Secrets Room

by Kim Faulks

  “It’s good baby, yeah?” She nodded and dropped her head back onto the bed and stared at the needle bouncing around in the air, still stuck in the hollow of her arm.

  She licked her lips and sighed. Alex’s lips moved, but she could catch the words until something, or someone moved from the doorway and made their way toward her.

  “We're short for the hit, baby. Do you hear me? We don't have enough money.”

  She didn't understand, and she didn't really want to. Everything was here that she needed. Here was God. Here was the creator. She moved higher as the H raced through her veins. She could look down and see herself, see the man in the room drop his pants and slide off his shirt.

  This can’t be happening. Morgan searched the room, desperate to find Alex, needing him to help her… needing him to save her. But he was gone. He’d left her all alone.

  She hovered helplessly while an icy shadow passed over her. Wait… no. The dealer tugged at her dirty blouse, tearing at the buttons until they broke free.

  Wake up! She screamed. Wake the fuck up, you stupid bitch! Get out of there, get out of there now!

  But there was nothing she could do. Her drugged body was useless for fighting, useless for anything but what this dirty fucking dealer had in mind. He shoved her skirt up and yanked on her panties. The sound of tearing fabric filled the room.

  Stop, please. The shadow deepened as she stared at her body under this man. The needle in her arm swung wildly in the air and fell free, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. The room around her blurred, the vision tearing her out of the high and dropped her into an infinite chasm.

  At first she was disoriented, trapped and in pain. Her body shivered, cramping low in her stomach. She tried to move and pain ripped through her body, paralyzing her.

  Got to get out of here… or I’m going to die. She whimpered and rolled onto her slide slowly. The flesh between her legs burned like fire. She knew something was very wrong. One inch at a time, she crawled to a bathroom. The cold tiles shocked her, easing the pain slightly, so she could pull herself up on the basin.

  Her trembling legs were weak. She wasn’t sure they would hold her. So, she gripped the basin and the edge of the bath, slowly inching her way toward the wall. Morgan choked back a cry as she reached for the switch. The white glare was instant. Morgan shut the door, closing herself in, and slowly moved back to the basin. On the tiles, there was a smear of blood, fresh blood… her blood.

  Morgan whimpered and looked down. She was naked from below the waist. Her inner thighs were smeared with blood. She felt a stab of fear and reached for a towel next to the tub. A wave of pain threatened to bring her to her knees as she pressed the cloth to her folds, winging and gasping from the pain. Her heart raced and her body shook. The soft cloth chafed the tender flesh between her legs. Morgan placed her hand over her mouth to muffle the screams as darkened images invaded her mind. No… no… no. The unrelenting memories returned.

  She pulled on a pair of pants and stumbled from the bathroom. There were bodies everywhere. Men she didn’t know lay passed out on the couch. The light leaking from the bathroom illuminated the powered remains from the lines of cocaine, and behind those, glinted the metal teeth of unzipped fly’s. Her body shook so hard, her teeth rattled.

  Alex lay asleep on the couch, next to the men he’s so casually sold her to. His nose was dusted white. An empty bottle of bourbon nestled between his legs.

  Look what he’s done to you. Morgan had to remind herself exactly who he was. Alex was her boyfriend. Alex loved her, he’d never hurt her. But I am hurt, aren't I?

  The images she fought so hard returned. Alex had watched while they did that to her, time after time. He stood back while they held her down and took their turns. Suddenly she thought of home, of her parents and Abby. It’d been so long, she'd forgotten what home looked like.

  A wave of desperation bought her to her knees and this time, the need wasn't a drug. A buzz filled the air and a green display illuminated the dark. Morgan scrambled to the mobile, pressed cancel and the phone became silent. She crawled across the room, each movement weighted on the snores around her until she reached the front door. She climbed to her feet and twisted the lock. Footsteps and cries filled the hallway and somewhere a door slammed shut. Morgan didn’t care, she’d welcome a knife to the gut—anything to end the pain, the hurt. She closed the door behind her and gripped the phone, her thumb triggering the screen to glow. Morgan jabbed the display, praying her shaking hands hit the right numbers and waited for someone to answer.

  “Hello. Hello, is anyone there?”

  Morgan tried to speak, but no words came. All she could do was listen to her father’s voice, slurred with sleep. She could picture him, leaning out of the bed in his blue stripped pajamas, his white hair messy. Morgan pressed the phone harder against her ear. Daddy. If she could only tell him she needed him, she’d be okay. He’d come for her. A tear slid down her face, followed by another. But how could she let him see her like this? Used, bleeding, her body infected, her veins collapsed. All she felt was shame.

  “Is anyone there... Morgan, is that you?”

  Her mother’s voice sounded in the background. Her panic squeezed another tear from Morgan's eyes. “Is that Morgan? Has something happened to her, Geoffrey? Has something happened to my daughter?”

  “I can't hear Corrine, please.” He cried into the phone. “Morgan if that is you, tell me where you are, honey and I'll come and get you. Morgan. Mor—”

  Forcing her hand not to shake, she pressed the button, ending the call, knowing there was no hope left. Her life was over. It might not end tonight, or tomorrow, but one day she wouldn’t wake up. She’d die with a needle in her arm.

  The hallway darkened and became a vacuum, tearing Morgan from that moment and shoving her back into the blinding light of the room.

  Slade leaned into her and his face came into view. For a split second, she thought he was there to hurt her, to take what he wanted, and then his brown eyes softened. He held her carefully, cradling her body against his as the past slipped from view.

  “It happened to you, didn't it? You went back?”

  She inhaled sharply. Her breath felt heavy, weighing her down. She realized what he meant. This was what caused the attacks. This was the nightmare she could never shake. Morgan gripped Slade as she trembled. There were no words, only an overwhelming sense of fear.

  The past is in the past… the past is in the past. She clenched tighter and whispered. “Please... whatever you do, don't make me go back there.”

  He didn't have to answer her. His haunted gaze said enough. He knew the horrors that waited for her in the past—he probably had a few himself.

  Morgan felt like a child, cowering in Slade’s arms. She relaxed her grip and pushed up from the floor. With new eyes, Morgan scanned the room, taking in each person, each guarded expression. Glib sat with the others, his back to the wall, staring into nothing. His ebony skin shimmered with sweat. He looked sick. In fact, they all did. Morgan guessed she looked the same. He turned his head and caught her gaze.

  Colton and Rachel glared, their gaze knowing, as though they, too, were witness to her secrets. The punk who’d hit her—hours ago? Days ago?—was curled up in a corner while he cried. His tears seemed hopeless to her. Just like this place. She glanced away to find Charlie. She looked better than Morgan had while she was fighting through the withdrawal. Morgan knew the girl’s body would heal, but her spirit would take some time.

  For the first time since she woke, Morgan felt afraid. This was a fear with no face and no name. She was afraid of the unseen. The forgotten past, hidden away like the remnants of a bad dream. She felt the hopelessness now, the cavern of horror she now realized she was in weighed like a stone in her gut. “What the fuck is this place?”

  SLADE WANTED TO GIVE MORGAN an answer. But the fear in her eyes was so real and so close to the surface—he was afraid she'd pull away. Instead, he kept his thoughts to himself and
pulled her into his arms. “We're gonna get through this, Morgan. We just have to stay together. We just have to stay alive.”

  A chocking gurgle filled the room behind them. The sickening groan was of someone’s last moments of life. Slade was more than familiar with the sound. Morgan pulled away from him and slid across the floor. Jade coughed. Her blood a fine mist that splattered the corners of her mouth.

  Slade could do nothing but put Jade out of her misery. He should’ve smothered her when Morgan was under the spell of her memories. He should’ve ended what was left of her life. But he didn’t. He knew Morgan would never forgive him. He knew she’d see him then as the enemy and that was the one thing he wasn’t.

  Morgan cradled Jade's torn fingers against her chest. Jade wouldn't feel the pain, anyway. He didn’t understand how the broken bones in her neck hadn’t severed her spinal cord. It was a miracle she’d survived this long. He mentally ran through the list of things that had happened in this room.

  A miracle, or a curse?

  He'd watched everyone in this room succumb to the dreams, nightmares that ripped them from this room and back into their past, for each to re-live every fucked-up thing they’d ever done.

  Everyone but Morgan, that was, until now. There’d still been a chance this would end differently for her. There’d been a chance she could’ve survived. But not now.

  He was pretty sure they’d been drugged. A hallucinogenic of some sort, fed into the air they breathed, distorting everything around them. He remembered reading about the concentration camps in World War I. The chemicals they used on the prisoners of war fried their brains, turning them into animals.

  Morgan... he searched her eyes. How could he protect her? Hope had died when Morgan convulsed. The drug affected her as it had all the others. Now, Slade was left with no plan. He was left with nothing.

  “It's okay. You can go now. You don't have to hold on any longer.”

  Morgan’s voice brought him back to the present. She hovered over Jade like a damaged angel. All she needed was the torn wings. Jade jolted in Morgan’s arms, and then let out a long sigh as she stilled. There was always a look with death, one that was unmistakable. There was no spark left. The soul had fled, leaving nothing more than flesh and bones. He'd never really thought about the soul before. He'd always been content to do what was needed and be done with it. Until now.

  Morgan placed Jade's hand on top of her chest and fell back on the floor. Her voice sounded lifeless, just like the body. “It's over. She's gone.”

  Slade couldn’t help but stare at Morgan. She was such a strange creature, ferocious and beautiful. She took no shit, even from him. Slade felt his heart throb. “You barely knew her, and yet, you mourn as though she were family.”

  “She was family.”

  Slade frowned. “I thought you didn't know each other.”

  “We didn't. She was a woman, though, and that made her my sister. Like me, she’d been abused by men as though she were disposable. That's the problem with this world. Some people only care about themselves. We’ve forgotten what it is to be human.”

  Her words hit home, conjuring the damage he’d once done. Was she talking about him? “People can change.”

  She stared into his eyes. “Can they? Can they, really?”

  The silence stretched, widening a gulf between them that hadn’t been there a second ago. “You changed, didn't you? You were a junkie, yet you fought through the addiction and now you're clean. We can all change given the opportunity.”

  “I won't fall in love with you.”

  Her response took him by surprise, so matter of fact that it fucking stung. He shrugged. “So, I won't ask you to.”

  “I can't. I mean, fall in love.”

  Her eyes never left his, searching for his reaction. “I won't ask you to love me, Morgan. But I want you to promise me one thing.” Jesus, it felt bad to do this, kneeling over a dead body. But if his instinct was right, this shit was just getting started.

  Morgan tilted her head toward him. “Yeah, what's that?”

  He opened his mouth to speak and a cry came from the end of the room. He spun, finding the source. Jason convulsed on the ground. The poor bastard was screwed up from that fucking room. Even in his dense state, he was still plagued by the goddamn nightmares they were all being forced to suffer.

  Slade shoved his hair out of his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose. Resolutely, he turned back to Morgan. She's gonna think I'm fucking crazy and hell maybe I am. Maybe these fucking drugs are already affecting me. “Fuck. Listen, Morgan. I think... shit, this is gonna sound fucking crazy. But, I think we’re being drugged. These dreams are only the start. This is like some fucking concentration camp or something.”

  She didn't say a word. Just sat there staring as though he’d just grown two heads and a tail. He had to make her understand, like it was now or never. Get it fucking together, man. You're sounding crazy. Jesus, it was hard to find his way with this. His head was telling him to say one thing, while his heart told him to say another. He had to tell her, he had to go with his heart.

  There was no other choice. “I want you to be careful. I want you not to trust anyone, and that includes me.”

  He watched her blanch in response and pull her hand away. Good, that was good. But fuck, it hurt. “I think someone is feeding us drugs in the air and it’s distorting everything around us. I... I really like you Morgan, and I'm not going to do anything to hurt you, if I can help it. It's just that I'm afraid that I won't know.”

  He grabbed her hand, and over Jade's dead body, he tried to sound as sincere as he'd ever been his miserable fucking life. “I'm gonna fight to protect you. But if I turn on you, I want you to take me down. You take me down, and don't fucking hesitate.”

  He waited for her to laugh, to tell him how crazy he sounded. Hell, he wanted to fucking laugh at himself. Slade could hear Jason growl and thrash behind him. The sound conjured memories of the dog from his nightmares.

  No. He felt the world slip from under him as growl became louder. Slade tried to reach for something to hold onto. But he couldn't move, because he was falling, falling....

  “Do you think you can do this? Can I trust you?”

  Slade leaned on the end of the table, his gaze fixed on the man who’d been the only constant in his life. Corey sat on the other end. His accusing eyes said more than his words. His brother was testing him. Fuck, how had it become this bad between them?

  Slade shoved his chair back from the table. The small hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, making him certain his blood brother’s finger hovered over the trigger of the shotgun taped underneath. “You have to ask, after all these years?”

  Corey shrugged and brushed his long hair back, keeping the other hand out of view. He never looked at Slade.

  Slade waited for the gutless prick to move, to meet his brother head-on and settle this once and for all. Slade was sick of the lies. He was sick of this life. Just as predicted, Corey brushed off his president’s badge−subtle as a fucking Mack truck. “There's been talk, brother. Talk that I been hearin' for a while now, that you plan on leavin' the MC. You know better than most how that shit turns out.”

  Slade kept his focus. He didn't dare move. Corey wasn't about to kill him, not here, not now. He searched his brother's eyes for answers. The deal had been done. He was getting out one way or another. His brother was a coward. He wouldn't try anything on his own. But he’d set the dogs on him. Some of the other members were crazy enough to try.

  How easy they turned their backs. The MC’s motto, brothers in blood, seemed now like a farce. “You wanna have this conversation now? Or you want me to do this job that you don't trust me to handle?”

  “Fine. It's a pick-up for the senator's man. Fucking bitch calls every time he needs his ass wiped. Do what you need to do, and when you get back, we're going to sit down and talk. Just you and me. Let's see if we can sort this shit out, huh?”

  Cold fear snak
ed its way around Slade’s gut and clamped tight. Corey smiled and sauntered around the table. He had to force himself not to flinch as Corey grabbed his shoulders and growled in his ear. “There’s no leaving the club, brother. You know that better than anyone.”

  He never flinched as he stared into his brother’s eyes. He did know that better than anyone. He knew where all the bodies were buried—cause he buried them himself.

  Corey slapped a slip of paper against his chest. Slade forced himself to answer. He’d never back down. “We’ll talk when I get back.”

  He turned his back on Cory and strode from the club for the last time with a sense of loss he'd never felt before. This had been his home. This had been his family. The one he'd earned, not the one forced on him.

  Slade questioned his actions and his needs again. How many times had he argued with himself over doing this, knowing how this could end? But he was done with this life. He was done being this person. His demons haunted him. He was desperate for change.

  He left his Harley parked at the club and slid into the old Jeep instead. The smell of blood and death assaulted him. No matter how many times the truck had been hosed, it still stank. Maybe it was just him? The early morning meet at the clubhouse wasn’t uncommon. Deals, death, and demands were always in favor. The club made a killing on providing all three.

  The lack of streetlights made the trip seem to last. He followed Corey’s map, weaving his way in the fucking dark until his lights illuminated a fortress. He pulled off the road and hit the interior light, checking the map once more. This had to be the place. Jesus. The cold slithered in and he hunched deeper into his jacket. This place gave him the fucking creeps.

  He pulled onto the road and swung into the driveway, stopping outside the massive gates. The blinking red eye caught his attention when he leaned out of the cab and punched the numbers into the keypad on the intercom. The gates slowly slid back, allowing him to head the truck down a long driveway.