Shackled

by Ray Garton

  Ed put the briefcase on the trunk, opened it, and took out something that looked like a credit card. He handed it to Ethan.

  "This is your ID, Padre," he said.

  Ethan looked into his eyes without even glancing at the card. "What do you mean, my ID? What are you talking about?"

  Ed stepped forward, close to Ethan, and said, "Listen to me. We get caught, you don't want them to know who you really are, do you?"

  "Why not? After all. I'm looking for my son and — "

  "What about your wife? Your little girl? Huh? You think about that?"

  Ethan's mouth snapped shut.

  Ed continued. "We're not goin' in there as ourselves. We can't. Too dangerous. We're goin' in there armed with IDs that say we're FBI agents. And armed with, uh ... other things."

  Ethan thought about that a moment, then hissed, "I will not carry a gun."

  "Fine, fine, you don't have to. As long as you stick with me and Doc and as long as we remain healthy, you're fine. Somethin' happens to us, though, you're on your own."

  Quietly and confidently, Ethan said, "I am never on my own, Ed."

  Ed's face softened a bit and he averted his eyes from Ethan's as he nodded slowly.

  "Now," Ethan said, looking at the card in his hand, "about these IDs. We're posing as FBI agents? Isn't that ... illegal?"

  "Yeah, it's illegal, 'Course, we could go in there and introduce ourselves, if you want. Tell 'em what we want. But I really don't think that's gonna work as well."

  Ethan's eyes squinted beneath his frown as he stared at the card. "Yes, I understand, but ... it's just that this ... well, this is — "

  "A lie, Padre," Ed said, leaning toward him. "Yeah, it's a lie, all right. I know you're a man of god, and everything, but don't tell me you never lied once in your whole life. Not even a white lie? A little white lie to do somethin' good? Well, that's what this is, a white lie. In fact, this lie is so white, they could use it in a detergent commercial. Besides that, it's gonna help us find your son. How about that, huh? What, don't you think god's gonna approve?"

  Ethan looked up from the card slowly and tried hard, but without much success, not to glare at Ed. "Please, Ed, do not patronize me. I have no problem with your plan, and I'm sure god does not, either. But I do not want to go into this blind. I want to understand completely what I am doing."

  Ed grinned and gave one firm, enthusiastic nod. "Good for you, Padre." He patted Ethan's shoulder. "No offense intended. You're an okay guy. And, uh, if it makes any difference ... I think god is, too. Always have. Now. What you need to do is take everything out of your wallet and pockets that has your real name on it, your address, or anything else about you. Put it in the briefcase. We'll leave it here. Put that card in your wallet where you usually keep your driver's licence. And try to hurry. We wanna catch that next shuttle."

  Ethan pulled out his wallet, began to remove cards and toss them into the briefcase.

  When Ethan was through, Ed said, "Okay, now all you need to remember is this. We get into a situation where somebody starts talkin' to us, you don't say anything. I'll do all that. I've done this before and I'm pretty sure you haven't. If you do have to talk to somebody — I don't think that's gonna happen, but just in case — remember who you are. You're not Ethan Walker. You're Special Agent Timothy Clarke. I'm Special Agent Walter Lahey. Doc, here, is Special Agent Ronald Lee. Between now and the time we get into that mansion, you gotta look at that card and tattoo that name to your brain, understand? Somebody corners you, act like you mean business. Show 'em your ID, tell 'em who you are, then tell 'em you're there on assignment, following up a lead, but you can't tell 'em any more than that 'cause it's classified. Comin' from an FBI agent, people'll believe that. Now, who are you and why are you there?"

  "I'm, uh, I-I'm — " Ethan opened his wallet quickly and glanced at the card. "I'm Special Agent Timothy Clarke. And I'm, uh, I'm here on assignment. Following up a lead. That's all I can say. It's um, classified."

  Ed glanced at Doc, then looked sternly at Ethan. "You run that through your head on the way up the hill, Padre. Run it through your head a lot. You probably won't even have to use that stuff, but if you do, you'd better have it memorized and be convincing, no stuttering and stammering. Now, when we get out of the shuttle and go inside, we gotta stick with the other people in the bus with us. We'll blend in better that way. Walk in that mansion like you own the place. Don't look around like you're impressed with anything, just like you been there lotsa times before. Don't look like you're nervous or you're lookin' for somethin'. Just look comfortable. Happy to be there. Smile a little, y'know? At other people. Smile and nod, like a nice guy. You and I'll talk while we walk around, munch on some food, maybe have something to drink. Just remember ... be pleasant. You were invited. So. First rule, we stick with the group. Second rule, you stick with us. Got it?"

  Ethan clenched his teeth and snapped through them, "Why didn't you tell me all of this sooner, dammit!"

  Ed flinched at the pastor's last word. "Well ... never thought of it, I guess. Doc and I are used to this stuff."

  Teeth still clenched, Ethan looked down at the card in his wallet, then said quietly, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you that way. But I'm under more, uh, stress than I'm accustomed to."

  Ed chuckled and threw an arm around Ethan's shoulders. "Hey, Padre, we're all human. And pressure sucks, y'know?"

  Ethan looked up at the big man. "Ed, what exactly are we looking for?"

  "Don't know yet. But we'll probably recognize it when we see it. Now, whattaya say we put this briefcase back in the trunk and go catch ourselves a shuttle bus?"

  The shuttle passed through the ornate, wrought-iron gates and started up the long, oak-lined path toward the glowing mansion that sprawled over the top of the hill.

  The closer and larger the mansion became, the more nervous Ethan felt. Bright light shone up from the mansion toward the clear night sky, so bright that it dimmed the shining stars to vague, dustlike specks.

  Ethan had seen pictures of it in newspapers. He had seen footage of the interior on the news and on talk shows ... scantily clad women orbiting a dark man with a toupee on his head who was usually carrying a drink and smoking a long, thin, brown cigarette ... paintings and statues of women and men in various stages of dress and coupling.

  Although he did not approve of what the man did, Ethan tried to make no personal judgments about him; that was god's job and no one else's. How Calisto chose to conduct his life was his business, between him and god and nobody else.

  If, however, Calisto was connected in any way to Samuel's disappearance ... well, then it would be very difficult for Ethan not to be judgmental. Very judgmental.

  In front of the mansion was a circular drive with a huge fountain surrounded by countless flowers in the center. Water sprouted from the fountain and up into the beams of hidden colored lights.

  Across from the shuttle bus, another path branched off from the circular drive, leading to a parking area where a number of vans were parked, each with a logo on the side: two from local TV stations, one from CNN, another from Entertainment Tonight, and others from Inside Edition, A Current Affair, Hard Copy, and others with no identification on the outside.

  Across from the fountain, a massive staircase led up to the ornate double doors of the mansion. Metal-gray dragons with sparkling, almond-shaped, bloodred eyes stood on their hind legs, facing one another like sentries on either side of the foot of the stairs.

  Ethan let out a slow, quavering sigh and sent up a silent prayer as the shuttle slowed to a stop in front of the ominous, red-eyed dragons ...

  2

  Lacey sat perfectly still as Zanetta began to apply a thin layer of liquid foundation to her face. She had already done Lacey's nails and hair, working confidently, like a professional.

  Zanetta was tall and beautiful and curvaceous, like all the other girls in the mansion, although her breasts were considerably larger than most. She was not, however, a
s nice as most of the others.

  This was the first time Lacey had met Zanetta. She was black, with skin the color of light coffee, and long, full, kinky hair that was pulled up slightly in back, then fell nearly to her waist in a long, thick ponytail. She looked in her early thirties, spoke little, but when she did, her voice was cold and hard, and she did not smile.

  Most of the girls in the mansion were friendly enough. Some were shy, others deliberately standoffish. But Zanetta seemed to have a quiet chip on her shoulder, the kind she was able to keep to herself, but only barely.

  It was for that reason that Lacey found Zanetta intriguing the instant she met her. For once, she had found someone who actually seemed to feel something in this palatial prison.

  They were in front of a long vanity mirror that was surrounded by bright lightbulbs. Makeup was spread over the vanity — brushes, pencils, and small, colorful palettes — and Zanetta turned to it again and again, her movements smooth and professional.

  Lacey had been trying to make conversation ever since Zanetta had started working on her nails, but with little success. Zanetta would nod, or give monosyllabic responses with a thick, southern drawl.

  It wasn't until Zanetta started working on Lacey's eyes that they began to talk, cautiously at first.

  "I don't know why he did this," Lacey said quietly, tilting her head back a bit so Zanetta could work.

  "What?"

  "Huh?"

  "Did what? Who?"

  "Rex. Why he made me the centerfold. I don't know why."

  " 'Cause you's gaw-juss, honey," Zanetta muttered.

  Lacey surprised herself by giggling. "Well, that's nice of you to say. But if you want to know the truth, I think you're a lot prettier than I'll ever be. How come you're not in the centerfold, huh?"

  Zanetta laughed and backed away from Lacey. "Don' you know nothin', honey? I been inna cennerfol'. Few years back." She went back to work on the eye shadow, her hands moving quickly but delicately as she carefully mixed colors. "Ever' girl innis house been inna cennerfol' one time or anothuh."

  "Really?"

  "Mm-hm. What you think we doin' here? You think we jus' applied f’jobs, or somethin'?"

  After a moment Lacey asked, "Where are you from, Zanetta?"

  "Same place you's from, sugah. Same place."

  Lacey frowned.

  "Stop that. I can' work y'eyes, you do that."

  Lacey pulled her head back and looked up at Zanetta. "What do you mean, you're from the same place I am? You're from Red Bluff?"

  Zanetta grinned around beautifully straight, white teeth and laughed even louder than before. "Boy, f’somebody's gotten this far in this here place, y'all sure don' know much do ya?"

  Lacey looked a bit concerned. "I guess not."

  "Well, I guess tha's all for th'best. We ain't s'posed t'be talkin' 'bout this kinda stuff, y'know. Now, put y'head back an' let me finish."

  "No, no, wait a second. Where are you from?"

  Zanetta suddenly looked serious, almost stern. She whispered, "Y'know, this here room might be bugged."

  Lacey whispered, too. "So whisper it in my ear."

  Leaning close, Zanetta breathed, "I’s from South Carolina. Li'l town called Beakly. Okay? Y'happy now, missy?"

  "Then ... that's not what you meant," Lacey muttered, frowning.

  "Now, y'all lean y'head back an' let me work."

  Lacey did not lean her head back. "So then ... you're from ... down there. That dark place ... with all those men ... in those leather masks ... and those — "

  Zanetta set her jaw and narrowed her eyes angrily. When she finally spoke in a quiet hiss, she pointed the eye-shadow brush in her right hand at Lacey's face. "Y'all listen t'me, now, y'hear? You keep talkin' 'bout this stuff, y'all sendin' y'self to a world a trouble. I been here longer'n you. I know y'prob'ly had some bad stuff happen to ya, but that ain' nothin' compared to what'll happen, you keep talkin' 'bout stuff like that. Now, I don' know 'bout you, but I jis wanna go m'own way and stay outta trouble. This ain' no picnic bein' here ... but I seen worse. You wanna get y'self mest up, tha's fine. But you leave me out of it. Now lean that head back, 'fore I hafta knock it back, missy."

  Lacey's head did not move as she whispered imploringly, "Zanetta, you're the only other girl who's really talked to me since I got here."

  "Tha's prob'ly 'cause I ain' got half th'sense god gave okra."

  "No, no, please ... you've been through this. I need to talk to somebody like you, Zanetta. Please."

  She pressed the knuckle of a forefinger to her chin and chewed her lower lip, then said quietly, "Look, if we's late with this, the big boss'll come in here an' beat th'color outta me, then beat some color into you, see what I’s sayin'? Tell y'what. You leans y'head back and lemme work, mebbe we talk."

  Lacey gave her a warm smile, then leaned her head back and relaxed as Zanetta went back to work on her eyes.

  When they spoke, they spoke very quietly, secretively, as if someone might be listening or watching. In fact, they hardly moved their lips as they talked.

  "How did they get you?" Lacey asked.

  "I’s runnin' 'way from home. Hitchin' on th'interstate. I ran 'way from home 'cause my daddy's doin' things t'me he shouldna been doin'."

  "Really? Me, too!" Lacey was barely able to hide her excitement at hearing that someone else had been through the same thing.

  "Some man, he pick me up, say he's a preacher. All upset 'bout my perdicament, he says t'me. He wanna help me out. Yeah, he helped me out ... like a dog's got wings's 'bout as much as he helped me out."

  "And you were brought here?"

  "Yeah, eventually. After lotsa people raped me ... took movies an' pitchers a'me."

  "How long ago was that?"

  "Oh ... I don' rightly know. Been a while, I s'pose."

  "Well ... how old were you then, Zanetta?"

  "I’s fifteen."

  "And how old are you now?"

  "Well ... soun's silly, but I ain' sure. I s'pect I’s mebbe ... nineteen, there'bouts."

  Lacey blinked her surprise, pressing her lips together.

  "Hey, stop that, 'kay? Ya's smudgin' th'colors."

  After a long moment, Lacey whispered, "Look, Zanetta, I don't mean to offend you, but ... well, I thought you were maybe thirty ... thirty-one or -two."

  Zanetta grinned as she worked. "How old're you, honey?"

  "I said before. I'm sixteen."

  "Well ... you look at me now, an' you's seein' y'self in a few years."

  "But ... where will I be in a few years?"

  "Oh, you's could be in any one of a few places. You's could still be here, or if you's too much trouble, if you's actin' up, he'll do somethin' with you. Somethin' to make a profit."

  "You mean, he'll sell me?"

  "Well, why not, girl? He boughtcha. Yeah, he can' use ya, he'll make some money off ya. Thassa way it works here, y'know."

  "So ... how have you gotten through it, Zanetta? I mean, how have you lasted? This long?"

  "I tell ya, honey. They's lotsa other girls innis house. They's everywhere, walking' aroun', doin' things. Like robots. They's just bought into it. But as far's I'm concerned, they's only two people here. Me'n Jesus."

  "You're ... a Christian?"

  "Tha's right, girl, I's a Christian. Now, I done some bad things. And I's still doin' some bad things. Bad things keep happenin' to me here. But still, iss jus' me'n Jesus. An' I know that he ain' like Rex. He's forgivin'. He's gonna be with me while I'm here and after I'm gone. 'Cause he's th'only real frien' I ever had in my life. Leastwise, th'only one ever knew my troubles an' stood by me."

  Silence, then Lacey said, "My mother's a Christian. But she never acted like one. She knew what my dad was doing to me, but she didn't do anything about it. And she didn't believe me when I tried to tell her."

  "That ain' Christianity, baby. Tha's desperation. Fear. Mebbe when y'get older, you be able t'forgive y'momma. Try not t'hold it agin her. Or agin Christianity
. You only got one momma, and while she may be a bad Christian, and while they may be lotsa bad Christians, that don' reflect bad on Jesus Christ. You jus' 'member, honey, that no matter what — "

  The door of the room opened and Rex burst in, moving in the quick, jerky manner that was typical, of him when he was excited or upset.

  For a moment, a heartbeat, a quick cold instant, Zanetta's face became a mask of raw, withering terror. Her hand stopped working for only a second, then continued as her face seemed to swallow its look of fear.

  "How's it coming, here?" Rex muttered, slamming the door behind him. First, he stood behind Lacey and looked at her in the mirror, reaching around to squeeze her breasts hard, then slithering one hand down past her abdomen to press hard between her legs. He was smiling, his lips even wetter than usual so that he had to keep running the tip of his tongue over them.

  To keep from drooling, Lacey thought as she ignored his hands.

  He pressed his lips to her ear. "Tonight's the night, babe," he mumbled. "A star. That's what you're going to be after tonight. A star. You know, there are movie people out there right now. I'm talking about producers, agents, powerful people, big people. And that's aside from the press. They're all out there, too. And do you know why? For you. All for you."

  To avoid trouble, Lacey gave him her best grin. "I'm excited, but I'm nervous."

  "Hey, baby, don't you worry about a thing. I'm gonna be by your side the whole time. You'll do just fine." He pulled away from her and walked around the chair. "So, Zanetta, how's the makeup coming?"

  Zanetta pulled away from Lacey and glanced up at Rex. "Jus' fine."

  Rex walked around behind Zanetta and smiled at Lacey as he reached around and clutched Zanetta's breasts. He crooked his fingers into fat, hairy claws and dug them in, his hands appearing small in comparison to Zanetta's round, firm endowments. As he did that, he pressed his groin hard to her behind and rubbed it back and forth slowly. "Well, you just make sure you do it right, Zanetta. You know what happens if you don't."