Broken Revival

by Autumn Winchester

  I would bring down this sex slave ring, and save as many innocent people as I could in the process. I just hoped that I could get it done sooner rather than later.

  I didn’t know what to expect as I got out of my car, fifteen minutes before the auction would take place. I wasn’t too gentle with shutting the car door, either. Most of the cars in the parking lot were rentals, with a few pricey cars in the mix. I knew most of these people who would be here tonight, and they had a huge amount of money to waste. They wanted no lasting ties when they left—and there wouldn’t be.

  Each man here knew the risks and took such measures to keep those low, so any law enforcement agent could not trace anything to them personally. Even the CIA had been kept away. Of course, I wouldn’t put it past some of the agents to be working undercover, just like me. Some were likely to be being paid to turn a blind eye.

  I nodded and made small talk to a few men as I walked towards the opened door of the nondescript building downtown. I would guess many of these men did odds and ends like myself to prove their trustworthiness. I started out with selling drugs, hiding inventory, and a few other petty things. I proved myself by letting Galvin think I was able to get information to him from my workplace to keep his affairs safe. I did everything a newbie wannabe would do—all but the killing part. That went against not only my code of conduct, but also my beliefs.

  Little did he know that I would be the one and only person to bring all his hard work crashing down in ashes soon enough.

  “Welcome, Mr. Hunter,” greeted the bouncer, who was dressed in all black. I was surprised he remembered my name, as we’d only met once, months ago. The man was all muscle, with scars lining his body.

  “Wilson,” I nodded at him. He still had the shaved head and goatee, a huge contrast to his pale white skin. He was a guard for a purpose, and one I didn’t feel like fighting if I didn’t have to. I was big but he was twice my size, and I was big.

  I entered the building, where many of the men were smoking like chimneys. I tried to suppress my cough as I looked around the room. A stage was towards the back of the room with lights shining brightly towards it. A podium stood on one end.

  I made small talk with a few men while I grabbed a numbered paddle and found a spot so I would be able to see the stage. I nodded to my partner, who was a few paces away. He had a beanie over his hair, but he wore his workout clothes, not caring what others thought of him.

  I didn’t plan to purchase anything, as I didn’t want the hassle of having to deal with issues that would come with buying – and I used that term loosely — one of these so-called slaves. I would bid to make it look like I was interested, but nothing more.

  A high-pitched whistle sounded through the room, and the men grew quiet with anticipation as a line of girls was dragged onto the stage at the same time a man took a stance behind the podium.

  “Welcome, gents!” greeted the man. He wore all black, just like the bouncer and the handlers of these girls. He was slightly skinnier than Wilson, who stood at the front door, but had a full head of hair. I gathered they were at least related somehow. “We have one hundred and thirty-two servants to auction tonight. There is no system to how they are to be sold. Like usual, I will tell you the height, age, and a little about their personalities and training status. Now, let’s begin!” He was too happy, doing what was expected of him.

  The line of girls was roughly handled as they were each auctioned one at a time. The sold girl was then led off the stage and towards a small table where another man sat, watching with a gleeful look. Each girl was forced to her knees while they waited their turn to be claimed by their new owner. The new owner who paid cash before taking ownership.

  Line after line was brought out to the stage. Most were filthy from head to toe with bruises on their bodies. Most of these girls were runaways, and no one would ever be looking for them, since they had aged out of the system. The girl my brother had rescued was a runaway from an abusive boyfriend, and had been in even worse shape than most of these girls.

  It wasn’t until group seven that one girl in particular caught my attention. She was just like the rest: dirty from head to toe, tangled black hair, and so boney her skin barely concealed her pain. She kept swaying back and forth, and could hardly keep herself upright. I couldn’t get a good look at her face as she took her spot on the stage.

  Her handler kicked the back of her knees, making her fall. I expected a cry of shock to come from her, but she remained quiet and distant to the whole affair. To me, that was not normal. Just comparing her to the other girls that had been on that stage so far, she was different—and not in a good way.

  I kept my eyes on her, and when it was her turn to be auctioned, I knew what I had to do. The gut feeling demanded my attention. I knew that if I didn’t follow it, I’d be beating myself up for who knew how long.

  “Number 73. Age nineteen. About five foot two. She’s ill, so she is unable to perform any service tonight after purchase. She is fully trained. Let’s start the bidding at ten grand,” said the auctioneer.

  I slowly raised my paddle. A few people around me also rose their paddles. The bidding wore didn’t last long, as most of these men didn’t want to deal with a sick purchase. So, after a few short minutes, I won, paying the total of twenty thousand dollars. I could easily pay that for the girl who looked like she was giving up on life.

  I could feel Erick, Galvin’s son, glaring daggers at me, but ignored him. Erick was always all talk and no bite—just another druggy who wanted his fix in any form he could get it.

  I filled out the form, confirming I had read the rules and knew I would not be able to return the girl—not that I would dream of doing so. I handed over the cash to the man, hardly taking notice of him in my anxiety to see the girl’s face.

  “Remember, she won’t be of any service until the drugs are out of her system,” the handler stated. “She is completely trained, and ready to be at your service tomorrow.”

  The girl fell into me, face first, as she took the last step down from the stage. As she continued to sway, I gently laid a hand on her upper arm. Ignoring the men that were watching, I began to lead the girl out of the building. Once outside, I scooped her up into my arms before making my way to the car. There was no way I was going to make her walk barefoot over the gravel and broken glass in the parking lot. She hardly weighed anything and as her head flopped onto my shoulder, it almost felt like it fit there.

  Like she fit into my life.

  Her skin was hot, a slight sheen of sweat covering her skin from head to toe.

  I juggled her in my arms so I could dig my keys out of my pocket once I got to the car. I gently sat the sleeping girl in the passenger seat and covered her with my jacket. I buckled her seatbelt over it so it wouldn’t slip off her—with it being late October, the night air was cooling quickly.

  It was a long two-hour drive back home and she slept soundlessly, except for the occasional wheeze or cough. I couldn’t help but keep glancing over at her.

  Could it be her? After five years, it didn’t seem likely.

  When we arrived at my house, I carried her to the room she would be able to call her own. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, or what I would need to do, but I knew just the person to ask.

  Chapter 3

  Dawn

  We are born into this world as equals. Once we take our first breath, we depend on our parents to take care of us, to keep us alive by giving us the food and shelter we need. There are so many people who want children but are unable to carry any, while so many people are gifted a child and want nothing to do with it. Then, there are the people who would give their children the clothes off their own backs if needed.

  When I was young, my parents worked hard to make sure I had everything I needed. Dad worked at a supermarket at night, while Mom worked for a cleaning company during the day. Growing up, I didn’t know how poor we really were. Neither did I know who my parents truly were as people. I was a small child, a
nd they were loving parents, no matter what they chose to do.

  I didn’t have the same things that other kids my age, and I never asked why. I just thought that was how it was.

  When my dad was murdered at his job one fateful night, my life changed forever. I was eleven when my mom began to work more shifts at the cleaning service—or so she said. Little did I know at the time that she was getting into something she would never be able to stop. She became distant, and I began to take care of myself.

  The night I turned fourteen, I was taken out of my home by a man I thought I could trust. A man I thought was halfway decent compared to many of the other men who hung around my mom. Mom was at work that night, so I allowed him into the apartment, since he had popped up a few times a week for a while. Besides, he brought food, and I was starving. I never thought he’d be one of those men who turned out to be my worst nightmare. It was my birthday, after all. I hadn’t thought anything was awry until it was too late.

  Looking back, I wish I knew how much of a monster he was. I wish I could turn back time and then maybe things would have ended much differently. All this was because one stupid man thought he deserved to dabble with my life.

  I was at the sink before we were going to eat, filling up the green plastic cups with water, when he came up behind me. He grabbed me around my neck, nearly choking me in the process. The cup bounced along the floor as it fell from my grip, water splashing my feet. I didn’t realize this man could be so cruel. I knew he had some dirty thoughts, just by the way he would look at my mom, and how he said things with a glint in his eye. However, I was only fourteen and a virgin; I didn't realize then how evil men could be.

  I struggled against him, kicking and screaming. I did everything I’d been taught to do. I bit the hand he placed over my mouth in an attempt to silence my screams. My heart beat fast and hard in my chest as fear consumed me. I hastily used a chair to block his path when I got away from him, and then I ran, my feet taking me away from him on their own accord.

  It didn’t deter him long, as he caught me when I reached the door, grabbing me around my midsection. He then poked a needle into my neck.

  When I awoke some time later, I was in a dark, damp cell. The walls were filthy from who knew what. Surprisingly, I didn’t cry or yell. I just sat there quietly, lost in my own mind. Looking back, I was probably in shock. I waited for someone to come kill me. That would have saved me a lot of pain. I often wished for death to take me during the years I was there. I still wish it today.

  For over five years I was held underground. I was forced into submission, molded into someone I didn’t want to be. It became harder and harder as the days passed to remember who I really was. I lost my mind, my dignity, and my body.

  The clothes I wore were no longer mine. I slept on a cot until it broke, and then I slept on the cold cement floor with nothing to fend off the cold that permeated the air. After so long, my body became numb to the horrors and abuse. I gave up hoping I’d ever get out of that place. I no longer had any fight left in me. There was no point.

  Waking up warm and lying on what felt like a cloud frightened me as much as waking to complete darkness. My body was sore; my throat on fire, as though I had swallowed sandpaper. My head thumped with each beat of my heart. I felt the warmth of the sunlight shine upon my face through the crack in the curtain. I wanted to open my eyes, to see the sun, but I was too afraid.

  Everything hurt—even the blood pulsing through my veins.

  Please, death. Take me!

  The floor creaked as someone entered the room. I tried to keep my breathing even as footsteps came closer. Of course, when a warm hand touched my forehead, I jumped a mile, instantly sitting up and trying to move as far as I could from the person, almost flinging my body away from the touch. No one had touched me so gently in years.

  Not realizing how small a bed I was on, I ended up falling off, hard onto the floor. I threw my hands behind me, but my wrists hurt and I groaned out in discomfort.

  “Well, good morning,” said a man as he walked around the bed. His voice was filled with concerned humor. He had short, dark brown hair that had a natural curl to it. His heart-shaped face had some stubble growing. My eyes refused to move from his as his dark eyes, so much so, that I couldn't look away.

  What was he going to do? Who was he?

  “You still have a fever, girl,” he said kindly as he kneeled next to me, ignoring the way my body flinched. My eyes were wide as I stared at him. He slowly moved his hand to my upper arm and I jerked away from his touch once more. I couldn’t help the response my body made because of the years of abuse. “You need rest,” he said.

  Although I was frightened, his voice was calm—nearly the type of calm that might easily put me to sleep, though

  Too tired and confused, I didn’t fight as the man gently lifted me and laid me back on the bed. He handed me a bottle of water, which I gladly gulped half of right away, not caring that some spilled down my chin.

  “For now, you are to rest. I want you to sleep as much as you can. The bathroom is the open door across the room.” He pointed to the direction of the bathroom and I followed the line of sight. “You’re welcome to use the shower to get clean. I’ll bring some food soon, as well. Once you’re feeling better, I’ll go over the rules of this house and what I expect from you,” he said quietly but firmly, in a way I knew to obey. He handed me one red pill, Advil, and I swallowed it without question.

  “I put some clothes on the counter. I’ll be back in a little bit to check on you and change your sheets,” he said.

  After he left, I looked around the room. I sat on the bed. On either side of the bed stood nightstands. A door across the room most likely led to the hallways, which was next to one of the bookshelves.

  Slowly, I got up off the bed and made my way towards the bathroom, craving a warm shower. I was only allowed to bathe once a month at the place I was kept, if I was lucky, and in cold water. Not the best of options, but at least I did get a chance to be clean somewhat.

  This bathroom was huge with a heated floor.

  I wondered if I had died, because there was no possible way I’d ever see something this grand anywhere.

  I stripped my dirty gown from my body before turning on the water. Once the water was warm—almost too warm—I stepped in and closed the glass door. The water poured over me, washing the filth away.

  It felt like heaven. I could die here and never complain.

  Spotting the shampoo, I began to wash my hair. I washed my entire body and hair over and over until the water ran clean. I also put a bunch of conditioner in my hair, hoping to lessen the tangles. I hadn't had a brush or comb in years.

  When the water grew cold, I sadly shut it off and wrapped a fluffy white towel around me. I put on the pair of gray yoga pants and black shirt that were lying on the counter. They were big, but clean and warm; a lot better than that filthy gown I was forced to wear over the last three years.

  “I’ll brush your hair while we talk a little,” a voice said as I was putting the towel back on the hook by the shower.

  I jumped at his voice, my heart doubling in speed. How long had he been there? Had he watched me take a shower? What would he want from me?

  “I just got here,” he said quickly when he saw my frightened eyes. “Now, come take a seat, please.” He went and sat on the bed, which now had clean sheets and a green checkered comforter folded back.

  Schooling my face, I ignored the mirror as I walked back into the room, keeping my head down. My wet hair dripped down my back. The man sat on the bed, towards the middle, so I had more than enough room to sit in front of him on the floor. He had a brush in his hand that he was playing with as he watched me.

  “Come sit,” he demanded gently as he tapped the spot in front of him.

  I obeyed, stiff and unsure. I was used to knowing what to expect in my predictable ugly life. I had known I would be abused, yelled at, and forced to do things I never thought I would ever have t
o do.

  “I won’t hurt you,” he said as I sat in front of him. He put a soft warm towel around my shoulders and slowly began to brush my black hair, being extremely gentle with the tangled mess. “I used to brush my sister’s hair quite often.

  “What’s your name?” he asked, almost too quiet for me to hear.

  “Dawn, Sir,” I answered in a hoarse voice as I stared blankly at the wall across the room.

  “Dawn what?” he prompted.

  “Dawn Ellis, Sir,” I half whispered, half cried, expecting the punishment I would have endured from Master Galvin.

  “No need to cry, sweet girl,” he whispered as he leaned in towards my hair. “I wasn’t clear about what I wanted. You won’t be punished for my mistake. You won’t ever be punished cruelly in my house.” Moving back, he continued the work on my hair. “I am Elijah Brown, but if anyone asks, it’s Elijah Hunter. You are to address me as Sir, or Elijah, or even Mr. Hunter, unless otherwise told.

  “You are welcome to take a shower every day if you’d like,” he finished, beginning to braid my hair. His voice was quiet and calm.

  Being in the company of a man for so long usually meant he would demand my services in some sort of fashion. I wasn’t the best at some of the things the men wanted from me, but I everything in my power to keep them happy, no matter what. That way, I had less punishment on most days. This man—Elijah—didn’t seem to want anything from me.

  “All done,” Elijah said with a smile in his voice. He slowly got up off the bed and I automatically ducked my head down. I wasn’t allowed to make eye contact without permission. I heard him sigh as though he were disappointed about something.

  “You still have a fever, Dawn,” he said as he felt my forehead with the back of his hand. “Get in bed. Rest. Try to sleep some more. I will bring some soup up in a bit.”

  I nodded as I hastily moved to the bed and laid my head down on the pillow. He smiled sadly at me. “You obey very well. Now rest.” He made sure I was tucked in before dimming the lights and leaving the room, keeping the door cracked open an inch. Tears suddenly filled my eyes because of the care he had shown me.