You will kill this filthy, pretentious motherfucka for this shit! And they wonder why women go and cut off men’s dicks—this is why. Slaughter his ass.
The devil on my left shoulder fed on the rage building inside me and goaded me into retaliating; yet, even now, the Christian side of my mind tried to find rhyme or reason with what was happening.
Is this worth going back to prison, Eva?
Yes, it is!
You can’t feel anything. Had you not had that bad dream you probably wouldn’t have ever known this happened. Tell Mirna to watch him—he’s bound to do it again and she can catch him. Let her witness everything with her own eyes.
Compared to this shit, that dream was as harmless as a cartoon. Like anyone would believe a word you said after what happened? Like Mirna would even believe you; he probably drugs her ass too. It would end up being a favor for her too.
I’d been holding my breath for most of the inner exchange in my head. I was hoping that I’d eventually pass out. It didn’t work. Every time I got to the point where bright flashes of light sparked off behind my eyelids my brain would force my lungs to take in oxygen.
“Kevin James Tinsdale! What the hell?” Mirna’s voice sliced into my silent nightmare. It was the most welcoming sound I’d ever heard as it interrupted the sound of Bishop’s raging bull-like breathing thrashing in my ear.
“Woman. Why on earth are you yelling when you aren’t sitting but two feet away from me?” Bishop questioned her through gritted teeth.
I didn’t want to see him again, but I had to look. Peeking through my lashes as best as I could without them knowing I was drugged but awake I had a limited view. Bishop’s head was turned to my left and I did my best to glance in the direction of Mirna’s voice.
“Because the agreement was that I’d let you buy your plaything so you could act out all your ungodly anus play obsessions without destroying mine. In return I get the grand finale, and you were about to finale,” she scolded him.
“The hell? I was not about to finale; you making me lose my focus and I’m going to have to start all over again to get him rock solid for you.” The bishop sounded agitated.
Fuck no! Dontay only did that asshole thing twice and we never tried again. How dare this fool think he could just ram all up in my ass and . . .
Mirna, don’t make this shit start all over or on my life I’ll take you out as soon as I can move again.
Bishop’s face lowered and I gagged at the sounds of slurping and sucking as he did whatever he was doing to places on my body that I didn’t even want to know.
“No. There will be no starting over. It’s momma’s turn. You making Princess Pinky jealous.” Mirna’s voice was so close I already knew without peeking that she was lying beside me on the bed.
“That’s why all that fool’s foolishness is down here where we can still admire its beauty and value without being judged.” Her words from our conversation swam around my head like a gold fish trapped in a plastic bag.
How many girls or women had they done this to? It couldn’t have started with me. I used to have a youth choir at the local community center. Every few months one of my teenage girls would vanish without a trace. It would be the same each time, a runaway with no family in the area—no one to notice their absence. Except me.
“Whose pussy is this?” The bishop’s voice drilled into my thoughts, interrupting any shocking conclusions I might have come to.
“This is Bishop’s pussy.” Mirna moaned her response and I wished for a mental shutdown valve or off button. The only good thing about him being on her was the fact that his heavy ass was up off of me. I went back to what got me through my first nights in prison and recited my psalms. The ending of every line was accented with a visualization of how I’d get the bishop and his wife back for what they’d done.
Somewhere between Psalm 91 and the image of the two of them tied up, staring at me, pleading for mercy, I fell asleep.
Chapter 12
If the Eyes Are the Windows to the Soul Your Windows Look Like They’re in Need of Washing
Sun filtered through the high, narrow window in the bedroom. It blinded me, forcing the dull, slow ache in my head to increase until it was going at the rate of a jackhammer. My mouth was so parched that even when I tried to lick my lips to moisten them I got no relief. They felt cracked and dry, my tongue stuck to them and several places, stinging where the cracked skin split open. It was hazy but gradually the memories of the night before came back to me. Scared I’d try to move only to find myself permanently paralyzed, I sufficed with lying there motionless, assessing my body.
The cool sheets on the bed hung loosely around me. I could feel them pressed against my legs and arms, but nowhere else. Panic-stricken at the thought of being paralyzed I sprang into a sitting position, shocked at the green nightshirt and matching shorts that met my eyes when the blankets fell away. Quickly my eyes took survey of the room, searching for anything to prove that I hadn’t dreamt the sordid events between the bishop and Mirna.
There was nothing out of place except the clothes on my body that I definitely couldn’t remember putting on. It felt like I was waking up from a long night of drinking, and my one-night stand had decided to sneak out before I could even confirm whether I’d imagined him.
The sensation of pins and needles shooting through my toes made me put off trying to stand for a little while longer.
That big nigga probably fractured one of your damn spinal disks or some shit if that shit even happened.
My suspicions were confirmed as my brain finally registered the unforgettable ache in my rear end. Tears fell down my face and I cried every tear that I couldn’t cry the night before due to whatever they’d drugged me with. Nausea hit me unexpectedly and I dry heaved until I thought I’d burst a blood vessel and my stomach cramped. There was nothing in there for it to expel.
Lying back on the bed, the most I could do was shakily curl myself into a tight ball. With my forehead pressed firmly against my knees, I tried to pray but couldn’t find the words. I tried to recite something to calm myself down but for the life of me, I couldn’t remember a single word of anything I’d ever read. What did they think they could do, offer me a place to stay only to use me every single night? I’d eventually have to leave to meet my parole officer and find work.
The food was drugged but nothing oral can paralyze a person like that. First they drug you to make you sleep. Then they inject you with something to make sure you can’t move and don’t wake up; we’ll get their asses.
This isn’t supposed to happen to people like me and not from people like them.
The sun had gone from the brightness of morning to the dull orange glow of the afternoon before I’d decided to move again. I showered and looked for my cell but couldn’t find it from the day before.
Who’s the thief now? They up there stealing ass and actual property.
Dressing myself in an oversized pair of blue sweats with a matching shirt I let my legs carry me toward the gate into hell outside of hell, far from prison hell.
To my surprise the doorknob surprisingly twisted and the door opened. I cautiously crept into the foyer, praying they’d forgotten to lock the door. The house was silent as I silently crept toward the front door. The welcoming aroma of what had to have been pot roast, biscuits, and sweet potato pie called me toward the kitchen. It tantalized my nose, making my stomach beg me to follow it like the sound of the ocean to a fisherman. As hungry as I was I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from my only way of escaping.
The brass doorknob was ice cold in the palm of my hand. I turned the lock underneath the keyhole toward the word UNLOCK on the handle and twisted. My entire body was tighter than a rubber band. My nerves were taut and ready to snap at the slightest sound or commotion. My heart thudded like hummingbird’s wings in my chest and nervous sweat began to bead on my upper lip. The door didn’t budge and I quietly slipped the lock in the other direction, praying it would open, puz
zled at the setback.
“Aw look who’s awake. That door is a little tricky, baby; you want to go out for some fresh air you can step out onto the patio through the kitchen.” Mirna’s voice was sickening sweet as she spoke from behind me.
Turning slowly I composed myself, holding back the tears and nausea at having to deal with her. I was in no way psychologically prepared to face one half of the two-headed monster I’d unknowingly surrendered myself to.
Her usual smile was planted on her face.
Look at this fake-ass smile.
Her hands were busy drying a wine glass on the fold of her apron.
That’s probably the glass she’s going to use to drug your ass. Grab the vase off the table beside the wall and smack that corrupt bitch in the face.
“Hi, Mirna, I didn’t hear you walk up. Yes, I’ve been feeling queasy all morning; some air is all I want right now,” I responded, doing my best to conceal the venom in my voice with as much sugary sweetness as possible.
“Well come along. The bishop was in a mighty fine mood this morning. He’s bringing home champagne after he leaves his office. We are going to officially celebrate your freedom, sweetheart.”
Mirna turned and went into the kitchen, humming a song I couldn’t quite make out. The socks on my feet made my footsteps soundless as I treaded across the white tile floor behind her. Gold veins glittered and glimmered in the lighting of the house and it came to my attention how decadent their tastes in decorating were. The living room I’d passed when I’d arrived was adorned with expensive-looking chairs with mahogany arms and legs.
Those are not Versace cushions on that chair. How the hell they even know what Versace is?
Golden Egyptian statues of cats and scarab beetles were placed in random settings along the way. From the expansive chandelier to the marble and the cars, all of the things they had were lavish and rich. Yet not a single cross, scripture, or biblical reference could be seen anywhere in their house. My stomach growled loudly as I entered the kitchen and potatoes, celery, and brown onion gravy filled my senses. I could almost taste the food in my mouth, see the biscuit soaking up the gravy.
“I know you’ve got to be hungry. Supper is ready if you want to sit down and eat with me. Kevin won’t be home until later so I’ll just keep his food warm.”
As tempting as her offer sounded I was frightened that she’d drug me again.
The roast is still in the oven. If you stay the fuck with her and help her you can watch what she does. Might even see an opportunity to grab a knife and . . .
“Yes, that would be nice, thank you.” I smiled politely and did my best to hide my discomfort as I lowered myself into one of the chairs at the table.
My eyes were on her like a barn owl hunting a mouse. I watched every move she made including where she got the silverware from and whether it mattered if I took the first bite. After she said grace I made a game out of organizing my food with my fork; she began to methodically cut into the roast on her plate. I made small talk, pretending to be fascinated with the scenery through the glass panels of the back door while I waited for her to chew and swallow.
Everything tasted like it had been made with ingredients straight from heaven’s garden. My eyes closed in bliss and I savored every bite, amazed at how tender the roast was. I caught Mirna staring at me when I reopened them, but her expression was a little unreadable. She quickly resumed eating and I began to wonder whether I’d imagined the brief look in her eye that reminded me of . . .
“Where are my two favorite ladies?” Bishop’s voice rumbled through the quiet house and my appetite was instantly gone. He appeared in the kitchen carrying a bottle of champagne and beaming a wide smile in our direction at the kitchen table.
“Champagne or cham-pleasure? Who says church folk can’t drink? You just aren’t supposed to drink to get drunk. Ha-ha,” Bishop shouted out.
“I thought you were working late; we’d have waited for you before we started eating.” Mirna’s tone was somewhat disapproving.
It was hard to determine if she was upset because he came home early or because he didn’t let her know he was coming home early. His back was turned to us as he got glasses and placed the bottle in the wine chiller on the counter setting the timer. My unease grew when I couldn’t see the glasses or where he’d gotten them from.
Soup, tea, champagne. Whatever it is they probably hide it in a liquid for your ass to drink. That tea was bitter; soup was cold but the aftertaste was bitter. Don’t drink a damn thing they give you. Switch your glasses around, dump it out, do whatever you have to do.
The timer dinged on the champagne chiller and I jumped when Bishop shot the cork out of the bottle with a resounding pop. He danced and blew a kiss in Mirna’s direction, giving her a wink and a look that I instantly registered as sexual, promising, and absolutely dirty. The dread and trepidation that filled me at having to experience another night like last night made me sick to my stomach.
“If you would excuse me, I’m not feeling too good. Mirna, I think it’s gonna take some time for my stomach to adjust to the food. I’m sorry.”
Before either of them could reply I pushed away from the table and fled toward the basement, intent on getting as far away from them as possible. I spun in an exasperated circle as I noted every single window in the basement was nearly six feet up from the floor and nowhere near wide enough for me to fit through. I felt like a trapped lab rat and the thought made me run immediately into the bathroom to pretend like I was actually taking a shit. There were probably cameras all down here watching me even now.
I racked my brain trying to think of a way out. The front door was obviously not an option but they didn’t use it anyway. And I was certain from what I could see at dinner there was no way to get off the fenced-in patio if the door was locked. So far I only knew of the bishop to come in through the garage into the kitchen. If I could get to that door and into the garage I could press the opener and just run. It now made sense why out of everything they provided the only thing I wasn’t given were shoes.
Routine, get a routine and stick to it. They won’t know what you know or what you plan if you do the same things and act the same. Take your shower and be mindful of something to use as a weapon. Those fucks didn’t give you anything so tonight should be a quiet one. Find something, anything to get us the fuck out of here.
For the first time ever I nodded in agreement with that angry, malicious little voice. Starting the shower I contemplated any alternatives to escape without taking a life or causing anyone harm. They would have to deal with their sins when they answered to God. Or I could make sure they didn’t have the chance to do this type of shit to anyone else and take care of them when the opportunity arrived. Get out of the house, get Dontay’s thieving ass. I was slowly building a mental hit list.
Steam filled the bathroom and I undressed, preparing to get in the shower, when I noticed a bruise on my ribs. Facing the mirror over the sink I stared at what looked like a long oval on my side and four similar markings on my back. I stood there squinting at myself until it dawned on me. They were finger prints. Outraged I looked for something, anything to smash.
A small figurine beside the towel rack seemed like the perfect target and I stomped toward it.
The ground came flying up to smack me in the back of the head. I’d stepped on one of the rugs on the floor and it slid forward, catching me off-guard and off-balance. My eyes were closed tight as I waited for the pain to hit me. My head cracked against the floor so hard I was sure I’d fractured my damn skull. Waves of pain crashed from the back of my skull into the space behind my eyes and I groaned in agony.
I waited until the waves of pain slowed down into a steady constant pain that spanned across my entire head. My eyes opened and rolled as the ceiling spun above me. They focused and it was in that instant that I found the tiny camera sitting in the ceiling over the vanity no wider than an ink pen top. Its lens didn’t fog up like the mirror and from my angle on
the floor I could see how it refracted the light from the bulbs underneath it. I quickly looked away, and raised my hand to stare at my fingertips as if my eyes were still not focused.
“Eva. I brought you some tea for your stomach. Are you doing all right, baby?” Mirna’s called out to me through the bathroom door.
I bet she did want to give me some more of that damn tea. She was obviously only checking on me because they were probably watching me.
“I’m okay, but thank you. I’m just going to take a shower and go to bed,” I called out from the floor, the sound of my voice making me feel miserable.
“All right, baby. Do you want me to leave the tea for you?”
I struggled to sit up and responded, “No, thank you, Mirna. I don’t really care for peppermint that much.”
The clinking of the tray as she turned and left was reassuring. I climbed into the shower, sighing as the hot water washed over my skin. Glancing at the ceiling I couldn’t make out any lenses or shapes that looked like one over the vanity and it didn’t seem like it was aimed to see into the shower. Relaxing as I realized showers were the only chance that I’d get some privacy, I lathered myself up, reveling in the fragrance of the shower gel. The smell of the ginger and peach seemed to calm my headache down, but I only made it worst when the desperation of my situation hit me. I was being held captive and used as some kind of personal sex slave. It sounded like the plot to some kind of suspense, drama movie and yet I was actually living it. From what I could figure, everyone who knew me or of me thought I was either locked up or dead.
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