by H M Sealey
“Get back in the bag.” He orders. I stare at the thick cloth in horror. Nothing would induce me to get back in there.
“What? No.”
“Do it girl, there are people coming. I can brazen this out.”
He half forces me into the horrible smelling bag and zips it up, over my head, then pushes me to the floor. I lie there, trapped in a tiny space, unable to move, sweating from the heat.
An instant later the door swings open. I fight to remain completely motionless.
“Hey?” The new voice is barely muffled by the cloth. “Who’re you and what the fuck are you doing here?”
“Police.” Kit answers breezily, I wonder if he’s shown his ID.
“Yeah? Whose police?”
I think that question confuses Kit. It confuses me. “Just the police.”
“Yeah, but whose police? Who sent you, ‘cos this is all legal and above board.”
“The police.” Kit repeats and there’s a pause.
“You mean from over the Border? Old Britain?” Someone laughs. “You’ve got no authority here pal. This lot are all bought and paid for. I can show you the receipt.”
“Don’t worry mate,” Kit sounds relaxed, like none of this is freaking him out. “I’m conducting an investigation and I think a girl I need to question has ended up here by mistake.”
“There won’t be a mistake. We’re careful. You want one of this lot back, you talk to the seller.”
“I will. Who sells them?”
“Yeah, like I’m at liberty to tell you that. You’ll have to talk to Zeb. He keeps all the details.”
“Zeb?” Kit repeats that word, he sounds surprised. “This is Zeb’s place?”
“What gave it away? The great big sign on the gates?”
Kit gives a natural, easy chuckle. My leg starts to cramp and I want to stretch it.
“So Zeb’ll be able to tell me who sold this lot then?”
“Yeah. He paid fifty grand a head for these ones.”
I think I want to be sick, I need fresh air. Why isn’t Kit appalled at this?
“So these bodies aren’t dead?” He asks.
“Nope. Most’ll be coming round in a minute.”
“Right. So did they all chose to use Assisted Suicide?”
“As far as I know. I mean, they’re only fucked up in the head aren’t they, suicides, so letting them do away with themselves is a waste. And we only get the under-thirties in otherwise good physical condition.” He laughs to himself. “They’re easier to bring in like this than when we buy them from the Wolves. At least nobody’s screaming. Bought a girl the other day, Wolves had raped her so badly she was bleeding everywhere. Wouldn’t have bought her, only it’s hard to say no to the Wolves, they’re fucking terrifying.”
“I bet.” Kit agrees amicably. I can hear him fishing for information though. Isn’t he appalled at what that man just told him? Why isn’t he storming out and threatening to tear this place apart with a huge police investigation? That’s what the police are meant to do, protect the weak?
“What about the bodies?” Kit asks. “I mean, don’t the families want to see them after they’ve topped themselves?”
“I don’t think they take ones with close family, but you guys over in Old Britain, you’ve screwed the family up anyway. There are plenty who come here and nobody gives a flying fuck.”
I really am going to be sick.
“So nobody comes looking for them?”
“You’re a nosy sod aren’t you?” The man’s voice becomes more suspicious. “What’re you after? Like I said, you can check everything with Zeb. They’re all paid for. This is legit.”
“I told you, I need to speak with someone you’ve got. And Zeb knows me.”
That seems to placate the man. There’s another pause. “Well, I suppose if Zeb let you in it must be okay. Do you know which bag she’s in?”
To my massive relief, Kit unzips the fabric from over my face and helps me out, I gasp.
“This one.”
I blink in the light and stare into the face of a small, scruffy looking man with a sparse beard. He scrolls through his tablet, leans forwards, and grabs my hand, pulling it towards him. That’s when I notice a number scrawled on in black ink. 753.
“Elsie Kessler. Twenty-four.” He reads my name on his tablet. I don’t respond, just stare at him dumbly. “Okay. You can talk to her for ten minutes, while I get these ones prepped. Give me your hands.”
Confused, I look to Kit who nods, so I hold out my wrists. To my horror, the man twists a thin, plastic band around them, and tugs it tight.
“If you pull on these too much they’ll get tighter, so don’t.” He tells me, then glances at Kit. “Room opposite’s free. You’ve got until I get the others ready.”
He pushes the door open and calls out. “Larry! Finn! Get your arses in here before they wake up!”
Kit takes me my the arm and hustles me out into the corridor. There are two other men, both who nod to Kit but barely acknowledge me. The room opposite is dark, but Kit locates a light switch and the bare cell floods with harsh light. There’s nothing in here other than a few wooden crates.
“Can you take this off?” I twist my wrists but the man was right, the plastic cord just tightens.
“Not just yet.” Kit shakes his head. “Elsie, what do you think’s going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“I think you’ve worked it out too, you just don’t want to believe it.” He steers me to one of the boxes. “Come on, sit down. You look like you’re about to faint.”
“I don’t believe anyone from Old Britain would sell people.” I say quietly. “They just wouldn’t. People-trafficking’s a serious crime.”
Kit folds his arms. “Yet here you are. Our friend out there claims this is legitimate. It would seem people who choose Assisted Suicide – if they’re young and healthy – are not being given the correct drugs and then trafficked. Which suggests to me that there’s something organised going on.”
“Organised?”
“Of course organised. Someone has to sign the death certificate, someone has to verify the body is dead. I’d like to know more about this.” His eyes sparkle as if this something fun. An exciting puzzle to solve.
“I want to go.”
“You wanted to die.”
Suddenly I want to scream. I’ve never felt so confused or frightened. “I wanted to escape! Okay! I wanted to escape you and your horrible investigation. I don’t know what Gran thought she was doing with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff but I don’t know anything about it! And then you were asking all these questions, and poor Mrs. Blackwood was there, and Noor didn’t want to go to the BSI, and Dai stole money to go and all I wanted was for you to rescue him! Then I started to remember my family! My real family. I was taken away from the people I loved by people like you who thought destroying a family was the right thing to do!”
I start to sob loudly and half cover my face with my restrained hands.
“Would you say that if you were being beaten Elsie? Wouldn’t be have been grateful to the state for intervening?”
“But I wasn’t being beaten!” I remember the hugs and the kisses, the kind words and above all, the closeness.
“You were being abused. The state did its duty.”
“Don’t give me that!” I hiss as I automatically pull on my restraints and realise that they really are getting tighter. “Who decides what constitutes abuse? You can use that as an excuse to tear families apart as much as you want can’t you? Until all children are indoctrinated. That’s abuse! I was abused by the state! By monsters like you!”
Kit slaps me. I gasp at the shock and fall back, choking on tears.
“Right now the last thing I need is a hysterical woman, so pull yourself together.”
I sniff back the tears as best I can. “This is horrible. All of it. I just want my Gran back.”
Kit doesn’t answer at once, and when he does, his tone is not sym
pathetic. “Your grandmother Elsie, has been helping to orchestrate Family Matters for at least a decade. I want to know everything about her, especially her friends.”
I’m calmer now. “She doesn’t have many friends really, she keeps – kept – herself to herself.”
“Oh come on Elsie, you know more than that. She gave you this locket. I want to know what the numbers mean.”
“She didn’t give me the locket, I found it by accident, it was hidden in an old vase.” I don’t mention the bible. “Until I saw Noor I had no idea about any of this, I swear.”
“But you saw Noor?” I realise I’ve just told him something he didn’t know. That was stupid.
I nod slowly. “She was hiding in Gran’s garden shed.”
“I wonder what other important things you’ve seen over the years.”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not really good enough Elsie. I told you, you’re my only lead, especially since my sister got her hands on Howard Steele.”
I look up and blink away the tears. “Howie?”
“Was sent to the Rainbow Centre. Kat pulled some strings. She’s still trying to best me. Well, she has Howard and I have you. Even if you knew nothing of your Grandmother’s activities, you still might have information I can use.” He flounces away across the room. “Damn, I can’t just leave you here.”
“This…..this must be illegal. People Trafficking. Can’t you get the police? The rest of them I mean?” They moved quickly enough when Gran tried to smuggle Noor away, so they must have people who know what they’re doing.
“We’re in the Border Elsie, I don’t have jurisdiction here. I shouldn’t even be here. I’ll have to get a Border pass sorted out. That’ll cost.”
“But it’s wrong.”
“Talk sense, I can’t just blunder in without a lot more information.” He shakes his head. “I’ll have to convince Zeb to let me borrow you back for a while.”
“Who’s Zeb?”
“It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t like me much, so he might be awkward. Never mind, I’ll see what I can do.”
The way he speaks, he sounds almost as if he’d leave me here.
“I – I don’t want to stay here.” Whatever is being planned, it doesn’t look nice.
“What you want isn’t important Elsie. Damn this mess.”
“This is illegal!” I say again. “And you’re a policeman.”
“A police officer, not a policeman. You’re not meant to use gendered terms. The feminists don’t like it. And heaven forbid we upset those harridans.”
I’ve never heard anyone regard feminism with anything other than the utmost respect. There are legal consequences otherwise. Kit notices my expression and grins. It’s not a pleasant grin at all.
“What? You don’t think everyone believes the crap NuTru teaches, do you?”
This is a shocking thought, but its not my priority. “I’ve been kidnapped.” I manage to say.
“It’s obviously not kidnap, not if it’s legal here. This is clearly carefully planned. I wonder whether it’s common knowledge? I don’t want to stir up a hornet’s nest by investigating. God knows I’ll need my pension.”
“Hang on? You snatch little girls from their mothers and chase the people who try to help them, but you won’t investigate genuine people-smuggling in case it jeopardises your pension?” Could any man be more callous or self-serving?
Kit ignores me. “Don’t whine Elsie, I’m trying to think. I can’t very well leave you here.”
“What about all the other people?”
“Give me a break, they don’t matter. They’re not involved with Family Matters.”
“They’re people! People who exercised their right to die. And the government made a huge thing of it, all those adverts about life getting too much and not to be afraid to go gently into that good night. The government wants people to choose Assisted Suicide. I mean, the cynics said it was just to stop old people claiming their pensions but…..” An awful thought hits me and it hurts. “What if they want us to choose death so they can sell us? There were at least twenty bags in that room.”
Twenty bags selling for fifty thousand each, it’s a paltry sum for a human being but Assisted Suicide numbers are high. Hundreds of thousands of people every year.
Kit waves me away. “They couldn’t get away with it on that scale Elsie, the Assisted Suicide drugs are carefully regulated. Damn this, I need to talk to someone.”
He pulls the heavy door open and calls out. “Hey? Can I get a little help here?”
After a few moments the first man appears, he looks harassed. “What is it? At least two of this batch were bagged wrong, they’ve suffocated, so somebody’s going to be pissed off.”
I shudder at the ease with which this man speaks of death. He glances over Kit’s head and looks at me. “Hasn’t tried to run has she? The boss had a runner the other day, knocked his missus senseless. Didn’t get very far though.”
“Nothing like that. I just wondered if I could speak to your boss. You see, I really, really need this girl’s help.”
Again, the man looks at me. “I don’t know. Big auction on Thursday and redheads often get good prices. Is it really important?”
“Yes.”
“Tell you what. Lend a hand getting the rest of this lot sorted, and I’ll see if Zeb has ten minutes.”
“Thanks. Hey, you any idea whose idea it was to swap the real AS drugs for dummies? I mean, it’s genius.” How can Kit say that? I assume he’s only acting, ingratiating himself with the criminals, but doesn’t he feel sick?
“Don’t ask me pal. I mean, slavery’s as old as the hills and nobody pretends they don’t believe in it here, but I don’t know whose brainchild this is. They deserve a medal though.”
He nods to me. “Bring her through with the others. It’s a pity she’s so wide awake, we usually prefer to brand them while they’re still dozy from the drugs. Hurts less that way.”
~
~ Thirteen ~
Missy
There were other girls in the building; Missy met them briefly before Zeb took her into a small, white room equipped like a doctor’s surgery. The figure behind the desk was a sour-looking woman in early middle-age with a lot of dark hair piled up on top of her head. She looked annoyed to see them and raised her eyes from her laptop on which was playing a news report.
“I thought I’d done with your girls for today Zeb. I do have a life you know.”
“Sorry doc. This one’s part of Thursday’s batch.”
“So why didn’t I see her with the others?”
Zeb shrugged. “I hadn’t made my mind up about her.”
The doctor looked unimpressed. “All right, fine. Come here you.”
Missy, her wrists now bound together with thin, but horribly strong, plastic cords, stumbled forwards and stood in the glare of the doctor’s unpleasant gaze. She held out a hand and Zeb placed an old-fashioned clipboard into her grip. The doctor scanned the page.
“How do your stitches feel?”
“Which ones?”
“All of them. You have four in the back of your head and eight internal. Everything feel normal?”
“I suppose?”
“You can pass water comfortably?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. No headaches? Dizziness?”
Missy shook her head.
“Have you had the morning after jab?” The doctor frowned at the notes the gazed at Zeb with a similar expression. “Well, has she? Says here she had sex with nine men. Has she had the morning after jab?”
“Excuse me?” Missy disliked this woman already. “I didn’t have sex with anyone, not voluntarily.”
The doctor barely looked at her. “It doesn’t matter what you call it. It can’t really be considered rape, can it?”
“Can’t it?” Missy set her jaw. “Why not?”
“Because it’s normal behaviour for the Wolves.”
“Normal behaviour?”
/> “We certainly can’t stop them doing whatever the Hell they want.” She glanced at Zeb. “It was the Wolves I take it?”
“As far as I know.”
The doctor grunted, laid down the clipboard and opened a drawer. From here she brought out a little glass vial and a syringe.
“We can give you the jab now, just in case.”
She pushed the needle into Missy’s upper thigh without even warning her how much it would hurt. Missy yelped.
“Don’t be such a baby. You wouldn’t want to be pregnant right now, would you?”
Missy wasn’t certain there was an answer she could give that wouldn’t sound insulting.
Zeb craned his neck and stared at the computer screen. He made a little sound of irritation in his throat. “What are they protesting about this time?”
The doctor glanced back at the laptop which showed footage of a vast protest outside Plas Gwyn. Banners and screaming women shaking their fists at the camera.
“That? We’re protesting Ollie Jackson taking over as leader of NuTru. Should have been Diana Lamont. We haven’t had a female PM for a decade.”
“Ollie Jackson seems okay to me.”
She gave him a look of scorn. “Well you would think that. He’s a man, what can he know about what women need from a government?”
“I guess he was voted in fair and square.”
“By men.”
“Women too.”
“Probably still have internalised misogyny. You know how strongly I feel about women’s rights Zeb. A hundred years of feminism we still have fewer women than men in government and business.”
Missy’s mouth opened before she could stop it. “What about my rights?”
Both occupants in the room stared at her. “What?”
“I was kidnapped, brought here against my will, raped, tied up. What about fighting for my rights?”
The doctor looked confused. “You’re a piece of merchandise now. You don’t have any rights.”
“I’m a woman being sold to men!”
“No, not to men. Or not only to men.” She smiled at Missy, a cold smile. “This is the Border. Do you know there are as many women in positions of power here as men? The minister in charge of the protection of slaves is a woman. Men, women and minorities are completely equal here.”