what happens to you if you test it."
"I was stupid enough to land here, but not that stupid," I told her.
"Most of our prisoners cannot say the same thing," she replied. "You are obligated to eat the entire meal, whether you like it or not. When you are done, set it in front of the door."
I nodded.
"Any questions?"
"How long will I be here?"
"I don't know. Your case is still on hold. You will certainly be here until morning. I will bring your bedding when I collect your tray. Someone else will arrive later to administer your next tranquilizer, which will include something to help you sleep. The lights will be dimmed after that."
"Thank you for answering."
She cocked her head. "You are welcome," she said after a moment.
Then she backed away, watching me carefully until the door slammed closed.
"Prisoner three-eight-five," came the disembodied voice, "you will now eat your meal. The toilet and sink are disabled until you finish."
I climbed from the bunk, collected the tray, and brought it back to the bunk with me. I was surprised by the meal; the food was fresh. There were raw vegetables, and I slowly ate a carrot. In the center of the place was a sandwich with fresh sliced turkey breast, tomatoes, lettuce, and bean sprouts. It was cut in half and easily picked up. I ate half the sandwich and more of the vegetables, becoming full. I stared at the rest of the tray.
There was still a half of a sandwich, several more pieces of vegetable, and some sort of white pudding on one corner of the tray. I didn't know how they expected me to eat all this food, and I didn't know how I was supposed to eat the pudding.
I ate a piece of celery and set the tray aside.
"Um. Is anyone listening?"
There was no answer.
I sat on the bunk with my knees drawn up for perhaps twenty minutes before the disembodied voice spoke.
"Prisoner three-eight-five, why have you stopped eating?"
"I'm full," I replied, "and I do not know how I am expected to eat the pudding without a spoon."
"You must eat the entire meal," said the voice. "This is your only warning. You lick the pudding."
I stared at the tray then picked up the sandwich. I choked down the second half, trying not to cry again, then most of the rest of the vegetables, saving one of the pieces of celery. I used the celery stick as a spoon, carefully scooping up the pudding and sucking it off the celery. I got as much as I could that way then finished the celery stick.
I felt sick to my stomach. I didn't usually eat such a large meal.
I remembered the guard told me to put the tray in front of the door, so I did so, then moved back to the bunk and lay down.
It was some time later when the lights flashed and the voice said, "Prisoner three-eight-five, you will assume a seated position on your bunk and remain there."
I sat up and hugged my knees. A moment later the door buzzed open, and the guard from earlier stepped in. She looked down at my tray then looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.
"You didn't finish."
"I did!" I said. "Even the pudding. It was far too much food."
She studied me. "When we say you will eat it all, that means I should see not so much as a crumb left on the plate, and if I look around the room, I should see no crumbs anywhere else, either. There are a few bean sprouts, some crumbs from the bread, and quite a bit of the pudding left."
I stared at her. "I don't know what you want me to do."
"Franny," she said, "I am ordering prisoner three-eight-five to approach."
"Yeah, yeah," said the voice. "Like I care."
The guard turned to me. "Come take this tray, return to your bunk with it, and then lick it clean."
I stared at her.
Then she pressed something on her wrist, and I felt pain in my throat. I began screeching, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"
"Do what I told you," she said. I scrambled from my bunk, grabbing the tray, and retreated to the bunk. The pain didn't stop until I was back on the bunk. She let me pant for a moment before she said, "Finish it."
It was humiliating, but I cleaned the tray carefully, using my fingers to pick up the pieces I could, then one finger to wipe up as much of the pudding as I could.
"That won't be clean enough," she said. "You're going to have to lick it. I don't make the rules, but if I don't enforce them, I bleed."
"I'm not blaming you," I said. I did as much as I could with a finger before I lifted the tray to my mouth and meticu
lously licked it clean.
I showed it to her. "Better," she said. "Look around your bunk and make sure you didn't spill."
I found a few crumbs, including a few on the floor. I stared at them.
"You must eat them," she said. "The floors are sanitized; you will not pick up any germs."
I ate everything I found, feeling deeply humiliated. I wondered if that was the purpose.
"Better," she said again. "You will now slide the tray back carefully. Do not walk to me, but if you must approach, crawl."
I knelt down on the floor and pushed the tray towards her until it came to a stop two inches from her feet.
"Back on the bunk," she said, and I retreated from her, hugging my knees again.
"Do you understand what is expected?"
"Yes."
"Good. Some of the other guards enjoy being cruel. They may not kill you, and they must have at least some excuse for punishing you, but if you give it to them, they will take it."
"Thank you for warning me."
"Do not move from the bunk."
She collected the tray, stepped out, and then returned a moment later carrying blankets and a single pillow. She set them on the floor. "A technician will be by shortly. Try to sleep."
"May- Um. May I have a book? Anything?"
"Blood slaves have no rights," she replied. "The vampire that purchases you may give you books if he chooses."
She stepped out, and the door closed. I climbed from the bunk, washed my hands and face, then collected the bedding and did my best to make a nest on the bunk.
* * * *
I cried myself to sleep, waking when the lights flashed and a buzzer sounded. "Prisoner three-eight-five will assume a seated position on the bunk and remain there."
A moment later, the door opened, and a woman in a lap coat stepped in. She looked at me for a moment.
"Are you going to fight me?"
"No."
"When I approach, you will offer me an arm. I do not care which. You will roll the sleeve up as high as you can, and you will remain still."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied.
"It is nighttime," she said. "You will sleep. Roll up a sleeve."
I picked my left arm, rolling the sleeve as high as I could, then offered it to her. She stepped forward and, without pause, jabbed my arm and depressed the plunger. I winced, but I didn't protest. When she was done, she withdrew.
"Don't you have to clean it first?"
She shrugged. "You are a blood slave. No one here cares what happens to you. If you are worried about germs, you should make sure to clean before we arrive."
I wasn't going to argue with her. I wasn't sure I cared, either.
"The lights will dim in three minutes," she told me. "And you will be asleep in no more than ten. I strongly recommend you use the toilet."
And then she was gone.
I took her advice, and by the time I was done, I could feel the drug beginning to work.
I curled up on the bed, and soon I knew no more until morning.
* * * *
I was awakened by flashing lights and loud ringing. A moment later a voice said, "Prisoner three-eight-five will assume a seated position on the bunk and remain there."
I levered myself into position, my thoughts groggy. The door open and a technician entered.
"Roll up your sleeve," she said. "In the future, do not make us wait."
I rolled up my sleeve, and she stepped forward, giving me my morning drug without further comment. She left without looking back, and a moment later a guard deposited a tray on the floor.
I hadn't been given the choice to use the toilet, and I really had to go.
I ate the meal, which was at least sized somewhat closer to a normal portion, and I made sure to clean every bit I could see. I replaced the tray then turned to the toilet. They had said the toilet would be disabled until I had finished eating. The sink would be, too, so I moved to it and tried the water.
I could get water from the drinking spigot, but I was unable to wash my hands.
"Prisoner three-eight-five, is your meal finished?"
"Yes," I said. "Am I supposed to tell you?"
"The attempt to access your water created an alert."
"Please don't hurt me!" I said firmly.
There was a pause. "I have turned on your sink and toilet, but if you approach the tray, you will be punished."
"Thank you," I said.
* * * *
I received another meal at lunch and was told to eat quickly. The guard watched me, and I knew something had changed. I ate carefully but quickly, sliding the tray to her when ordered. A moment later, a technician stepped in holding another hypodermic needle.
"Roll up your sleeve," she said immediately. I hurried to comply, apologizing for not knowing.
She stepped forward and administered the shot.
"It's a booster," she said.
And that's when I knew: the hold on my case had been released, and I wasn't being returned to the courts.
I began to cry quietly.
"Use the toilet," said the guard. "Clean up as best you can. You have ten minutes. Don't waste it crying."
As soon as the door closed, I hurried to the toilet. Even over the drug, I was filled with fear, and my stomach clenched, but when I knelt over the toilet, I was unable to vomit. I knelt there for some time, then finally switched position, doing everything necessary, then cleaned as thoroughly as I could at the sink.
I returned to the bunk.
I hadn't stopped crying.
It was only a few minutes later that the door opened. They hadn't warned me to remain on the bunk. Two guards stepped in. One of them was holding a set of shackles. "Stand up," she ordered.
Quietly, I stood then moved to the center of the room when ordered. They shackled me, my arms behind me again, and I stood quietly while they did it.
"Do we need to remind you of the collar?" one asked.
"No. What happens."
"You have been purchased. You will be prepared, then your master will take delivery."
I stared at the guard, the new reality setting in. I had a good idea what "prepared" meant.
They led me from the cell and through the facility, backtracking much of the path from yesterday. I shuffled along between them. They hurried me, but not to the point of dragging me. We came to a door with a window in it, the only one I'd seen like this so far, and stopped.
Inside, I saw a sturdy chair. It looked much like a dentist's chair, but it was made entirely of metal with no padding, and the restraints were obvious.
"Oh god," I said. "Please don't. Let me go. Please, let me go! Please don't!" I began babbling incoherently. The guards ignored me, but I slumped in their arms, and when the door opened, they had to drag me into the room. I didn't resist, but I didn't walk willingly, either.
They held me upright by my arms as I continued to whimper, pleading with them to let me go. Some stepped up behind me, another woman, and I began pleading with her instead. She ignored my entreaties. I felt her hands at my wrists, and then the shackles fell free.
"Put her in the chair."
I sagged, but I didn't fight, as the two guards levered me into the chair, holding my hands over the armrests. The other woman flipped the restraints into place, tightening them firmly. The guards released me, and the woman proceeded to lock me completely into the chair, my legs, my hips, a band across my chest, another around my throat above the collar, and finally a strap firmly across my forehead, holding me entirely immobilized. I spent the entire time begging them to stop.
"Thank you," the third woman told the two guards. They headed for the door, and I heard one of them say to the other, "God, I fucking hate this job."
"They're just blood slaves," said the other. "They deserve it for whatever they did."
"I was getting medicine for an old woman!" I screamed. "I went to the store to get medicine for an old woman!"
The door closed behind them.
The third woman, dressed in a lab coat, moved into my view. I immediately began pleading with her again to please stop, to please let me go, I just wanted to go home. I hadn't hurt anyone, I just wanted to go home.
"Silence," she said. She lifted her left arm in front of her and poised a finger over the device on her wrist.
I continued to plead, and she pressed a button.
It wasn't a one. It wasn't a three. I don't know what it was, but it was bad, and I began screaming immediately, no words, just a scream. She held the button down for several seconds before releasing it, but it was several seconds longer before the scream faded away.
"I told you 'silence'," she said calmly. "Do you understand now?"
I tried to nod, but I couldn't move my head.
"I asked a question!"
"I'm sorry!" I said quickly. "Yes. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
"Silence!" and I closed my mouth.
"I don't care who you are. I don't care why you are here. I don't care how unfair you think this is. Even if I did care, there is nothing I can do for you." She paused. "I don't get many reacting the way you have. Usually the pacifier keeps you calmer."
"Pacifier?"
"The drug they've been giving you."
"Someone gave me a booster."
"A booster? There are no boosters. Do you mean the dose this morning?"
"No, before they shackled me."
She stepped away, moving behind me. I couldn't see what she was doing.
"What are you doing?"
"Silence. You will respond only to direct questions."
A moment later, she reappeared. "Someone played a trick on you. It wasn't a booster. It was the antidote."
I stared at her, but she had forbid me from speaking. Her features softened. "Do you want a fresh shot?"
"Would you want it?" I asked her.
"Oh yes," she said. "I'd ask for a double."
"There's nothing I can do to get out of this."
"No."
"Then I'd like that double."
She studied my face for a moment. "It's extra strong. You'll be emotionally numb for a day or two unless you receive another antidote, and you will probably need to be dragged."
Blood Slave Page 4