The conveyance we are in comes to a stop with a jerk and the two of us are absolutely still, straining to hear anything that might give us a clue as to our whereabouts or fate. Two thin strips of overhead lighting turn on. It’s not much, but after being in the dark, it’s a flood of illumination through the blackness and causes my eyes to squint at the exposure.
“All right,” Allie says and with her words, she has morphed back into the serious commander she was on the fountain earlier. She’d been sitting so quietly after what I’d said that her words startle me out of my contemplation. “I don’t have much choice in the matter. I figure I’m dead either way, but I’ll believe you … for now. I have an idea and if you really want to prove to me that you’re on my side, you’ll go for it. Here, switch coats with me.” Her clothing rustles as she scrambles to take her crimson military-style trench coat off and fit it through the bars of her cage.
“Okay,” I say, removing mine and slipping it through the bars while grabbing hold of hers. “Why do you want to switch?”
“I don’t know if I’m going to be killed just for being there tonight, from what that soldier said before we attacked, I’m thinking that’s the way it’s going to go—but maybe I can get out of this if I act like a spectator to the incident instead of inciter.” She removes the black bandanna that is woven through her wavy brown hair like a headband and unravels it. Then she begins wiping the makeup from her face. It does little more than smear it so that the red and black flowers surrounding her eyes now resemble angry welts. The mixture of all the other colors on her face gives it a strange pallor, which makes me think of the bride of Frankenstein.
As I am trying to maneuver her coat on in the small space of the cage, the hinges of the double doors to our transport begin to squeak open.
There’s a low chuckle that pervades the spaces around my crate and sinks itself into my skin. Goose bumps erupt down my arms like tiny volcanoes. I know that chuckle. I’ve been taught to fear the sound. It’s so instinctual to me now that dread sweeps over me before I can steel myself for whatever is to come. He speaks and the trepidation increases ten-fold.
“Welcome home, Honey.” Donovan’s voice has more bite in it than a nest of vipers. “I’ve missed you so.”
He beats me until I am bloody and raw. My skin no longer looks like skin, it’s now thin and purple, resembling the casing of old grapes. There is dried blood crusting up the corner of my mouth and filling every crevice between my teeth. I’ll probably taste it for days … or weeks if he keeps coming back for more. His abuse feels like slipping back into a familiar schedule, it always starts out the same. He loves to attack my face first, backhanding me, followed by punches to the ribs. If I’m on the ground by then, he likes to finish it up with a couple kicks to the stomach, and occasionally, he’ll spit on me when I’m down. He’ll then take some time off, make sure I am in complete agony, but not to the point of passing out—that would be too good for me, no reprieves allowed—and then, just when I think he is done, he comes back for more. He likes to keep me on my toes.
So, what happened with all of the big Mage talk about using Binds in an attempt to get out of here and all that? Well, I’m guessing Binds don’t work when you’re so terrified that you’re on the verge of peeing yourself. It would make sense. It’s taken a fair amount of concentration to get them to work before, and it’s difficult to really focus on anything when a men’s size 11 hiking boot is coming towards your face. Now that I think about it, I’ve never even seen this motherfucker hike … apparently these are his kick-your-wife’s-teeth-in boots.
Anyway, once the beatings were done, I was put back into my cage, which I guess is his new holding spot for me. He used to lock me in my huge room, complete with a bathroom. Now I’m confined to a box. It’s a definite downgrade. He must be pretty mad.
At least I have company. Allie is still in the cage next to mine. It would appear that we are on opposite schedules for beatings. They take her away when they bring me back, and the only time shared in this vicinity is when one or the other of us is incapacitated by our injuries, and thus, communication has been kept to a minimum.
She did tell me, however, that they were trying to get information out of her about the SSA, but she was able to convince them that she was just a minor player and wasn’t aware of the operators of the game. She told me that it wasn’t Donovan who was chief overseer of her abuse but another Mage, one she described to be a pimply-faced teenager whose voice had not even reached maturity, did the interrogating. Apparently, this Mage is a Natural with the ability to control air because, besides the beatings she received, he also cut off her supply of oxygen every time she wouldn’t answer a question to their satisfaction.
Two details scare me about this. First, the kid ostensibly takes pride in his work, as Allie claimed that he looked amused while she struggled for breaths. Second, taking the kid’s age into consideration along with my own mounting thoughts and theories I’ve had while lying here broken, has forced me to come to the obvious conclusion. I know what the NWO have been doing with the children. Some have been made soldiers and some have been used for other purposes, but all of them have been conditioned to believe that what they are doing is right. I think about Jinx’s sister and Spencer’s daughter somewhere out there covered in the black shell of a uniform or being used as another form of weapon for Donovan and his father, and I feel a sick sense of dread for both of them. How can we fight a war when the opponent is made up of the people we love? It seems more and more impossible every day.
When Donovan took me out of my cage, initially, I saw that we were being kept in one of those huge armored vehicles that showed up on the night of the clash between the Sugar Skulls and the NWO. Donovan has it posted by the mansion. I guess the Brands are feeling the need for added security these days.
The double doors open and instead of the guard that normally escorts me to Donovan or Allie to her torturers, it’s Elise, my maid from what feels like a million lifetimes ago, who walks through them. I sit up from my reclined, half-dead posture, and my body protests the movement. Each joint, muscle and bone screams in pain with the effort.
“I’m here to take you to your room and clean you up, Mrs. Brand,” she merely states, as if she’s an indifferent mother picking her rotten kid up at the park.
I look over at Allie, see the dark circles around her eyes that used to be only smeared makeup but are now bruises. “Not without her,” I say with as much command as I can muster. “I’m not going anywhere unless Allie comes with me. Tell Donovan to keep the beatings coming, otherwise.”
“Speak for yourself about the beatings,” Allie chimes in softly, even after all she’s been through, she’s still quick to speak her mind.
Elise appears to be wavering between doing what Donovan would want her to and having to report back to him that she couldn’t get me to go. I see the moment when she decides to give in to me, her shoulders slouch just an inch, and I can see the thought process between her eyes. She figures it’s better to give in and let Donovan deal with me later than to report back to him that I gave her trouble. She motions over her shoulder, and the guard comes and opens both of our pins.
Allie is limping as we follow Elise to the house and walk through the gilded hall and up the stairway that leads to my room. The determined look in Allie’s eye tells me that even though her body has been broken, her spirit remains intact. I really can’t say the same for myself. A part of me wants to keep the fight so damn bad, but it’s hard to be a barrel of self-affirming positivity when you have to hold on to your ribs with each step because they feel like they are moving around on their own, or… when you smell like your own blood and piss because you’ve been rolling around in it in a four by four foot cube. And yet…
The second we are in the bedroom with the doors closed behind us, I turn to Elise and say calmly, but with as much pent-up force behind it as I can, “Sleep, you stupid cow.”
And she does. Her eyes close up and she e
mits half a snore before her body crumples up and she hits the floor. I take some satisfaction of the bang her head makes as it hits the hard wood floor. No woman should ever sit idly by while another is being abused and do nothing, I don’t care if your job is on the line, or you’re going up against insurmountable odds. You see injustice, you do something about it, but that’s just me. I won’t do anything more to harm her, but as far as I’m concerned, a bump on the head is just a little karma for being Donovan’s spy all these years.
“What the hell was that?” Allie asks, annoyed. “You’re telling me you had the ability to put people to sleep THIS WHOLE TIME and yet we both look like human piñatas?”
“I might have been able to put one person out like this, but I wasn’t sure if we would both be able to get out of those cages that way. I had to make sure we were both out before I tried anything, okay? Also, I couldn’t get anything to work to defend myself while Donovan was beating me, for some reason it wouldn’t work. I think I couldn’t concentrate enough.”
“Well, you better start practicing some yoga, or meditation tricks, or something so that you don’t get performance anxiety again,” she says, still perturbed. “We might have bonded over this whole sisters in torture thing back in those cages, but I don’t think I can be friends with someone who has the ability to defend themselves and doesn’t take it because they’re afraid. You need to find some inner strength and quick, especially if we’re going to get out of here. What kind of brilliant plan do you have now?”
“I didn’t exactly plan that far ahead,” I say. Damn, what’s wrong with me? She is so right. I can’t keep going on like this. This all feels too familiar to how Spencer pegged me, a princess who always needs someone to save her. Even when I convince myself that it’s not true, something else happens that leads me right back to the same conclusion. I’m weak. I’m so tired of being weak.
“Ophelia,” Allie says and this time, her voice has lost some of its edge. “It’s okay, everyone has their weaknesses. What defines us is being able to acknowledge them and still find our strengths too. I don’t really have too many chick friends, seeing as how I spend most of my time surrounded with dudes either trying to put together our army or working through the net, trying to figure out the NWOs next move. Neither activity seems to draw the lady crowd much, but … what I’m trying to say is, it’s been nice having you to go through all of this with.”
“Gee, thanks, Allie. I wouldn’t want to be tortured with anyone else, either,” I say dryly.
“You know what I mean,” she says, awkwardly. “Lord, I’m not good at this, it’s so much easier to explain things to dudes. What I’m trying to say is that I’ve been drawing strength from you to get through this, now you go right ahead and draw from me too. The next time trouble comes, and I have a feeling it’s just around the corner, remember we’re together in this. Everyone feels a little stronger when they know they’re not alone. Just remember that.”
“How old are you, Allie?” It hadn’t occurred to me to ask until now. Only seeing each other through the bars of our cages and with first the makeup and then the bruises, I never really got a good idea of her age. Now that we are face to face, I’m beginning to notice how young she is. I wouldn’t have known it any other way. Some of the things she says lend themselves to a much older age.
“Twenty-two,” she replies.
“That’s amazing. You’re five years younger than me and you’re the one giving me the much-needed advice. Thank you.”
“Yeah, well in all honesty, I just pulled most of that stuff out of my ass. But still, you’re welcome.” She gives me a shit-eating grin and I know everything is all right between us. With whatever obstacle we have to surpass to escape this house, at least there’s that.
“Okay, so I think we need to get cleaned up and get some new clothes on,” I say, hurrying over to my closet and opening the door. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of smelling like a sewage. Here, help me drag Elise into the closet, so if anyone comes, I can just say she’s getting my clothes ready.”
We move her—it isn’t easy, she’s a large woman and dead weight with the sleeping Bind on her. I help Allie find something to wear from my closet. That isn’t easy, either. She’s a petite girl with a butt that JLo would be proud of, and I’m tall and curvy, but not that curvy. We both end up in stretchy yoga pants and soft, long sleeved cotton shirts. With our injuries, not much else is going to work and both are the fastest to slip on after jumping out of the shower so we can get out of this room and figure out an escape.
As I’m showering, my mind wanders to Reece. I wonder where they could have taken him and if he’s still alive. I debate over whether or not I should leave this house before checking around to see if he’s here somewhere. I can’t just leave him if he’s here, but I have no way of knowing. I know with the amount of pain I’m in, I wouldn’t do much good for him now, anyway. My best bet is to get out of here, get back to Spencer, and work out a plan to rescue Reece that would include all of us. Maybe Allie’s Army could even be included. We need to work together if we’re ever going to win this war. Might as well start with a rescue mission.
That settled, I reluctantly turn the shower off, reach out for my towel, and am startled when I come into contact with the arm holding it out to me.
“Here you go, love,” Donovan says.
I snatch the towel away and hastily cover myself up. “Wha-what are you doing in here?” I ask.
“I heard from one of the guards that our little prisoner was let out with you and that Elise brought you both up here. I never authorized it, so I thought I’d come up and find out what you were up to. Where’s Elise?”
“Sh-she went to get us something to drink like I asked her to. She just told me to get cleaned up and dressed. I asked Elise if Allie could come with me, what happened to her?”
“She’s still in your room. I didn’t do anything to her … yet. Why did you want her with you? How do you know her? Tell me the truth, Ophelia, or I’ll take you both back to the cages.”
“I’d never met her before waking up next to her in those crates. She’s just a silly girl that got mixed up in something because of her boyfriend. She really had no idea why she was out there that night or what their cause is all about. Please, leave her alone. I can’t stand to see another human being trapped and hurt like that. Donovan, remember how things used to be between us? Remember how well we worked together and how much love we had?” The words almost make me want to hurl to say them, but I have to lay it on thick here. I need him to think I’m being earnest so I can get out of this bathroom, get my clothes on, and figure out some way to kick his ass.
He gives me a pensive look, as if he is actually considering my words. “Tell me, why were you out there that night, Phee? Did this guy you ran away with convince you to be in that crowd, too? Is that the way you’re going to spin it? Tell me the truth, or I’ll kill your little friend out there.”
Tread carefully, I tell myself. There is only a thin thread stretched between Donovan and me right now, holding this somewhat civil conversation intact. One wrong word and it’ll snap.
“I was kidnapped. I didn’t run away with anyone.”
“That’s funny, because I know that when you were taken in, you were with the same man that kidnapped you. It was a big crowd and my officers were all over the place. Why didn’t you try to get away from him and get back to me?”
“Everything was so hectic that night, I didn’t know what to do. I stayed with Reece because he was the only familiar person there. When people started killing each other, I was afraid and ran with him because I just wanted to get away.”
“So this man, Reece, he means nothing to you?” he asks with a sneer.
“No.”
“And the people you were with once you were taken, they were nothing more than captors to you?”
“Yes, Donovan. I don’t have feelings for any of them except contempt for putting me in this situation with you.”<
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“You’re such a rotten liar,” Donovan states matter-of-factly. “I know that you were with at least two people that night. There was a surveillance camera that caught you with another woman, too. The two of you looked pretty chummy on it. I think she even embraced you at one point. If you’re telling the truth and you care nothing for any of these people, then do you care to explain that?”
He’s got me on this point. Of course Donovan would have pulled the surveillance videos from the area. I’m happy that he didn’t look at the ones near the capitol. I would have never been able to explain away what happened with Spencer.
“I already told you, it was a scary night. People were running around with those acid balls, or whatever they were. There were Robocop-looking soldiers everywhere, and I saw a familiar face and got caught up in the moment. It was probably that, um … Stockholm syndrome. You know, where you begin to identify and care about your abductors.”
He looks at me with a blank face. “Oh, of course, Stockholm, why didn’t I think of that myself? Yes, of course. You’ve been taken for two weeks and treated very badly. I mean, they made you go to a Target, what horror. Of course your mind wouldn’t be able to process that kind of trauma. You’re a smart woman, Ophelia, for identifying and diagnosing yourself with this very rare condition.”
I have nothing to say for this. Yep, he’s right. It was the worst excuse ever, but there really wasn’t another one that would have been any more plausible. Oh fuck it, there’s no way to make this any better. I’m just going to evade the questions from this point forward.
“Can I get out of this bathroom and get dressed now?” I’ve been dripping wet in a towel the whole time.
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