by Anna Zaires
“That's not a bad idea,” he said, stepping so close, so fast, that I jerked back in fright. I heard the click of a car door opening nearby, and two more guys started to walk towards us.
I pulled the can of bear spray out of my handbag, the safety switch already off. Ryan grabbed my wrist faster than I could push the nozzle down to spray a load of mace into his face, and squeezed so hard I could feel bone crunching on itself. I gasped and let go of the can. It bounced on the asphalt and rolled underneath a blue Camry a couple of cars away from us.
“Help!” I yelled to the empty lot, kneeing him in the groin.
He barely reacted. That figures, I thought to myself. No balls.
“Let go of me!” I demanded. “Help!”
“Stop struggling and be quiet,” he said calmly, his grip like an iron vice on both my wrists. He smiled, showing straight white teeth and matching dimples.
I opened my mouth and screamed as loud as I could, then fell hard against the car behind me as a fist slammed into my face. I saw stars and choked, warm blood dribbling from my nose.
Great, he probably broke my nose.
I looked up to see the taller of the two offsiders pointing a gun at my face. “No more noise,” he ordered in a thick accent. Was he Mexican? I couldn’t figure it out, but then, I’d just been punched in the face, so there was that.
With my eyes half shut, I gestured to my handbag. “Take it,” I said numbly, not feeling anything but utter shock at the turn of events in my otherwise normal night. “Here, take my grandmother’s ring. It’s worth at least -”
“Mia,”Ryan cut in. “Honey, I don’t want your ring, or your Canal street knock–off.”
My heart dropped at what that could mean, and bile rushed up in my throat. Before I could swallow it back, I threw up all over his expensive–looking black loafers. I bet nobody had ever done that to him before.
“Goddamn it!” he swore, looking at the mess I had made. “Ford, get a towel or something.”
The shorter of the two guys – the one not pointing a gun at me – high-tailed it towards a black van, moving so fast my eyes couldn’t follow. Man, he really hit me hard.
I stared in shock as he zipped back to us with a pink rag covered in oil, knelt down, and started wiping Ryan’s shoes.
“It's not a knock–off,” I protested. “My bag. It’s genuine.”
Nobody said anything. Why was I defending a fucking bag? Why wasn’t I fighting harder? The world started to spin lazily around me, and ironically, Ryan’s grip was the only thing keeping me from falling into my own vomit that lay splashed between our feet.
“My boyfriend is gonna kick the shit out of you,” I gasped. Even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I couldn’t believe what I was saying.
“Boss, we need to get going,” the one with the gun urged.
Ryan nodded, kicking Ford’s hurried hands away from his feet. “Dose her!” he barked, and something sharp stabbed into my forearm. My mouth formed a horrified O as I saw the taller guy pressing the plunger down on a syringe that was already deep in my skin. He’d moved so fast, I hadn’t even had time to scream.
How did he do that so fast? “What-” I spluttered through a mouth full of cotton wool.
A thousand broken threads of thoughts ran through my addled mind, but I couldn’t move. Couldn’t yell out. Couldn’t even close my stupid mouth. I was literally frozen.
They are going to rape me and kill me and I am going to die.
They are going to bury me in the woods under the snow and nobody will ever know what happened to me.
Or maybe they’ll keep me alive in an underground basement.
Or maybe they want my kidneys.
I am so screwed.
But one terrified thought rose above the rest.
I don’t want to die.
The stuff stung like a bastard as it made its way into my bloodstream, but the pain was short–lived. I didn’t even have time to collect my gaping jaw from the pavement and close my mouth before blackness descended over my vision and I crumpled like a rag doll. Rough hands carried me through the night air, and I landed somewhere that smelled like oil and cigarettes.
The last thought I could form before the darkness closed in was I should have run when I had the chance.
TWO
Dampness. I smelled dampness, and the copper scent of old blood.
My wrists ached. My arms burned, tied above me in an impossible knot, and I came to with a violent jerk when I realized I wasn’t waking up in my own bed. Opening my eyes, I found myself chained from a wooden rafter, crucifixion–style, in a tiny, dark room that had no windows and moss–stained limestone walls. My toes barely touched the cool ground. For a few seconds I struggled with the chains that dug deep into my wrists, but vertigo slammed into me at the slightest movement. Groaning involuntarily, I peered around the room that held me prisoner. The memories of the parking lot, of being taken, rushed at me all at once, and I shuddered.
My face throbbed where I’d been punched. My nose made a sickening scraping noise with every shaky inhalation. Silently, I began to cry, salt water blurring my vision. Things like this didn't happen to girls like me. But this was happening, and it seemed like every bit of good luck I'd ever had was coming back to bite me.
I couldn't get free from my bindings, so I tried to come up with a plan of escape ...
... and drew a blank. Every plan I could think of had the initial step of being untied. With no foreseeable hope, I started to panic, my silent tears turning into heaving sobs.
After a few minutes, my sobs slowed to a steady, silent weeping. Fear churned in my belly as my shocked brain tried to find a way out. I surveyed my dungeon in greater detail, able to swing around on my chain a little to get a three–sixty view of the room. It looked like a small storage room, with one small window behind me that was covered entirely with old plywood, a pile of old rags and blankets underneath. All four walls were made from the same water–stained cinderblock and covered with tufts of moss and green slime. A beige–colored door with an old–fashioned brass keyhole and no handle stood in front of me. An identical door, this one with a handle and no keyhole, was to my left. The room was a perfect square, devoid of furniture, roughly twelve feet by twelve feet. Dull cherry–colored stains littered the concrete floor. I tried not to think of what they could be from.
Under the window, the pile of rags started moving. I screamed.
“Be quiet!” The pile of rags hissed, suddenly moving and sitting up and becoming a girl. Fuck! I’d figured I was alone, and I wasn’t sure whether to scream or be relieved that I had company.
I shook my hands, rattling the rusted chains that kept me suspended. “Help me!” I hissed back.
The girl – who I could now see wasn't a pile of rags, just a very skinny girl – shrugged her blankets off, stood and came over to me. She was young, maybe thirteen, with massive green eyes and dirty, straw–colored hair that fell almost to her waist. She wore a green t-shirt that matched her eyes, though it was covered in dirt and bloodstains. Her jeans were just as filthy. She peered at me, as if trying to decide whether to punch me or give me a hug.
I smiled weakly, gesturing with my hands. “Please?”
She continued to stare at me, unblinking.
“What's your name?” I tried again.
“Kate,” she answered automatically. “You one of them?”
“One of who?”
She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. “One of them vampires.”
Now it was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Um … no?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You ain’t got no bites on you. You must be a vampire.” She glanced disdainfully at my chains. “A sick–in–the–head goddamn vampire. Is this some kinda joke? Tie yourself up so I can let you bite me?”
Jesus. Vampires? They didn’t exist, at least not in real life. The closest I’d come to a vampire was lining up for Skarsgard’s autograph at Comic-Con.
“Kate,” I
said slowly, “I don't know what happened to you, but I was taken.” Images of the guys in the parking lot, the heavy fists, the bumpy car ride, flashed through my thoughts. Images of that smarmy motherfucker who called himself Ryan. I couldn’t believe I’d thought he was attractive. The first chance I got, I was going to rip his balls off and stuff them down his throat. At least, that’s what I wanted to do.
“I was walking to my car. I don't know where I am. Please help me.”
She appeared unsatisfied, but reached up with a reluctant look on her face and started tugging at the chains that pinned my wrists. Before I could blink, I was on my ass on the floor.
“Ow!” I cried as my tailbone screamed in protest.
“You're welcome,” Kate said sarcastically. She retreated to her pile of rags and huddled into the corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest.
“Thanks,” I muttered. “How do we get out of here?”
Kate laughed, and it was such a horrible, dejected laugh it made me shiver.
I looked at her questioningly. “What?”
Her face immediately settled back to a blank. “Why don't you got no bites on you?”
“I don't know!” As I said it, I realized the sores I was seeing all over her arms and neck were a combination of bite marks and deep, straight gashes. “Holy shit,” I gasped. “What did they do to you?”
Her steely composure fell momentarily, and was replaced by acute sorrow. “You must’ve just got here,” she said softly. “I'm surprised they didn't bite you already. You look fulla healthy blood.”
I shuddered.
“There ain’t no gettin’ outta here,” she answered my question. “So quit tryin’. It makes them mad.”
I tried not to freak the fuck out as I thought of my options.
“Are we in New Jersey?” I asked.
Kate shrugged. “I’m from Kansas.”
Where the hell were we?
I thought about that for a while. In the middle of Kansas and New Jersey there was ... about a billion places. Shit!
“Hey Kate?” I asked.
“Mmm?”
“How long have you been here?”
She sighed. “Today makes ninety–three days.”
I choked on the impossibility of that number. Ninety–three days. I would die if I had to stay there that long.
“I can't believe they haven't killed me yet.” She continued softly. “Thirty is usually the limit before they kill you.”
I swallowed back tears and screams. “What–why do you think they let you live this long?”
The age and weariness in her tiny voice was almost too much to bear. As were her words. “Apparently,” she said with finality, “the young ones taste better. And he… likes me. He calls me his pretty baby.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Sometimes, afterwards,” she whispered, her chin trembling, “he lets me sleep next to him for a little while.”
My chest tightened painfully as I read between her faltering words. She’d been cut. She’d been bitten. And beyond all uncertainty, she’d been raped. By Ryan? The one who’d brought me here?
My hatred for him dialled up to eleven as I imagined him pinning her down and taking everything from her.
“Thirty days?” I said quietly. “How do you know?
“Because,” she replied, “you're the fourth roomie I've had.”
I replayed her words in my head, over and over again. Young girls taste the best. Thirty days. They’d bitten her until she bled. Jesus, she was barely a teenager and they’d raped her, and she was grateful for being able to sleep in a real bed for a couple hours afterwards? What were they planning for me?
“You got pretty eyes,” Kate said, looking at me oddly. I smiled sadly. My turquoise blue eyes were my best feature, according to my mother, and people always commented on them.
“Thanks,” I said.
You’re the fourth roomie I’ve had.
Where was I? How was I going to get out of here? I didn't once consider the possibility of not getting out. Only stupid girls got murdered. I would find a way to get out, a way to outsmart these guys ... they just had to come and open the door first. Or the window.
If they were even coming back for us. I'd heard starvation was a nasty way to die.
The sun rose the next morning, through a tiny split in the planks of wood that boarded the solitary window. I had slept on and off, not from choice but from pure exhaustion. Still nobody came, and my stomach rumbled loudly in protest. Kate didn't talk or move much, and spent a lot of time completely passed out. I wondered if it was the blood loss or the lack of food. She really did look like crap.
I used the long, empty morning to explore every inch of our shared cell. I had since discovered the door with the handle opened into a bathroom. The faucets had been removed, but there was a nondescript toilet, a rusted bath, assorted bugs and mildew. There was nothing in the way of weapons. Even the heavy–looking lid of the toilet cistern was screwed on tight. Frustrated, I paced from one tiny room to another, racking my brain for an answer that just didn’t seem to exist.
I spent the rest of the day watching a sliver of sunlight move across the floor and dreaming up ways of escape. But still, nobody came. As the sunlight waned and my captivity approached 24 hours, I really did wonder if I would live to see my family again.
My second night in the dungeon, someone finally made an appearance. Two of the guys that had taken me – one, whose name I knew was Ryan, and the other, the guy Ryan had called Ford, the one who wiped my vomit off Ryan's shoes. Ford immediately stormed in, grabbed Kate up off the floor, and dragged her out into the hallway. The door slammed shut and I was left alone with the one who had broken my nose. My heart was beating so loud, I could barely hear anything over the roaring of my blood.
“Stand up,” Ryan said, tossing me a plastic bag full of stuff. I peered into the bag, seeing – and smelling – cold–cut sandwiches, potato chips and a plastic bottle of water. Mouth watering, I left the bag on the floor and stood on rubbery legs. I didn't want to obey him, but I sure as hell didn't want him to kick the crap out of me if I stayed sitting down.
“Where am I?” I asked. “What is this place?”
For someone that took young girls and bit them all over and raped them, he sure didn't look too excited by my presence.
“What do you want?” I kept throwing questions at him. “Who are you?”
“You’re exactly where you’re meant to be,” he answered sharply. “If you keep asking questions, I’ll kill you.”
“You broke my nose,” I said accusingly, narrowing my eyes. “I liked my nose.”
He raised his eyebrows, coming closer, peering at my nose. “I could punch you again, straighten it up?”
I pulled my head back, just out of his reach. “Screw you.”
“Do you need anything? More blankets?”
I stared incredulously at this teetering Jekyll and Hyde who wanted to punch me and get me a blankie in the same conversation. “I need to get home,” I said slowly, as if I were speaking to a moron. “I have my geometry final in two days. My mom is going to kill me if I don’t call her.”
His tone was dry. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to be a problem anymore.”
Fear shot up my spine again. “Look—” I started.
“No, you look,” he said dangerously, putting a hot hand around my throat and squeezing. “I didn’t come in here to make casual conversation.”
I gasped and choked for air.
“Just do what you’re told. Cooperate. It’ll be over soon enough.”
I nodded weakly, still choking. He released his grip and I fell to my knees, coughing as I held my throat with both hands. He waited, staring at me blankly, as I found the air to speak.
As I asked the question I wasn’t sure I wanted answered.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He laughed, but his mask slipped a little, because he faltered. “Of course not.”
“Well then you’re p
retty stupid,” I shot. “Letting me see your face. Your license plate. Your tattoo.” I pointed to the black, luminous symbol etched onto his wrist that looked like a pair of eagle’s wings.
“Are you trying to talk me into it?” he asked with a smirk.
I glared at him.
“I know what you’re doing, sweetie. You’re trying to provoke me.”
“How am I doing so far?”
He grinned like the smug bastard he was. “Not bad.”
There was a scream from the hallway. I looked past Ryan, to the open doorway, and then back to him, trying to figure out a way to just get past him.
“Did you bite her?” I demanded. “Did you…” Damn, I couldn’t finish my question. I didn’t want to think about that.
He raised a hand to the side of my head and fisted a handful of my hair; not hard enough to hurt me, but enough to send a message – if I moved an inch, he’d tear my scalp off. I felt my breathing quicken, a thin sheen of sweat gathering over my chest as I fought the urge to strike out at him. I liked my hair, and I didn’t like my chances of being able to hurt him in any way. My heart sped up like a jackhammer, filling my ears with the roar of my own blood.
I whimpered as he brought his mouth down to my neck and grazed his teeth ever-so-slightly against my skin. Something about the way he held me compliant was so utterly overpowering, I couldn’t begin to try and protest.
“Please,” he said against my neck, “finish your question.”
I couldn’t.
“Did I,” he nipped lightly at my neck, “bite her? Or did I fuck her?”
I breathed rapidly, my limbs like butter, melting into the wall, into him. The room spun. Would I pass out? No. I very much did not want to pass out in his cruel embrace.
“I don’t kiss and tell,” he drawled, pushing me away so my head smacked against the wall. My knees buckled and I leaned back, splaying my hands against cool limestone for support. He pointed to the bag of food. “Now be a good girl and eat all your dinner.” Before I could respond, he turned and left the room, locking the door behind him.