by Jillian Dodd
"Psst," a voice says near me. "What's your name?"
"Calliope," I lie, turning toward her.
"My name is Ana," she says. I take a moment to study her. Beneath the bruises on her face, she's quite pretty--light brown hair with a splattering of freckles across a button nose--but she still has a bit of an edge to her. An attitude that they haven't seemed to have beaten out of her yet.
"Are you kept in these cages?"
"Yes, this is where we live--until we can repay our debts to the fat man," she explains.
"Your debts?" I ask.
"He paid to get us off the streets, and he gives us food and shelter, so we must repay him."
"And how do you do that?" I ask.
"We don't mind the cages," she whispers. "In them, we are safe. Much better than being taken out and forced to do bad things."
Then there is a chorus of, "Very bad things."
"Has anyone ever been able to repay him and leave?"
"Only in death," Ana states.
"Only in death," another girl says, vehemently agreeing with Ana based on the way she is nodding her head.
The door opens again, causing the girls to immediately stop talking.
Three men come into the room and peruse the cages. The girls won't look at them. They slide to the back of their cages like they are trying to become invisible.
"Her," one of the men says, pointing to Ana.
"No, please, no," she begs, the little bit of spunk I saw in her earlier vanishing.
While the two guards go into an adjacent room, the man who locked me up saunters over to her cage and attempts to retrieve her. But she doesn't want to go. She makes herself small and hunches as far back into the corner as possible.
The guard curses then crawls into the cage and drags her out.
"You know the rules," he says, smacking her upside the head. "When it's your turn, you get out here immediately."
The minute he hits her, I want to get out of this cage and show him what it feels like to be slapped around.
But I can't.
Even though I'm not handcuffed, I have nothing to pick the lock with. Nothing to cut through the heavy wire on the cage.
The man strips the girl out of her clothes in front of us. Then he takes her to an area in the back of the room and sprays her off with a hose.
Based on the way she is shivering, I assume that the water is not at all warm. But then I start to wonder if it's the temperature or if it's because she is scared of what's about to happen to her. It also doesn't help that the water being sprayed is coming out of the hose with such pressure it's causing her pale skin to turn an ugly shade of pink.
The man turns off the water and throws Ana a bar of soap. Shivering violently, she tries to wash her body, but the soap keeps slipping out of her shaking hands.
"I guess I'm going to have to help you," the man says, ripping the soap away from her and using the opportunity to openly fondle every part of her naked body as he washes her off, adding to her degradation.
Once he's finished humiliating her, he gives her back the soap and tells her to wash her hair. She manages to do so before she is sprayed again.
When the suds are gone, the man turns off the water, leaving her standing there naked, sopping wet.
"Don't move," he says as he picks up a small towel, one that looks like something you would dry your car off with, and starts drying her off, fondling her breasts while he does.
The girls in the cages don't watch this. Their eyes are down. I don't know if they are keeping their eyes averted out of some kind of respect for her modesty, if they are afraid to watch, or if they are trying to pretend it's not happening.
Ana instinctively backs away from the man's touch. This angers him, so he grabs her by the throat and lifts her into the air, choking her.
"You know better than to pull away from me! I am the one who feeds you, cleans you, and cares for you. You owe me your gratitude." He backhands her again, causing her to fall to the ground. He kicks her in the side and tells her that she's weak.
"Please, don't make me go in there," she begs. "I will do anything for you. Anything you ask of me."
The man considers this for a moment then bends down next to her with a predatory grin. He unzips his pants, pulls her to her knees by her hair, and forces her to do something sexual to him.
Even though I didn't think most of the girls in the cages were watching, they now all lower their heads and shake them, and I instinctively know this is not the first time the man has forced himself onto one of them.
Once he is satisfied, he spits at her, says dirty and derogatory things, and then hands her a demure dress.
"No!" she cries out. "We had a deal. I made you feel good, so you wouldn't send me in there."
"I lied," he says with a shrug, pulling the dress over her head.
He drags her into the room where the guards went. Based on her cries of protest and the way she is struggling, I know whatever they are going to do to her is going to be bad.
And it is.
I don't know what all exactly she is being forced to do, but by the sounds of her cries and screams of pain, they are not being gentle.
The more I hear Ana cry out, the more upset I get.
I have to go save her.
I need to get out of this cage, kill the men, and rescue her.
Actually, I need to rescue them all. Free them all. At this point, I don't even care about my mission.
Darkness has fallen in this dungeon, even though the lights are still burning. The sorrow and anger is palpable. And it doesn't help that the man who takes care of the girls is standing outside the door listening to Ana scream while he pleasures himself.
I'm just hoping it will distract him long enough for me to escape.
I try using one of the spikes on my bracelet to pick the lock, but it's too thick. I run my hands across the floor, both inside and outside of my cage, hoping to find something thinner.
When I find nothing, I desperately look for a weakness in the cage. I use the spike to try to saw through the grate. Then I try to punch through it with my fist, but only end up with cuts across my knuckles.
And all the while, the sounds of Ana's screams pierce the air.
After listening to her cries for nearly a half hour, I'm in tears. I've made no progress in escaping. I've turned my attention toward the lock again, attempting to saw the bolt in half, but all I have accomplished is making a little gash in the metal.
Suddenly, the screaming stops, and the room goes quiet.
The girl who is in the cage next to Ana's shakes her head, tears streaming down her face. "She is free now."
I sit there in shock. Free? As in they killed her? How many girls has this happened to? How many times have these poor girls wondered when they would be next?
More tears gather in my eyes, my attempts to push them back failing. Regardless of my feelings of despair, I have to stay focused on my task, which is to get us out of here.
The two guards come out of the room, zipping up their pants. Both have blood on their clothing.
"Sorry for the mess," one says to the man as they make their way up the stairs.
The man goes into the room they have vacated.
A few moments later, he drags Ana back into the room. Her nose, mouth, and other intimate places are bloodied and it appears that she isn't breathing. I watch in horror as he picks her up and tosses her lifeless body into a dumpster.
Then he turns his attention toward me.
"Oh, look, the new girl is crying. Not as tough as you pretended to be, huh?" He lets out a maniacal laugh. "You shouldn't even try. The boss breaks them all, eventually. I'll even give you a little tip. What you don't want is for the boss to grow bored, because then he lets his guards play with you. And, as you just heard, sometimes they get a little carried away."
I take a deep breath, letting the rage simmer inside me. While killing both him and the guards right now would be satisfying, I know that if i
t weren't for the money man buying the girls, they wouldn't be here.
He needs to die first.
Very slowly.
I think of Ana's brown eyes and how she looked at me with compassion.
I won't let your death go unpunished, I think to myself.
The man opens the cage then leads me the opposite way from where we came in, past the rows of cages. I count sixteen in all, including mine, eight on each side.
At the end of this hall is an elevator. He pulls me inside then presses the button labeled three. The man doesn't say a word. Of course, that might be because a huge bruise is forming on his throat from where I punched him.
When the elevator doors open, I quickly take in the opulent surroundings, my eyes darting around as I try to memorize as much of the home's floor plan as I can.
There are multiple exit points. A wall of windows hidden by drapes to my left. A long hallway to my right. French doors on the other end of the dining room. The money man walks into the room, sets down an attache case, then turns to greet me.
"Welcome," he says, like I'm his guest. Maybe that's part of the game.
He waddles over, reminding me of Jabba the Hutt. He's corpulent with pudgy cheeks and a double chin. His expensive suit jacket is tailored to hide his heft, but when he unbuttons it, a large belly hangs over his trousers.
"I'm so glad you could join me for dinner."
"And, after dinner, then what?"
"Why don't you tell me your name." He grabs my hand with his swollen fingers.
The man is disgusting.
"Why don't you tell me your name?" I sass.
He grabs my hair and pulls it, his move quick, completely catching me off guard. I have misjudged this man based on his looks. A mistake I will not make again.
"I said, tell me your name!"
"Calliope," I spit.
I'd take him out right now, but even though the man who brought me here has left, two guards have entered, one standing at each end of the room and armed with an M4 carbine assault rifle. Seems like overkill, but who knows what else this man is into.
The money man pulls out a chair, motioning for me to sit.
So, I do. This is crazy. Like some sort of sick date.
He sits adjacent to me, at the head of the table. I'm sitting to his right.
"You are mine now," he says. "I paid a lot of money for your freedom. You will have to work to pay me back, and only then will you be allowed to leave."
"What kind of work will I be asked to do?" I grit my teeth and ask as a servant brings in caviar.
Once the servant leaves, the man says, "By doing whatever I'd like." He gives me what I assume is supposed to be a charming smile.
He eats in a way that is as disgusting as he looks. I pretend to eat, but after each bite, I wipe my mouth with the fine linen napkin that was laid across my lap and spit it out. It could be tainted with drugs.
And when he puts his pudgy hand on top of mine during the second course and says, "How are you feeling?" I know I have to pretend.
"A little light-headed," I say, blinking slowly. "May I please have some water?"
"Of course," he says, pouring some into my glass, directly from the container he has been drinking from.
The third course is steak, cooked rare. Surprisingly, I'm given a sharp knife to cut it with. When the servant comes to clear our plates, I drop it and my fork on the floor, put my foot on top of the knife to hide it, and then pick up the fork and hand it to him.
After he leaves the room, I put my elbow on the table and rest my head in my palm, acting a little woozy.
The man snaps his fingers, and the armed guards leave.
"It is important that we work well together. Now that we have shared a wonderful meal, our fun will begin. Stand up and take off your clothing. I'd like to see all your beautiful tattoos."
I do as he asks, stumbling a bit for effect when trying to get my shorts off.
"How did someone as young as you end up with so many tattoos?" he asks with genuine interest.
"My stepfather didn't treat me well, and he hated tattoos," I slur, closing my eyes and swaying. "After I ran away, I got as many as I could."
The money man stands up and quickly sheds his clothes. It was bad enough to look at him dressed. His skin is white and pasty and riddled with pockmarks. His belly hangs down so far that I am thankfully not exposed to what's lower.
He moves next to me and slides his hand across the dragon tattoo then he begins to pleasure himself. It takes everything I have not to shudder under his touch. Instead, I give him a goofy smile and say, "Isn't the dragon so pretty?"
"So are you," he replies. "I'd like you to touch me now."
I stand there, swaying, pretending I don't know what to do. He doesn't bother to explain, simply shoves me to the ground and says, "On your knees."
Which is exactly what I was hoping he would do.
I grab his erect private part in one hand and the steak knife off the floor in the other.
"Make one sound, and I'll cut it clean off you," I tell him.
"You don't have the balls," he sneers. "They all start out trying to fight me but, trust me, you'll end up dead just like all the rest of them."
Rage fills me. Rage for what he wants to do to me. Rage for what he's been doing to those girls. Rage for what he let his men do to Ana.
Without further thought, I channel all my anger into the knife, slicing downward and cutting it clean off his body.
He stares down in disbelief and then drops back into his chair.
Blood is flowing freely from the wound. Not enough for him to die from it, but enough to freak him out as it pools on his pristine white marble floor.
"I'm told, if you keep this on ice," I say, waving his member in front of him, "there's a chance it can be reattached. I will give it back to you and leave if you tell me who gave you the money to hire The Priest."
He lets out a maniacal laugh. "I don't know. All I have is a phone number and the number of an account I move the money from."
"I don't believe you." I'm still holding his part in my hand, so I dramatically set it on the table. "I guess I'll have to filet this then."
"Wait, no!" he says as the knife gets closer.
"You're not looking very good." I throw him a napkin. "You might need a Band-Aid, or a doctor, or something."
"I would tell you if I knew."
"Okay, fine. I'll just take this thing with me. Good luck"--I motion to the general direction of his bleeding--"with everything."
I go about the business of collecting his phone and laptop. I expect him to put up a fight, but he's probably going into shock. I set the items on the dining table along with his part.
"Fine," he says, bursting into tears. "Just give it back to me, please. I'm not a bad guy, really."
"Tell that to the girls in the basement. Tell that to Ana, the girl your men killed just a few minutes ago after they tortured her."
"I take care of those girls! They would be out on the streets if it weren't for me," he argues.
"They'd be better off on the streets," I say, moving to pick up the items. "Last chance."
"My guards will kill you."
"Not if you want it back. Call them in. Now!"
He does so.
I'm not sure what his guards expected to see but probably not this sight. I use their shock to my advantage. The first one to approach me gets a sideswipe punch, causing his head to snap violently to the side and an immediate blackout. The second guard witnesses this and instead of shooting me, drops his weapon and comes after me. I allow him to get in the first punch, deflecting it with my forearm so that it doesn't do much damage. I fall back a step into a solid stance then sweep my right leg upward, hitting him hard in the temple. He falls to the ground, unconscious, but still breathing as I quickly gather up their guns.
The money man watches his guards fall. And when I take a position in front of him, he sighs heavily, looking defeated. "Just who the hell are
you?"
"Doesn't matter. Tell me what I need to know." I encourage him further by aiming both guns at him.
Very quickly, he recites a name--Marquis Dupree--along with an account number.
"And who does Mr. Dupree work for?"
"Someone very powerful. I told you everything I know. Please, give it back."
"All right," I say, picking his part off the table and tossing it in his direction.
He stands up and manages to catch it with a defiant look in his eye--like he's somehow won our little game--as he yells out, "Guards!"
I don't know how many guards are still in his house, but there is at least one in the basement.
I level the gun at him. "It doesn't matter how many guards come. You are going to die. You don't deserve to stay on this planet and harm one more girl."
I don't stop shooting until both guns are out of rounds.
I stand there, my finger still on the trigger, wishing for more bullets, when Intrepid bursts into the room, gun drawn. I have no idea how he managed to get in here. He told me earlier the place was a fortress. But based on the still-smoking gun in his hand, I'm guessing whatever guards he crossed paths with are now dead.
"It's done," I say simply, still not letting go of the guns because my eyes are transfixed on the dead man in front of me.
"Did you get the information we needed before you killed him?" he asks.
I nod.
"Then we need to get out of here," he says, pushing me toward the door.
This takes me out of my trance. "No! We can't leave! We have to get them out. Set them free! I promised myself that I wouldn't leave without them."
"Who are you talking about?" he asks.
"He doesn't just like young girls. He keeps them. Down in the cellar. In cages. I have to get them out."
Just as the words come out of my mouth, the man who put me in the cage comes running into the room, gun in hand, trying to zip up his pants.
Intrepid takes him down with a single shot to the head.
Sirens sound in the distance.
"The police will be here any minute. Someone must have reported the automatic gunfire. We've got to get you out of here."
I shake my head. "I'm not leaving. Not until I know they are free."
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and makes a call. I don't really hear what he says. I don't care. All I can think about is those girls down there and the horrors they have been through.
I begin to feel light-headed.
"Don't throw up," he says, pulling me down a hall and toward a back exit.