The Woman They Kept

by Krause, Andrew

This was not, unfortunately, the first time that a soft spot for religion had gotten him in trouble.

  Months before, just after Rolanda had intially been taken, he had no idea how to even go about looking for her. His face had yet to heal from the beating he had taken and he scared most people who he showed the photograph of Rolanda to. He decided to only look in the bad parts of cities, feeling less out of place with his healing face. He found himself one night at a bar called the Church Key. Seeing the words, 'Church' and, 'Key' in the same place had given him a sense that someone, somewhere was trying to tell him something. It even looked like a church from the outside, with stained glass windows and wide oak doors. He slid into the smokey bar and ordered a drink.

  “There's a tip in there if you've seen this woman,” he said to the bartender, a kind faced old man with a wisp of a beard, as he slid over the photograph and some money.

  The bartender laughed. “If I was a less honest man I would just lie to you for the money.”

  Gideon reddened. “I thought, with the religious name of this place...”

  The bartender smiled and slid a drink over to him. It was sweet and felt cool on his throat. “Kid, you got a lot of hard lessons coming to you, if that's the way you think.” He pushed the money back over the bar. “I'll give you the drink for that. It'll be my act of charity for the day.”

  Gideon left the money on the bar but took the drink. “I don't need your charity. I pay my own way.”

  “Relax, kid. It's alright. In a way, I suppose you're right, bars and churches got a lot in common. Some people come to celebrate and some come to mourn, some to be together and some to be alone.” He spread his arms wide. “We offer comfort at bargain rates. But no, I haven't seen the girl.”

  Gideon drained the drink and left, not thinking anything of the sour look the bartender had on his face as he went. He walked alone down an alley and began to relieve his bladder, unaware that he had been followed. Two large men accosted him from behind, turning him around, his pants still unbuttoned and his penis hanging out. They were riders, large ones, wearing leather armor and smelling of engine oil. One had a beard and smelled strongly of liquor, the other had scars across his neck and face.

  “You're asking a lot of questions,” the one with the beard said. A flash of metal glinted in his hand and then a shockingly cold knife was pressed between Gideon's legs. “You want to be careful with that. Questions have a way of cutting a man down to size.”

  The bikers dropped him into a pile of his own urine, his legs were shaking far too much to stand on his own. He began to carry a knife in his boot at all times, just in case.

  If it were possible to kiss his former self, Gideon would have done it. His attacker looked drugged as he sat on Gideon, crushing him. His eyes were rimmed red and his breath had the acrid odor of krok. The man could barely keep his pupils on Gideon, but his hands had found their hold and were squeezing tightly.

  Gideon gathered up his strength and made a desperation move, thrusting himself in the direction of his boots. His fingertips brushed the handle and the knife was in his hand, he thrust upwards with as much strength as he could muster, feeling the blade jar on bone as hot blood poured out over Gideon and the man went limp.

  As quickly as he could he rolled the body off him and looked around. Miles down the road there was the flickering orange light of a campfire, but that was the only sign of life. It wouldn't be safe to stay there anymore, it was possible that this rider had simply taken too much krok and wandered off alone, but there was no guaranteeing that. He packed quickly, rolling the body out onto the dirt between the rocks. The rider had a tattoo of the number thirteen on his left hand, Gideon felt a momentary flush as the blood rushed from his head to his knees. He would have to leave quickly.

  In neutral, Gideon's motorcycle only made the sound of his tires crunching the dirt under them, he coasted down the dark side of the hill slowly with no lights.

  He knew a little about the clan that the rider had belonged to. 'The Thirteen Lost Souls,' they called themselves. They liked to spread a rumor about themselves that they had offered up their souls to whatever demon would take them, and in return were given everlasting power. It was all bullshit, of course, the only difference between these guys and any other clan was that the thirteen had a penchant for dramatics, drinking a cup of blood from anyone that they killed.

  Gideon pushed his bike far back on the road, never starting it up, if he were going to make it to Elsinore he couldn't afford to have any more run-ins with the Thirteen.

  ...

  It took him longer than he had hoped to ride into Elsinore. Every time the caravan came into sight he stopped and waited, but by the time they reached the city the caravan had disappeared, taking some entrance that Gideon didn't know.

  He parked his bike and changed his money, debating for a moment about taking his gun but deciding ultimately that he would have to make do with the knife in his boot if he had any problems.

  Elsinore was a long and thin city that had settled around a wide river flowing through the middle of it. Everything in Elsinore was a shade of brown; brown buildings and brown streets around a brown river that stank of sewage. The natives didn't seem to notice it, bustling along their daily lives with the rotting smell of sulfur all around them, but Gideon found himself gagging. It stung his nostrils and brought tears to his eyes, but he wouldn't allow himself to cover his mouth with a handkerchief, it was little things like that which would give him away as an outsider. He smiled at the teller who changed his money for him, trying to seem oblivious to the stench all around them.

  He was on the north side of the city and made his way along the river. The buildings all around him were small and stacked high, there were empty beer cans and other pieces of trash that Gideon kicked away as he walked. Soon he was accosted by throngs of dirty little children thrusting their cupped hands at his face.

  “Spare a coin?” they asked, skipping along underfoot, almost tripping Gideon. “You look like you could. We're hungry here, spare a coin. Look at Sammy there, his legs ain't working right, spare a coin for Sammy.”

  The one they referred to as Sammy was hobbling along on twisted legs, holding himself up with a pair of old crutches that were almost rusted through in spots.

  Gideon took a silver coin from his pocket and threw it as hard as he could away from them, they scattered as they raced for it, knocking Sammy onto his backside and splaying his crutches. Gideon helped him to his feet.

  “Not very sporting of you, mister, making me fight for it with the others,” Sammy said. He was young, maybe seven or eight, but his eyes already had a hard glint in them. He gripped at his crutches like they were a weapon and though his legs were twisted he held his chin high.

  Gideon pulled out another coin, this one gold. “I've got one just for you if you answer me a few questions. Do you know where the red light district is?”

  Sammy brightened and reached for the coin. “There's lots of red lights everywhere around here. Now, gimme the coin.”

  Gideon pulled it back. “That's not what I mean. Do you know a place in town where women stand around without many clothes on?”

  He reached again for the coin. “I know that one too. Down that way. My mom works down there, but I can't visit, she says it's not a place for kids.” He stuck his chin up at Gideon and bit on the coin. “I been there though. It's a funny place, they just stand around in windows. How's that work? I don't get it.”

  Gideon patted the child on the back. The rest of the crowd of children were coming again, ready to swarm him. Some already had their hands cupped. “Hide that thing, Sammy,” Gideon said and then he walked away.

  It didn't take him long to find where Sammy was talking about. Elsinore was only a few miles north to south, and soon he saw the
red neon lights and windows with women standing in them. He had to stop in front of one of the windows. The woman who had asked for more food from the fat driver of the caravan, Krissen, stood behind it. There was a bruise just starting to fade around her neck, but she gave him a halfhearted smile and pulled her panties to one side. He walked away.

  As he passed one of the windows it opened up and a voice called out. “Hey you,” the girl shouted. Gideon turned to her. “Let me show you what I have to offer.” Her skin was very tan, she was slender yet full breasted, her arms thin and spider-webbed with black lines. Gideon pulled out his photograph.

  “Have you seen this woman?”

  She brushed a string of brown hair behind her ear and sniffled, her nose red. “She looks expensive, was she really that good?” The woman had the irritating habit of grinding and clacking her teeth together.

  Gideon snatched the photograph from her. “She's the woman I love.”

  The woman in the window cocked an eyebrow at him. “I could be the woman you love tonight.” She brought his hand to her mouth and sucked on his finger, her mouth was hot and wet. Gideon pulled away.

  “She's nothing like you.”

  “How long have you been looking for her?”

  Gideon hesitated before answering. It was a question he had been avoiding with himself. “Months,” he finally said.

  The woman smiled sympathetically, her eyes crinkling in the corners and her face softening. She guided his hand to her breast. “She may not have been a woman like me, but before I got seasoned I wasn't a woman like me either. I was a woman like her. Now I'm like me, and I'd bet your last dollar that she's like me now too. So let me be the woman you love tonight, save yourself the time and the heartbreak.”

  Gideon reacted before thinking, his hand shooting out and slapping her across the face. “Rolanda is NOT like you,” he said. The woman smiled at him, holding her bottom lip as a man came out from behind her and she stepped aside.

  “Paul, this man hurt me. Break his fingers.”

  Paul was a large and extremely pale man who was built like a transport vehicle. Gideon found himself being lifted by one arm up to Paul's face, which was surprisingly devoid of emotion. He almost looked bored. Paul threw him out into the street and stepped down after him.

  “I swear,” he said, stomping a mammoth boot down onto Gideon's left hand. “This bitch gets more men riled up than any I've had.” Paul dragged up Gideon and punched him in the face, two quick staccato punches, one to each eye, before kicking the legs out from under him and sending him to the street again. The ground rose up to meet Gideon hard, chipping his tooth and sending blood down the back of his throat. “I think she asks for it. She thinks, 'Good old Paul, he'll protect me so I can say any old bitchy thing I want.' Maybe someday I'll let one of you sickos just have her, do whatever you like to her and as much as she cries out for me I'll just ignore her. But for now, a manager's got to do what a manager's got to do.”

  The girl stepped back into the room and Paul rolled Gideon over onto his side. “I don't hold it against you,” Paul said, patting Gideon lightly on the shoulder. “Women,” he said with a shrug. Paul went back through the window to the back room and the woman came out to spit on Gideon before closing the window. The spit dribbled down his face and he drifted off into unconsciousness.

  ...

  Rolanda was standing above Gideon, looking down on him, wearing a neon bra and panties. Her face was painted garishly, her lips too red and blue eyeshadow coloring above her eyes. He called out her name and she bent over to kiss him, the smell of her, like lilacs, filling him with longing. Her body was full against his and he wanted nothing more than to crawl inside her heart and remain there forever. Like a child, she cradled him against her breast, he nuzzled into her, but then she pushed his head away with her other hand.

  “You have to pay for that, Gideon,” she said. She kissed him hard on the lips but something gave away, her mouth caved, rotting, her teeth falling out, her skin peeling and flaking away at the slightest touch. He pulled back and her whole face fell apart, her eyes ran like cracked eggs down her skeletal cheeks, leaving gaping black holes of nothingness behind.

  Gideon woke to Sammy poking him with his crutches, and an older, nearly naked woman standing over him with a hand on his shoulder.

  Chapter Three

  The woman let him lean on her as she guided him to a small apartment, introducing herself as Ilsa, Sammy's mother. She said it exactly like that, Ilsa, Sammy's mother. It was as though being Sammy's mother was her rank or title in the world. The apartment building was a cookie cutter of all the ones down the street, but soon he was inside a small room lying on a couch as his entire body throbbed. The room he was in was decorated with pictures of Sammy and Ilsa, not another person in any of them.

  Ilsa untied Gideon's shoes as though he were a child. She was older than Gideon, maybe forty or so, and every time Gideon tried to sit up she pushed him back down to the couch with a hush and an offer to get whatever he was looking for. She still wore her work outfit, the same skimpy underthings that all the rest wore, but she had a bathrobe thrown over herself. Sammy was sitting opposite them in a large and well worn recliner.

  “Someone worked you over, dear,” Ilsa said. “What did you do?”

  Gideon's speech was distorted coming through the fat lip he had. “I hit a woman. She said some terrible things and it just happened. Her manager beat the hell out of me for it.”

  Ilsa placed an icepack on Gideon's face, he gasped with the pleasant shock of it and then sighed as the throbbing slowly receded. “I want you to know that if you hit me you'll be leaving with a knife in the belly. Sammy said you were nice to him, and I believe him, but don't you try that shit with me.”

  He pulled the photograph out of his pocket and handed it to Ilsa. “There's a woman I'm trying to find, I was asking around in the red light district. The woman told me some very unpleasant possibilities. It just hit too close to home.” Gideon frowned as a thought crossed his mind. “Ilsa, do you know what 'seasoning' is?”

  A string of Ilsa's hair dangled in front of her face and she brushed it behind her ear, pulling a cigarette out and offering Gideon one. “You mean like spices? I'm not much on cooking.”

  A groan escaped Gideon's lips as he shifted. “I don't think so. The woman,” Gideon gave a tentative glance toward Sammy, “worked in your profession. She mentioned that she had been 'seasoned,' and that most likely the girl I'm looking for had been as well.”

  Ilsa's eyes dropped to the floor and she began to play with her lighter. “Sammy, why don't you take some money out of my purse and go get dinner for the three of us, yeah?”

  As soon as the door clicked and Sammy's crutch clanking receded down the hall her eyes shifted back to Gideon. “I work for myself. What I do is legal here in Elsinore, but that's not true everywhere. The legality of it has perks, I can go to the peace officers if I need to, but the legality doesn't stop the dogs from using Elsinore as part of the track.”

  “Working for myself is one thing," she continued. "I put a good roof over Sammy's head and keep food in his stomach. I don't take clients I don't want and I don't hand over my money to anyone else. But not everyone in this business works for themselves, and I didn't used to.”

  “You see, a lot of girls get taken and moved city to city, they're confused and disoriented, they have all their money taken from them and can't go to the peace officers.”

  “Why not?” Gideon interjected. “It seems like they have time to run, the managers can't watch them all the time.”

  The lighter twirled in her hand. “They keep a better look than you would think, and even if they get away, a lot of places they just get arrested for being a whore. Even if it's a place like this where it's legal, some of th
e cops are on the payroll of the riders. You never know who's safe and who isn't.”

  “So you have to understand that not all of these girls are eager participants. They try to run or they won't service clients, and that's when they get seasoned.”

  Ilsa motioned toward the door. “Before I had Sammy I lived out in Kitswitch. It was nice enough, there was always food on the table, but my parents never really cared about me. I was just there because I was related to them, you know? Well one day this older guy named Jeff starts paying attention to me. I couldn't believe it. Me; ugly, young, little eighteen year old me just starting to bloom into womanhood and here was this handsome older guy who was paying me attention. We kept our relationship secret.”

  “Oh, sure, it was wonderful in the beginning. He was a regular Romeo, giving me gifts and telling me how beautiful I was. He was my first, he took my virginity in one of the most romantic nights of my life.” She sighed and smiled at the memory before it faded and she continued. “Things started getting physical after that. It wasn't much, a slap here, calling me a whore in bed, but it kept getting worse.”

  “The first time he tricked me out he said he needed money to go to the hospital, said he knew someone who would pay enough to get him there just for one hour with me. I was so heartbroken, just a eighteen year old kid and here he's telling me that I should be noble and do this for him. I told him I was sorry, but I just couldn't do that, I would try another way. He beat me pretty bad for that. It wasn't the answer he was looking for.”

  She pulled back her hair and showed Gideon a long and jagged scar that ran from her temple down to her jaw. “I still have a scar from that night.”

  “He wasn't done, though. He tied me ass up on his bed and had the guy over to do it anyway. Told me that was how it was. I tore up pretty badly down there, but Jeff started calling people and they all came over and had a go. By the end when they untied me I couldn't even walk to the bathroom.”