For His Love

by Nya Rayne

  Phia’s voice rose, the leg of her dark slacks slipping into the corner of the screen, and Donté knew she was standing up.

  “You’re the liar! You and the rest of the Elites are the ones who have been lying to us for centuries! You steal infant boys from their mothers, and hold them in captivity for your own sexual pleasure! So, where it matters, Gloria, who’s the real lying, rutting mongrel? You and the rest of the Elites should be ashamed of yourselves!”

  “Sit. Down. You pathetic, ungrateful little bitch.” The woman’s eyes took on a cold inhuman glare. Donté shrank back away from the screen as she stood up as well. “You and the rest of those ingrates out there are worthless. Instead of wiping out the male species, we should have wiped you all out. You’re all a bunch of miserable, pathetic whores. All of you!” The words were hissed with such detestation not even Darius dared to comment. “We gave you all a world where you never had to beg for anything. We gave you a world where you all were seen as goddesses. We gave you a world, a country your ancestors would lie awake at night and pray for, and you have the audacity to stand before me, griping about some pathetic piece of shit HAP who was never yours to begin with. You should be glad I haven’t slit your throat for touching what’s mine! Instead, you stand here asking me asinine questions about things that will never, ever change. I might be a liar, Phia Zen. I might be a lot of things, come to think of it, but I’m not a thief—and you know what happens to thieves.” She cackled as she finished, “If you don’t, you will soon.”

  There was a long, impossible moment of silence, and then he heard murmurs of words he could barely make out. The Higher Hussy stepped out of the view of the camera and then back, her demeanor once more kind and regal. A glass clanked against something as she settled back in her seat, her face staring in the direction he was sure Phia was sitting or standing in. There was a loud thump of something hitting the floor, and the camera shifted marginally. He thought he heard his name being whispered, but it was so fast and unintelligible he wouldn’t have bet on it.

  The Higher Hussy sat back, her head high, one eyebrow raised higher than the other, and a gloating smirk on her face. Fear grabbed his heart and held it like a vise. Why wasn’t Phia talking? Why wasn’t she saying anything back to the woman? “Phia!” he called as if she could hear him. “Damn it, Phia, say something!” His answer came from the Higher Hussy, and his heart plummeted to the ground far below the gliding the heli-jet.

  “Feeling a little woozy, are you? That little insolent mouth of yours wants to move, doesn’t it? Are you feeling a little stiff?” The woman leaned casually on the armrest of her chair, her head resting against her balled up fist. “Give it a few minutes; it’ll get easier, and then it’s time for your first lesson to begin.” She pushed to her feet then, and stepped out of the camera’s view once more.

  There was a soft noise in the background, the sound of ice clanking against glass, and then a moment later the camera soared across the room. The picture went black, but the sound remained. There was a loud slapping sound of skin against skin, and Donté glanced dumbly around at the other occupants of heli-jet.

  “No one questions me!” a demonic voice hissed, and he wondered briefly if someone else had entered the room or was in the room with Phia and the Higher Hussy this whole time. There was another loud slapping sound, this time harsher and more direct, and still Phia made not a sound. “Thou shalt honor the Higher Highness of Serenity!”

  An unidentifiable sound ripped through the heli-jet, and Donté felt his world begin to spin, his mind refusing to let the dots connect. His hand rose to his mouth as he continued to stare at the blackness on the screen before him.

  There was another earsplitting sound of skin hitting skin and then, “I’m a liar? I’m a liar! Question me? Second-guess what I say? Thou shalt speak when spoken to!”

  “The four commandments! The four commandments,” Dr. Lobush said hysterically, her hold tightening on the controls. “Oh my God, she’s going to—”

  The sound of grunts mixed with the breaking of glass and a soft whimper drew Donté away from the doctor’s words so all he heard was, “No one touches what’s mine! No one!!” There were a few more slaps, and the words, “Thou shalt not covet!”

  As if a switch had been flipped, the sound disappeared, the screen went from black to gray with the words, “Transmission Lost,” moving across the screen, and the tightly wound cord inside Donté snapped.

  The world around him closed in so he couldn’t breathe. He clutched at his chest, gasped for air his lungs refused to accept, and fought against the wicked sensation of falling, plummeting, tumbling to the ground.

  Consciousness was sucked away into a lake of utter despair and unbridled rage. Hands were on his shoulders, holding him down beneath the murky waters. They were trying to keep him. They were trying to keep him from…from what? Her name whispered through his mind in the voice of a nameless, faceless banshee. Despair was instantly replaced by rage and a cry for vengeance.

  Roaring filled his head, and he turned, swinging his fists, determined to regain control of something—anything—in a moment when he felt he controlled absolutely nothing.

  “Donté!” Darius called urgently from somewhere through the haze in his mind.

  It was only then he took notice of his breathing, his heart rate, and the sweat coating his body. His hand gripped the door handle, holding it tightly. For the briefest of seconds, he forgot where he was and tugged at the handle. If he could get out, he could get to her. He could save her. He would save her.

  “Calm down, we’re almost there!” There was a hard open-handed slap to the side of his face. His eyes moved to Darius slowly as if he were a man awaking from some horrific dream.

  “Don’t let him open the door!” he heard the doctor scream.

  His eyes still trained on the man pinning him back in the seat, he loosened his grip on the handle and grasped the front of Darius’ shirt. Pushing him back away from him roughly, he sat up shaking his head. Fury burned in the pit of his belly like fire and twisted through every nerve of his body.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Ah, good. You’re awake,” a voice said through the fog of darkness surrounding Phia. The fog parted slowly, revealing a dimly-lit room with drab walls and a solitary steel-caged light hanging directly above her. Her eyes roamed the ceiling as she tried to figure out where she was and why. The only thing registering was the pain at the side of her head and all over her face and upper body.

  Had she been in a fight?

  She tried turning her head right and left in an attempt to take in her surroundings. She realized the act of moving was nearly impossible. Her body felt like a fifty-ton weight was being pressed upon it, pressing her firmly into the hard surface she was lying on. She tried wiggling her fingers and then her toes.

  Nothing happened.

  Her mind screamed at her body to move. It shouted commands, demanding a twitch, a flutter, something. Still, nothing happened. She swallowed in an attempt to moisten her parched throat, and croaked out a barely audible sound.

  “Normally, I would have let you sleep a little longer while I prepared. Unfortunately, you, my dear, must be taught the commandments with swiftness. I tell you, if everyone behaves in the manner you did today, then I’m going to have to make the commandments into law.”

  The owner of the voice stepped up to her right side, her hands behind her back, and a pleasant smile on her painted face. A switch flipped inside Phia’s head. Everything came flooding back to her as if it were her life passing before her eyes. She’d come to talk to the Higher Highness, Gloria Gale, about the Zoos. She’d set it up with Ice to broadcast the talk via the I-Net and her mother to broadcast it via the teletron and radio stations. So, should she not make it out alive or with her memories intact, everyone else would know the truth.

  They had been talking as she’d planned, and then something had happened. But what? She couldn’t remember. She had been standing up, yelling at the H
igher Highness about being a liar and then—nothing. How had she gotten to this room? Had her plan been a success? Did the others know the truth now or had Gloria figured out her plan and stopped it?

  Like the fingers of an ethereal demon, uncertainty crept through the haze clouding Phia’s mind, devouring everything it came in contact with. She should have been feeling fear right now, but she didn’t. Confusion and uncertainty were her only companions. She had made the right decision to come here and had even expected something along these lines to happen. However, she didn’t want her death or her maiming to be in vain. Donté. Then and only then did a sliver of fear skate up her spine. Had the doctor gotten him out? Was he okay?

  Donté, please be okay, she prayed. Don’t worry about me. Wherever you are, know I truly loved you. I’ll always love you. Something wet dribbled down the side of her face. Because you were in it, I had a good life.

  She opened her eyes slowly and would have jumped straight out of her skin if she could’ve moved. Gloria was leaning over her, her face so close to her own if she blinked, their eyelashes would’ve touched.

  “You do know prayer won’t work, don’t you? I mean, if you pray to me, it might.” Gloria twirled away from her, scooped something up, and turned back to Phia. She clapped her hands together in elation, a silver instrument of some type glinting in the waning light. “Then again it probably won’t work either.”

  Phia stared at the woman, hatred and sympathy warring inside of her for dominance. She wanted to hate her and a large part of her did, but a small part of her being also pitied her. It pitied her because she would never know the true worth of the men she used and discarded so easily. It pitied her because her soul was lost and her heart was as cold as stone. It pitied her because even after she tortured and made an example of her, she would still be as lost as she was now.

  “You’re smiling?” Gloria brandished an archaic steel instrument as if the mere sight of it was supposed to elicit fear. “I could cut that smile right off your face, you know?”

  Phia ignored her comment as she continued to gaze at her, trying to decipher how anyone could be filled with such malevolence.

  “As this is a special case, I believe it more pertinent to begin with the third commandment. Thou shall not covet, and work my way backward. What do you think, Phia?” Gloria opened and closed the mouth of the instrument close to Phia’s face, making sure she could see the tiny, sharp steel-like teeth lining both sides. “After this particular lesson, my dear, I’m sure the next time you think of touching anything not belonging to you, you’ll think twice.” She laughed, pushed away from the table Phia was lying on, and came back like a pendulum, “Then again, you won’t have any fingers to touch anything with, will you?”

  “Whatever you decide is fine,” Phia croaked, the weight bearing down on her becoming heavier as warmth swam through her veins, growing hotter and hotter with the passing of time.

  Phia hadn’t known she’d closed her eyes until she felt something cold and hard against her right breast and her eyes opened lethargically. She scanned the ceiling and wondered why there were two ceilings and what the woman had done to make the light she thought was stationary swing as it was.

  “No sleeping. The time for that has passed,” Gloria sang. She seemed to waver between two alternatives momentarily before she said, “You’re acting like such a brave little girl, I think maybe it’s time I tell you a bedtime story. It might be one you’ve heard before. In any case, I’m certain you haven’t heard it quite like this.”

  Her eyes felt so heavy, the darkness at the edges calling to her, promising her rest. She wanted to give in to it if only for a little while. A small voice that was so weak she didn’t truly believe it was her own told her she needed to play along with the woman’s insane game for a little longer.

  Metal scraped against cement—a chair scraping against the floor—and a second later Gloria was sitting right beside the table, her forearms stacked one on top of the other, chin resting on top. Phia glanced at the woman’s serene face. She could feel Gloria’s warm minty breath and could smell her perfume. Her eyes drifted closed again, the darkness promising her peace.

  There were a few annoying flicks of what had to be a finger to the side of her face and her ear, and Phia cracked her eyes open lazily, as a weak smile spread over her face for reasons she wasn’t quite sure of. Perhaps it was her subconscious’s way of telling her all would be put right, or maybe she was experiencing the delirium most people experienced before they died.

  “Story?” she croaked.

  Gloria settled back into place and sighed, “Where to begin? Okay, well President Haras. I’m sure you’ve heard of her, haven’t you?” Not waiting on an answer, she finished, “Of course you have. She was the first female president or as I like to call her, the first Higher Highness of Serenity.”

  “Thirty-One-Year…War,” Phia murmured, her eyes demanding to close, her chest burning.

  “When President Haras decided to go to war, she only had you and women like you in mind. I know you’ve heard the stories about how it’s supposed to be bad luck to say her name and whatnot. It’s appalling the things feeble little minds can come up with when there’s no one to guide them. Anyway, instead of being shunned, President Haras should have her likeness frozen in the finest marble and standing at the highest mountain top for giving us what she has.”

  Metal skittered against the floor again, and Phia cracked her eyes open. The Higher Highness had stood up, and was pacing the floor. Her arms flailed this way and that in an animated fashion as if she were a maestro of a large orchestra.

  “She had a vision of a world where women didn’t walk beside men or behind them—they walked in front them. She had a dream of a world where men recognized us for the goddesses we are,” Gloria said, her tone filled with awe. “Most people don’t know this, so I’m going to give you a quick history lesson.”

  Her eyes must have closed again, because the next thing Phia knew, she was being slapped awake.

  “It’s rude of you to sleep while I’m talking! I already told you, sleep time is over!”

  “Sorry,” she said unrepentantly as she shot the woman a pathetic attempt at a glare.

  “Pay attention! You will not be as disrespectful to the great and wonderful President Haras as you’ve been to me. You will listen, and you will honor her for her greatness!” She leaned in close to Phia and whispered threateningly, “If you close your eyes again, I’ll cut off your eyelids.”

  Phia tried to force herself to focus, if only momentarily, on the woman and the gibberish which was flying from her thin lips.

  “As I was saying, what most people don’t know is that President Haras purposefully saw to it the Thirty-One-Year War began. You see, this was put into action long before a woman even had the right to vote. What was her name? Oh, yes, Victoria Woodhull. She started the cry for power. Unfortunately, back in her time, women were pathetic cowards like you. They were content with being fodder for men and refused to side with her and demand the respect they deserved. It wasn’t until years later when her journals were discovered at a private auction and fell into the hands of Lucienne Haras, the great-great grandmother of Dorothy Haras, that this plan began to truly take form. Dorothy Haras—I swear her ovaries should have been bronzed—went on to give birth to the first female president of these wonderful States, Victoria Haras.”

  Phia’s eyes snapped open at the feel of knives digging into the sides of her cheeks. She hadn’t been sleeping, because she had heard everything the wacko had said. At least she thought she had.

  “Which eyelid do you want to lose first? The right or the left?” Gloria spat at her. “I have deemed you worthy of hearing the true story of our ascension to power and you choose to sleep instead of listening!”

  “I am listening,” Phia croaked.

  Gloria moved away and was back with a roll of gray tape in the blink of a gnat’s eye. She ripped off two thick strips, and using one hand, pried Phia’
s left eyelid open and pressed the tape into place firmly over it. She then repeated the process on the right and stepped back to check her handiwork. “Now, that should help you stay awake.” She must have forgotten her earlier promise. Thank God.

  “What are you doing?” With every attempted blink, pain was her reward and her eyes, she could already tell, were drying out.

  “Ms. Woodhull’s journal was the blueprint our Founding Mothers needed to begin working toward our greatness. Of course, there were several things they tried first, but each of those failed, so there’s no need to speak of them. It wasn’t until Dorothy Haras pointed out the problem was men in their entirety that the Founding Mothers came up with the plan for the Thirty-One-Year War. What better way to get rid of such vermin than in the manner in which they chose to live? From the beginning of time, they were violent beasts, pissing on and pissing off everyone in their paths.” Gloria shuddered with distaste. “Therefore, it took very little to persuade any of the male higher-ups that it was a battle which needed to be fought. What they didn’t expect was by the time it was over the male half of the species would be nearly, if not totally, extinct.” Gloria turned as she bounced a steel instrument against her hip as if she didn’t know what to fix next. “Women have lain in wait since the beginning of time for a chance to get rid of these pricks you covet.” She glared at Phia with disdain. “The women of our country weren’t in it alone. They had help from other women in power from places like Asia, Africa, Australia, Antarctica, South America, and Europe. Powerful women all over the world felt as we did. They were tired of not being good enough. They were tired of having to appear appeasing and submissive even when in a position of power. They were sick of the pigs they worked with and were married to. They were tired of being expected to be home, pregnant and barefoot in a kitchen, slaving over meals for unappreciative children. They were tired of glass ceilings and tired of being tired. So, they did something about it.”