by Kim Faulks
Rats... maze. That’s just how it felt like, as though they were being watched. But, how the fuck could anyone watch them? There were no cameras, no microphones, none they’d found. So, if those watching weren't outside looking in, that meant only one thing....
They were already inside.
SLADE SAT FAR ENOUGH AWAY from Digger to prevent idle conversation. Instead of yapping, he used the time to take a mental picture of the others in the room, the ones who were virtual strangers. This was something he wanted to rectify.
He wasn't in need of heart-to-heart conversation, or a glossed-over account of their boring lives. He wanted to know who they were and what they knew about this place. He wanted their thoughts and their memories—their last memories to be exact.
His were still a little sketchy. If only he could remember something, anything. He'd be damned if he’d just sit here and allow someone else to decide his fate.
At his side Morgan shifted, cradling the young one's head in her lap. The charge that woman gave off was like nothing he’d experienced before. He smiled to himself, in case Wild Thing caught him, again. Her threat to take his head off, he suspected, was very much real. He shifted and pretended to look across the room, so he could watch her from the corner of his eye. As desperate as he was to get out of here, he kinda enjoyed the company.
Movement drew his attention toward the good-looking blonde who was headed in his direction. She was stunning, long legs, and a figure that made a man hard, hidden and yet perfectly displayed underneath a gold dress. She looked at Digger, who rested, his eyes closed, although Slade knew without a doubt, the man was very much awake.
“Do you mind?”
Slade shook his head, catching glances from the others as the woman in gold sat next to him. He was instantly uncomfortable. Not just because she was gorgeous. But because he could envision her naked and thrashing on the bed underneath him, her long legs wrapped tightly around his neck while he stared into her hazel eyes.
Slade glanced at Morgan, automatically comparing the two. Morgan wasn't stunning like the blonde. Her dirty brown hair hung, tangled, around her shoulders and her dark eyes were wary, older than they should be. She wore a splatter of freckles across her nose like a badge of honor, not coated under the inch-thick crap most women wore. Morgan wasn't overly tall and she was too thin for his liking, but her muscles were tight and hard, like a fighter. It wasn't her looks that attracted him. He was drawn to something else, an energy she gave off, which said damaged.
He'd always been attracted to the damaged and the broken. They seemed to mirror those parts of himself that hadn't been just ruined, they’d been killed before they could sprout wings and fly. Morgan… she was both beautiful and damaged, a dangerous combination. He remembered how she felt, her body soft in all the right places. He also remembered her tone, which was hard as a goddamn rock—and with his runaway thoughts, the blonde was forgotten until she spoke.
“My name's Jade.”
He jolted back to reality. He could politely tell her to fuck off. But, since when had he ever been polite? He sighed and dragged his gaze away from Morgan to find Jade's eyes trailing the muscles of his forearms, taking their sweet time to reach his eyes. He extended his hand, “Slade.”
He could at least look at her now without falling into a sex-filled fantasy. Morgan was his cold shower where this one was concerned. Fuck, when had he turned into such a pussy?
“I was wondering if I could ask you a question... Slade?”
He nodded, “Yeah, sure.”
“That man you were standing with earlier. What's his name?”
He looked over to Colton and Jason. They sat on the floor along the left hand side with some of the others. Colton smiled and mingled like he was at some fucking cocktail party and Jason… well Jason stared into space without even blinking. Poor fuck.
“Which one?”
“The one next to the guy who was trapped in the room.”
“You mean Colton?”
She stared at him for a while before nodding. “Colton. Yes, that's him. Do you know him? I mean, outside of here?”
Slade was more than a little intrigued by her questioning. Wild thoughts started to take shape in his mind. If she turned around and asked if Colton was married, he'd be pretty pissed. He was no goddamn wingman. “No, I don't know him outside of here. Why?”
“For some reason he terrifies me.”
She got not only his full attention, but also Morgan's, too. Slade watched his feisty brunette lean forward, lowering her voice. “He creeps the hell outta me as well.”
Jade exhaled slowly and relaxed against the wall. “Good. That’s good, so it's not just me then.”
The guy was a bit of a snake, yeah. But there was obviously something going on here, something he wasn’t picking up. “Did he say something to you?”
She shook her head, “No, but for some reason when I look at him I... I....” Her eyes widened and her hand reached for her throat. Jesus, the woman was fucking tearing up. He wasn’t used to seeing women cry. Emotions of any kind made him uncomfortable as hell.
“It's okay.” Morgan reached across Slade to place a reassuring hand on her arm. He wanted to say something too; and he would’ve. But, all he could think about was Morgan's arm, which brushed against his chest as she reached for Jade. Don't look down at her arm. Don't turn your head and look into her eyes. Her brown eyes beckoned. Fuck....
He cleared his throat and tried not to notice the change of pitch in his voice. “Jade, can you tell me exactly what you remember, before you woke up in here?”
“I don't want to say. I mean... I don't understand what this has to do with me.”
Jade pulled away from him and slumped against the wall.
“It's okay. Take it easy, okay? I'm just trying to help you.”
“Wait a minute.” Morgan angled toward the blonde. Charlie slept on, her head nestled in Morgan’s lap. “I remember you screamed something about rape when you woke. Yeah... yeah, that was you, alright. You screamed ‘he raped me’. Do you remember that?”
Jade's mouth opened slightly and her chest heaved. “I... I said that?”
“Yeah, you did. You screamed it, actually, and I remember Colton was next to you. I watched him. He mumbled something and moved away and then you stopped crying.”
“I don't remember that at all. I really said that?”
“Yes.” Morgan repeated. “And I'm thinking this must have something to do with how you're feeling.”
Jade seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Maybe, but it isn't just him that I’m cautious of. That woman over there? I swear I've seen her before.”
He tried to follow Morgan’s gaze as she scanned the cluster of sleeping bodies and numb expressions. He was just about to ask which one when Jade spoke. “The one with caramel slacks.”
He took in every female form along the wall, caramel, caramel… fuck, his stomach groaned and howled. Caramel slacks... what kind of description was that anyway? Granted he was used to “big mutherfucker carrying a Sig, a Glock, and wearing Angel leathers.” Not caramel fucking slacks... He settled on a woman wearing something that resembled brown pants.
Morgan looked past him to Jade. “Do you know her?”
“No, but I can't stop thinking that I've seen her before. It feels like I know her, but I can’t remember whether or not I actually know her.”
Slade shifted where he sat and butted in. “So you're saying that somehow you, Colton, and the brunette over there are connected, but you can't remember how?”
Jade trembled and looked from Colton to him as she answered. “Yeah, but I think it might have something to do with the dreams as well.”
Slade focused on the woman. His pulse throbbed inside his head. “What dreams?”
Jade flinched and shook her head. “Nothing, don't worry. Forget I said it.”
Dreams? Like the one Colton had? The dude was crying and screaming like a goddamn baby. Like hell, he'd forget it.
/> “I don't dream in here.”
Slade almost fucking jumped. He’d forgotten all about Digger. The guy was like a corpse. Digger sat forward and stared right though Slade. The guy’s fists were clenched tight. He hadn't noticed before, but the dude looked wired as fuck.
“I've had the same dream since I came home from Afghanistan, every night, night after night, without fail. But in here, I don't dream. I just want the dreams back. Just give me my fucking dreams back.”
Slade felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. The guy was definitely unstable. He wants his dreams back? This was just his luck, locked in a goddamn room with a bunch of fucking psychos.
Slade watched Digger close his eyes, pretending to sleep once more. “I just want my dreams back.”
“Jesus, what the fuck is going on here? First we have people who don't want to dream, and then we have others who want to dream. This shit is all fucked up.” Slade turned back to Jade. “Look, I'm trying not to come off like the bad guy here, but you came to me right?”
Jade leaned forward, her breath cool on his ear as she whispered. “I can't go back there.”
Her breath tickled things lower than his ear. “The thing is this, Jade. I think maybe we're in here because of something we know. Or, something someone thinks we know. Anything you say could help me find a way out of here, and you want to get out of here, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I want out of here.”
“Good, then you need to tell me everything you can remember.”
She seemed to shrink and grow old before his eyes, no longer perfect, she now looked haggard and worn. He could almost see a battle raging inside her as her face wrinkled and she frowned. She froze for a long time—or it could’ve been only a second before she reached for his shirt—grabbing hold of the material so tight that her knuckles turned white. “I marry rich, old men. Steal their money, and then leave them broke, to die.”
Slade was speechless, for a while at least. “Okayyy, not what I was expecting.”
Morgan smirked and then straightened her face. “Me neither.”
“That's the dream I’ve had. Except, when I’ve had it, I’ve been awake.” Her tears slid down her cheeks and she turned those shining eyes on him. “Please, you have to help me.”
Slade held up his hands. “Okay. I'll do my best.”
She slumped back against the wall, letting go of his shirt, the puckered creases still visible from her hands. “They’re waiting for me, you know? I can feel them.”
He scanned the drawn faces around them. “Who’s waiting?”
“Those who’re dead.”
His stomach hardened like lead. Jade’s words gave him the fucking creeps. He wanted her to explain what she meant by, they’re waiting for me. Was everyone in this fucking place crazy? He glanced to Morgan. God, he hoped not. Jade didn’t look so attractive anymore. In fact she looked damn well ugly. But, in spite of the sins of her past, this woman was still a fucking saint… compared to him.
Memories of his past grabbed him. Slade tried to shake them off, but instead he was dragged under. The room seemed to tilt. He was falling. He reached for the floor, trying to stop himself. The stench of tobacco, beer, and piss kicked him in the balls. No. He tried to pull away and reached for Morgan. She’d save him… he clawed the dirty floor. His words were a taunting echo, one which had been whispered by Jade only moments ago. “Please, don't send me back there.”
But it was no use. The sharp stench of piss and the salty smell of sex overpowered him, making him gag. Morgan was already gone, and in her place was someone he never though he'd see again.
His Mother... Slade Rivers was home.
“You don't wanna go in there, huh? Then you shoulda thought 'bout that before you opened your fuckin' mouth!”
His vision lurched from side to side. He looked at his arm. His blood welled underneath her red-painted nails as she gouged deeper. “Please, Mom. Don't put be back in there!”
A noise echoed from inside the bedroom of the decaying motor home. The barking noise sounded thick and congested as Jabba the Hut laughed. If Slade could just get to his saber, he could free Princess Leia and they’d get out of this place. They’d be happy. They'd be a real family.
“The little fuck doesn’t wanna get locked in the shitter?” Jabba taunted as the floor of the trailer groaned and tilted. Slade watched his stepfather squeeze his bulk through the doorway, seeming to propel himself forward by his weight alone. Slade cringed in fear. He pulled against his mother's grip, desperate to get away. Jabba’s feet pounded the motor home floor, coming toward him. Slade wanted to look away, but there was nowhere else to look, except the boobs that jiggled under the white singlet, stretched beyond capacity.
Jabba held his breath and forced his body to bend as he scratched his balls. Slade didn't want to follow the movement. He didn't want to look down, but he had no control.
His step-father's wrinkled thing bobbed up and down as he scratched his balls. He never wore pants when he went to bed and laid on top of his mother. Their noises were sickening. His wiener glistened. As he stared, it pulled up inside his stepfather’s body releasing a trail of snot, which dripped to the floor. His stomach squeezed, forcing those precious few chicken nuggets up and into his throat. He burped and tasted vomit.
He tugged against her grip, driving those nails in harder. “Please. I’m sorry. Mommy. I’m sorry.”
Slade’s arm was wrenched back and forward. Pain shot into his shoulder, but he didn’t care. He stared into the filthy cubicle. The stench of their backed-up toilet and the heat that filled the tiny space made him heave. They loved to lock him in there. It was all a game, a sick fucking game. Slade shook his head, feeling the tremors take hold. He wasn’t gonna cry… he wasn’t gonna cry. This was what they wanted. They laughed and made fun of him. They made him sit in shit and piss just to see him break down. He sucked his stomach in tight, forcing the tremors to stop.
“Give 'im here. If’a he don't wanna go in there, then I'll chain 'im up outside with Pistol.”
Slade didn’t pull away from his mother anymore. He reached for her, grabbing her other hand with both of his, his voice a murmur. “Mom. Please, no.”
Jabba's dog, Pistol, was savage. He looked at his arms. The scars were still pink and raised from the dog’s last bites. Slade tried to move toward the tiny cubicle. “I’ll sit in the shitter, Mom. Please, I’ll sit in the shitter.”
He tried to run for the toilet, but was lifted off the floor. He beat at the hard hands that grabbed him, fat, cruel hands that yanked him from his mother’s hold. “I’ll sit in the shitter, Mom. Mom! I’llsitinthegoddamnshitter!”
The caravan door slammed open and banged against the outer shell. He hit the doorway as he was shoved through. His scrawny arms and his size five feet were no match for Jabba’s bulk, no matter how hard he tried. He hit the dirt with a thud, face first. The sting of grazed skin caused him to hold his breath, his gaze fixed on Pistol. The animal barked and growled. He scuttled back, shielding himself with the bulk of his stepfather. Pistol’s long, white canines blurred with his tears. He sniffed, drawing the salty snot down his throat. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t cry. He’d be strong. He’d be brave. He was Luke Skywalker.
The rusted chain dug into Slade’s neck. The brown links were clinched together by a thick padlock, weighing him down. Pistol lunged, his teeth snapping only inches from his face. Slade cried out and pulled against his stepfather’s grip. He ran, ran as fast as he could, until the chain snapped tight, lifting him off his feet, only to smash against the ground. His stepfather bellowed with laughter. “You don't wanna be inside? Then you can live outside, like a dog.”
Pistol was fixated on Slade. The dog didn’t move, not even to dodge a slap to his head as Jabba shuffled past. The springs of the mobile howled as his stepfather heaved his weight inside and slammed the door. Slade stared at the chunks of black rubber missing from around the door while he waited for his mother to save him….
Pistol growled and lunged, testing the links of his chain, over and over.
The skin on his knees stung. The chain pinched his neck, but this pain was nothing… nothing compared to the ache inside his chest. Slade’s vision blurred. He blinked, and felt something wet tickle the corners of his mouth. He didn’t wipe his tears away this time. He was past the point of caring. They had finally won.
The air around him wavered, but the scene didn’t change. Only his perspective did, as the vision propelled Slade through the years to an older version of himself. He was still chained outside like a dog, nursing the last of the bites to his arms. Pistol, was dead at his feet. There were no tears in this vision. No trembling of his lower lip, no ache in his heart. There was only the flickering of fire as he watched the caravan ignite and burst into flames, and when they finally put out the fire, all they found were charred human remains.
THE BIKER CONVULSED ON THE ground next to the two women. By convulse, Rachel meant scream and snarl like a rabid dog. She snorted softly. Pathetic really. The two women fussed over him as he jerked and shuddered. His arms flailed, hitting the dark-haired one in the chest. It was like watching a bad soap opera—and she couldn’t drag herself away.
The brunette grabbed his hands and held them against her. Why anyone cared about him evaded Rachel. By the look of him, he was no more than a thug, anyway. Rachel cast her attention to the other side of the room. It was just her damn luck to be holed up in a room with people like this. Where was a celebrity when you needed one? Rachel sighed and turned back to the drama. It was either convulsing bikers, or weeping women—she chose the former. The biker’s blonde hair whipped as he thrashed. He knocked the brunette into the wall.
Her head smashed into the wood with a resounding crack. But then she shook off the blow and dove back in to pull him close. Good for her. Rachel could hear her muttering to him. She wondered what she was saying. God, the entertainment in here was lacking.