“Terrible, of course. And yet special too.”
“What about angry? Did it make you feel angry?”
“Yes, a little.”
“A little? Do you think that’s a normal reaction to finding out that your family has been slaughtered? A little anger?”
“But that was so long ago.”
“When Jews talk about their people being murdered in Nazi ovens, do they sound just a little angry?”
“No,” Martin replied.
“You’re right about that.” Solomon jumped in. “The Jews are so furious that they’re still hunting down Nazis to this very day. And I don’t blame them.”
“Only the black man is brainwashed to bury his anger,” Dr. Kasim said to Martin. “That’s why you resist what we offer you, because you’re brainwashed by the white man not to hate him. To let bygones be bygones while they and their children benefit from the exploitation of our ancestors. They smile at us and do business with us but behind our backs they’re laughing at us.”
“No. I don’t believe that, and even if I did, we can’t just do what we want. Inflict our own punishment.”
“Why the hell not?” Tobias asked. “Everything you are has been stomped on and thrown away by white people, yet you’re content to live by their rules? Where were their rules when they were raping our mothers and whipping our fathers?”
Dr. Kasim nodded at Oscar, who withdrew a leather-bound photo album from a nearby shelf and handed it to Martin. Inlaid gold lettering on the cover read Family Photos.
Martin wrinkled his brow at the doctor.
“Open it,” Dr. Kasim said.
Martin turned the cover over and shuddered at what he saw. An old black-and-white photograph from the 1920s of a gruesome lynching. Four brutally beaten black men hanging dead from a tree. The surrounding well-armed white mob cheering as one man used a large bowie knife to make a trophy of one of the victims’ genitals. Martin had seen old photos of lynchings before, but nothing like this.
“And where were their rules when they did that?” Tobias said.
Martin shook his head in disgust and shut the photo album.
“Don’t stop there,” Dr. Kasim said. “There’s much more. Burnings, mutilations, disembowelment, it’s all in there. Everything evil that can be done to the human body they did to our people. I want you to witness it, brother. Keep turning the pages.”
“No,” Martin said with genuine revulsion. He thrust the album onto the coffee table as if it were suddenly too hot to hold. “I know the history. I don’t need to see it.”
Dr. Kasim wagged a finger at him. “But do you see what you just did?” he said. “Instead of facing the anger and pain that those images inspire inside you, instead of facing the terrible truth, you’d rather just close the book on the past. Exactly what every black man has been conditioned to do since the so-called emancipation. That’s the noise working on you. Making you doubt your self-worth, doubt your humanity, doubt your right to justice. Infecting your soul with fear.”
Martin could feel their stares. The room suddenly felt smaller, as if the men around him were converging. He could sense that they were waiting for something. Looking for a sign that they were reaching him. But what sign?
“It’s time for you to stop fearing the white man,” Damon said. “It’s time to stop thinking he’s better than you.”
“But I don’t feel that way,” Martin insisted. “I don’t.”
“You do fear the white man,” Dr. Kasim said. “You know you do.” He leaned forward and laid his hand atop Martin’s. After a fatherly squeeze he said, “You must trust me. I’m here to help you, brother. We all are.”
The other men nodded.
“First admit your fear,” Dr. Kasim pressed, “then I will show you what real freedom feels like.”
Martin glimpsed Solomon reaching into his jacket for a handkerchief. That was it. They were expecting some kind of emotional breakdown. But could he do it? Martin buried his face into his hands. Shook his head. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “I just don’t know . . .”
They all laid their hands on him. “Your brothers are here to support you, Martin,” Dr. Kasim said. “To rescue you. It’s time to listen to the screams of your ancestors that fear has caused you to ignore for so long. It’s time for you to hear their screams and get angry. Do you hear it? Do you hear the noise?”
Martin filled his mind with the thought of never returning home. Of never seeing Anna again. He pictured the pain that Anna would feel when she found out he was dead. Then his eyes began to sting. Emotion racked Martin’s body and he could feel pinpricks of tears at the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I hear it,” he said as he bowed his head and let the tears flow down his cheeks. “I hear it. I hear it. Oh God, I hear it!”
Dr. Kasim pulled Martin into his arms and embraced him. “It’s okay, brother. It’s all going to be okay.”
After Martin wiped his eyes, the men each took turns embracing him and welcoming him into their family. Damon was the last to embrace Martin, and his was the biggest hug of all. Martin thought he could see a hint of genuine relief and pride in Damon’s joyful eyes. He felt strangely touched, realizing in that moment how much their new friendship had come to mean to them.
“Tonight has been a turning point for you, Martin. But tomorrow night you’ll have your initiation,” Dr. Kasim said. “Then your healing can truly begin.”
“What is my initiation?” Martin asked, raising his eyes and feeling a quick stab of anxiety.
“You’ll find out tomorrow. But I have every confidence you will do just fine, brother.” His cryptic answer was followed by a sudden loud pop! They turned and saw Oscar holding a foaming bottle of champagne. He filled seven crystal flutes and passed them out. When Oscar handed Martin his glass, in a formal tone he said, “Welcome, brother.” Dr. Kasim held his glass high and smiled at Martin. “To my Zantu brother. Welcome home.” Wearing big smiles, they clinked their glasses and drank . . . all except one.
When Martin looked up, he noticed that there was one person in the room who was not drinking or smiling. Carver just stood there watching Martin, his glass of champagne untouched.
CHAPTER 45
Where would be the best place to hide a surveillance camera? Martin wondered as he sat up in bed, his back against the headboard, pretending to watch television. Martin didn’t recognize the sitcom that was playing, but the scene of a family squabbling at the dinner table made him long to be back home in the normal world, not trapped in some depraved alternate reality constructed and ruled over by a wealthy madman.
Affluent black men keeping white slaves to avenge their forefathers. How could this be going on now? And not in some backward third-world country, but here, in the United States? At least he assumed they were still in the United States. In truth he really had no idea where they had taken him. He’d slept through most of the flight—how naive he’d been to believe that the tequila had rendered him unconscious. He’d been drugged, of course. The entire situation seemed too insane to be true. Martin felt as if he were trapped in an episode of one of his favorite shows, The Twilight Zone. But Forty Acres wasn’t fantasy, it was very real, and Martin was now determined to put a stop to it.
Martin knew what he had to do. He’d play along. He’d use the opportunity to gather as much information as possible about Forty Acres, then get back to civilization and blow the whistle to whatever government agency handled this sort of madness. But playing along would not be easy. Martin was now certain that, from the moment he entered Forty Acres, every little thing he did was being scrutinized.
When Martin had finally gotten back to his room, finally gotten away from all those scrutinizing eyes, it took everything he had to conceal the fear and horror he felt. But he had to hold his feelings inside. Even inside his room, alone, Martin could not let the hot bile of anxiety that churned in his gut rise up becau
se he remembered that skinny valet’s face. He remembered trying to tip the valet for carrying his bags and how the kid’s nervous eyes scanned the room. Now Martin understood why. The valet knew that there were cameras in the room and that he was probably being watched.
But where were these cameras?
Martin looked up occasionally from the television to steal a glance around the room, but so far he had failed to spot anything that suggested a hiding place for a camera. This did not ease Martin’s suspicions, though. From what he knew about spy cameras, the very best ones were so tiny that they could be concealed almost anywhere, even inside everyday household items such as wall clocks, radios, lamps, even smoke alarms. The problem was that there was no way for Martin to closely examine the room’s furnishings without giving away the fact that he was searching for a camera. If his search was noticed, they’d realize he was just pretending to be a true believer, and then he’d be a problem that had to be dealt with. Most likely, just like Donald Jackson, he’d have a fatal accident. Or perhaps, to avoid using the same cover story, they’d tell the police that Martin wandered off and disappeared in the woods. Maybe they’d be more creative and claim a grizzly bear mauled Martin to death and dragged him off in the middle of the night. Whatever lie they concocted, Martin was certain of one thing: if Dr. Kasim and the other men suspected even for a second that Martin planned to betray them, they would murder him and use all their wealth and influence to conceal their crime and protect their secret.
After a few more furtive glances around the room, Martin decided that the safer strategy would be to assume that the cameras were there and adjust his behavior accordingly.
He would not search for anything here, not yet.
* * *
Martin stood beneath the showerhead and let the gentle spray pelt his weary face. The warm water soothed him as it rolled and trickled over his body, making everything seem a little easier. Just keep up the act, Martin kept telling himself. All you have to do is keep up the act. Just get through the initiation tomorrow night, whatever that was, then keep up the performance for just another two days. How hard could that be?
Of course, that was the question that haunted him. Could he really fool them for three more days? And, even more troubling—could he fool Carver? Martin could still see him staring at him after the toast. Studying him with those cagey eyes. If Carver really suspected something, why didn’t he just come out and say it? Maybe Carver was secretly meeting with the others at that very moment. Convincing them that Martin could not be trusted and had to be eliminated. Maybe they were already plotting his murder.
Martin shook his head under the water, as if he could rinse away the toxic thoughts that were filling his skull. He could not let fear cripple him. To survive he needed to remain clearheaded and alert. Maybe fatigue was causing him to miss some solution. Sleep, that’s what he needed. Just sleep.
Martin reached for the knob to shut off the water. But suddenly he froze. Beneath the quiet roar of the shower he could just make out a disturbing sound. The sound of someone entering his room.
CHAPTER 46
Dripping wet and wrapped in a towel, Martin exited the bathroom and found Carver smiling in the open door. “Now I see why you didn’t hear my knock.”
Carver’s intrusion and the annoying smirk on his face made Martin, for a moment, forget his bigger worries. “So you just decided to let yourself in?”
“Sorry, Grey. The door wasn’t locked. Besides, I had a good reason.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“I brought you a gift.” Still smiling, Carver stepped away from the open door, allowing a beautiful young woman to enter the room.
“Good evening, Mr. Grey.”
For an instant Martin did not recognize the girl. Instead of the maid’s uniform that Martin had last seen her in, she now wore a simple, pretty blue dress. Her strawberry-blond hair, no longer tied back, flowed in waves over her shoulders. It was Alice, the frightened server who had dropped his pie. Martin found it hard to believe that this was the same girl. Alice’s beauty was obvious before, but now she appeared almost angelic. “Hello,” Martin finally managed to get out.
“From the fuss you made over her at dinner, it’s obvious you like her,” Carver said. “Well, here she is. All yours.”
Martin was unable to stifle his surprise. “Mine?”
Carver laughed, apparently tickled by the new guy’s naïveté. “One of my favorite perks of Forty Acres—beautiful women.”
Martin met Alice’s gaze. She put on a pleasant smile, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. Martin felt an urge to punch Carver. But he couldn’t. Not yet. In some ways, he was as much a captive to this scene as Alice.
“What’s wrong? You do like women, don’t you, Grey?”
“Yes. Of course. It’s just—” Martin pulled Carver aside and whispered. “Look, I love my wife, okay?”
Carver laughed. “So do I. Hell, we all do. What’s that got to do with anything? Relax. What happens behind these walls, stays behind these walls.” Carver’s features darkened. “You don’t really have a problem with this, do you?”
Martin remembered the role that he was playing. He was now the willing participant in an inhumane crime; for him to pause at the mere act of infidelity would seem inconsistent and raise suspicion. For all Martin knew, Alice’s being delivered to his bed was part of their initiation. A test of his resolve. To show any hesitancy or weakness now could cause Dr. Kasim and the others to question his commitment.
“If this bothers you, just say so,” Carver said, a suspicious glint in his eyes. “It’s no big deal, really.”
Martin did his best to appear lustful as he turned and looked Alice up and down. He undressed her with his eyes. “No, I’m fine,” he said to Carver. “She truly is quite beautiful.”
But Carver wasn’t sold so easily. “You sure, Grey? I mean, if this isn’t your thing, I can just take her back to my room. I got a girl waiting already, but there’s always room for one more.”
Martin returned Carver’s gaze. “Here’s a better idea. Why don’t you get the hell out of here so I can unwrap my gift?”
Carver grinned. “All right, Grey. Calm down. I’m going. And listen. No need to worry about STDs or birth control or any of that. All the pretty ones are tested regularly and fixed. As Dr. Kasim likes to say, no mutts allowed.” He cocked his head to Alice. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”
Alice stared at the floor, nodding. “Yes, master.”
Martin found Carver’s callousness disgusting. He tried to keep any hint of emotion from his voice. “That’s good to know. I guess the doctor has thought of everything.”
“You know it,” Carver said. He stole a final admiring glance at Alice. “She’s amazing, trust me.” Carver winked at Martin as he strolled out.
Martin locked the door and fastened the chain. By the time he turned back around, Alice had moved. She now stood beside the bed, facing him. She managed to brighten her smile a bit, but that core of sadness was still indelible. “Do you like my dress? I picked it just for you, master.”
That word struck Martin like a slap. He could hardly look at her. He couldn’t bear the thought that he was partly to blame for the sad smile she wore. That she saw him like she saw the other men, a depraved captor who could do whatever he pleased with her body. Martin wanted desperately to explain to Alice that he wasn’t like them. He wanted to give her hope, a promise to bring help. Instead, all he could do was put on a show for the cameras. “I like the dress very much,” he said. “I’d like it even better if you’d take it off.”
“Yes, master.”
With her beautiful eyes fixed on him, Alice reached up and unclasped the dress. The garment billowed to her ankles and Alice stood naked before him. Her pert teacup breasts were well proportioned to her small, curvy figure.
Martin drew a sharp breath at the s
ight of her perfect body, a genuine reaction that caught him off guard. It astonished Martin that the vileness of the situation failed to diminish the sudden lust he felt or the stirring beneath his towel, but Alice was so amazingly beautiful.
Martin watched as Alice pulled back the top bedcover and slipped gracefully beneath crisp white sheets. Then she lay there, with her head propped up, smiling at him. Beneath the sheets, with her nipples pouting against the fabric, the hills and valleys of her luscious form were somehow even more alluring. “Are you coming to bed now, master?”
After a moment, Martin pulled off his towel and slid into the bed.
CHAPTER 47
Can you brighten it a bit? The picture looks like crap,” Carver said.
Carver and Oscar were standing inside a cramped and dimly lit video surveillance room, peering over the shoulder of a security guard who sat before a bank of three LCD monitors. Each monitor displayed a different angle of the same darkened bedroom. The first monitor showed an overhead view, the second an eye-level view, and the third a fish-eyed low angle. Barely visible on each screen was the dark and grainy image of a couple beneath the bed sheets engaged in intercourse. The guard, a bespectacled young black man, fiddled with the various switches and knobs on a control panel to no avail. The images on the three monitors were still irritatingly dark. Carver groaned. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
“Sorry. Give me just one more second.” The guard tweaked a few more knobs and finally the video on all three screens became a fraction brighter. Martin’s and Alice’s tensed faces were now faintly distinguishable, their two thrusting bodies a scant bit more defined. The guard looked back at Carver and frowned. “Unfortunately, sir, with the lights out in the room, this is the best that I can do.”
Carver waved him off. “Yeah, yeah. Spare me.”
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