Woman Scorned

by Fritz, K. Edwin

  After lavatory, waiting to be hauled out again for more readings, there was a garbled electronic echoing from the mysterious little holes in the back of his box. A second later God’s voice filtered through the little, echoing box that was his home. And it was his voice, of course, not God’s. His voice from one of the recordings. It sounded strangely different without the interior reverberations of his skull.

  The first time through he had lain there, stunned. The third time through, he found himself mouthing the words along with it. By the sixth time, he was saying them aloud.

  By the end of the first half hour he had managed to stop his quivering mouth and held his hands over his ears. But the Voice of God was persistent even in its subtle whisper.

  Those damned holes. That damned voice. It didn’t stop. Not even for one full minute. Not even at night. Not even when he was pulled out of his box and beaten some more and asked to tell them his name with conviction. They didn’t even take him to the treadmills anymore. His only, absolutely only moment of relief was lavatory. He was now one of those who begged to be let out first. The hose, despite the pain, washed the voice completely away for thirty whole seconds.

  But then he was thrust back inside and it continued, in his own voice. The Voice of God. His name was Obe. O.B.E.

  He heard it enough to start believing it. Because if he didn’t believe it, they’d just keep playing it and drive him fully insane. Already he was forgetting things like his schoolmates and his friends and his parents.

  And your name! How long do you think you held onto your real name? Two weeks? A month? Mr. ‘C’ indeed!

  Yes, soon enough, he’d lost it all.

  All but useless snippets like his grandmother’s hickory switch or the exact yellow of his first school truck… no, bus!… or how to fold a paper so it could fly like birds.

  But he had no paper. And he didn’t get on the school truck anymore he was older than that he thought but he did go to school so how did that make sense? And he’d never been hit by his grandmother’s hickory switch. He only knew about it because she had said that she had been hit with it as a little girl. That bad man her daddy should be hit right back and have his testicles chopped off too.

  Dozens of useless details. Dozens and dozens but fewer every day. Including his real name something with a ‘C’ wasn’t it?

  But not his brother. His brother and the cloud game. It was the only thing he held onto that had any use. The only thing that he wanted to hold onto. He kept one amazing, silver-lined, sky-wide cloud with his brother that day fresh on the tip of his brain. He could not give up everything. Something would be his own.

  Dimly, one day when the Voice was too much too deep too forever in his brain, he started mumbling something else. Something like what he had been doing to help ignore the pain in the torture rooms. And the mumblings had a rhythm to it now. And he was picturing the silver-lined cloud.

  “…Lining lining…”

  “…My name is Obe…”

  “…Silver lining…”

  “…Obe like strobe…”

  “…Cloudy silver…”

  “…Obe is my name…”

  “…Silver lining...”

  “…O.B.E….”

  This was the longest chapter of his time in the fortress. Longest by far. Battling against his own voice. All day and all night. Every day. Every week. In his sleep. Forever and ever.

  Sometimes they tortured him. Sometimes they washed him clean. Eventually they sent him back to the treadmills. But by then the voice was there no matter what they did to him or where they put him and always he battled that Voice of God and strained to hold onto just one memory of his own. His brother. His brother and the day of the cloud with the silver lining.

  Lining lining... Silver lining… Cloudy silver... Silver lining.

  On the hill of grass somewhere near a stream of life, deep in the cold and darkness of night, Obe twitched and groaned. Winced and moaned. Sometimes he talked as well. The two words that formed most were ‘Obe’ and ‘silver.’

  But once, just one single time, he spoke aloud a name that did, indeed, begin with the sound of ‘C’.

  7

  Elton was at another club, this time reserving himself to stay in the parking lot because he didn’t trust himself to go inside where his demon would tell him what to do. Along with his other internet research, he’d learned that Silk! had been billed as a ‘Gentlemen’s Club’, a detail he had been too nervous to notice last time. He didn’t want to be around gentlemen. It was the wrong kind of place entirely. Too many people came and went through its doors, and the girls were high end, which meant that if they went missing people would notice.

  The Honey Hole, on the other hand, was just the kind of small, dirty place patronized by desperate, dirty men and worked by desperate, dirty girls that fit into his updated strategy. His primary concern- that it had taken him more than an hour to drive there- didn’t register in his mind as being further buffer to the connection between himself and any missing girls. He just knew The Honey Hole was listed as the cheapest strip club in Missouri, and that meant the cheapest girls.

  He had waited until the end of the night- several hours after midnight- before arriving. He was hoping there would be another girl high on drugs who would come out and stumble into his passenger seat. What came out instead were two girls, neither of them so much as drunk.

  Elton balked, not sure what to do but afraid to do nothing. He ended up watching them stand between their cars and talk for more than ten minutes. He heard nothing of what they said, but their laughter deterred him even further, though his hand was on his door handle the whole time. When they finally got in their cars and left, he was actually a bit relieved. Yet this left him wondering how he would actually get himself another angel. It was true they surely weren’t the only two girls working there that night, but he was beginning to think not so many strippers actually used drugs after all. He decided he would watch all the girls who came out of The Honey Hole and learn what kind of people they were.

  And then it happened. Another of the dancing girls came out, except she was alone. Elton couldn’t tell if she was sober or not, but he suddenly decided he didn’t much care. He was much bigger than her, and much stronger. He didn’t need it to be easy, he reasoned, he only needed it to work.

  He got out of his car and walked directly to her. Halfway there, she turned to him.

  “Hi,” he said, and tried to give her his best smile. The picture of the puppy was in his back pocket, but he doubted he was going to use it. The girl slowed down and looked him over, sizing up the greed in his eyes and the sizeable bulge in his pants. Unfortunately, the girl was one who did use drugs regularly and was always in need of cash. She saw Elton as an opportunity rather than a threat.

  She smiled widely. “You need something, sugar?” she asked. “I’m off work, but I can give yuh a bee jay for ten bucks.”

  Elton was pretty sure he knew what she meant, and he had ten bucks in his wallet. “Yeah,” he said simply.

  The girl smiled wider, and Elton saw she was missing a tooth. For some reason, that turned him on even more than he had been when sitting in his car and imagining what was going on inside.

  “Lead the way,” she said, and Elton stopped and turned back to his car. She followed him immediately.

  Even easier than last time, he thought. I had to carry my angel to the car myself.

  “What’s your name, sugar?” she asked.

  “Elton. Who are you?”

  “Name’s Jiggles in there,” she thumbed toward the rear door of The Honey Hole and pulled her long dirty-blonde hair over one shoulder with the other hand. “But outside my name’s Janice.”

  “Jiggles,” Elton laughed, and looked at her big titties. Yep, he thought, I bet they’d jiggle real nice. Really really. But she’s got a real name, too. That’s not fake at all. That’s good.

  “Well hi there, Elton. You want me to suck your balls for you too? That’s an e
xtra five.”

  Elton giggled a bit and nodded. He’d never thought to have his angel do that for him. He was suddenly very excited at thinking he’d have Jiggles to do it whenever he wanted.

  “Money?” she asked, and Elton produced it from his other pocket. She took it, eyed it briefly, then stuck it under her bra. As they reached his car, he put his left hand inside his pocket and grabbed the plastic baggie there. Inside it was a handkerchief saturated with Erowid Petroleum Ether that he had bought on eBay. It had just arrived this morning. He had paid extra for a rush delivery.

  The girl got into the passenger seat and was reaching for Elton’s belt even before he had closed his door. Moments later, Elton had a problem. He needed to knock her out to get her home, and he had already pulled the baggie partway out of his pocket, but suddenly he had a bigger priority.

  He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the headrest. This is so much better than when my angel did it, he thought. But she always struggled, too. She didn’t like it. Jiggles isn’t struggling at all. I don’t even need to hold her head down. I wonder if I could just pay Jiggles to-

  Her name is Janice! he suddenly remembered. And somehow that killed his train of thought. Jiggles was a good girl. But Janice… Janice was clearly bad for doing this. Janice was breaking the law and her mother wouldn’t be very proud of her. Janice should probably be punished for her sins. Yes, his demon would tell him that, and he should always listen to his demon.

  Slowly, Elton’s hand moved to the back of the girl’s head. At first she didn’t change her actions, but when he began to press down she pulled up.

  “Hold on there, tiger,” she said, still smiling at him with that missing tooth. “You gotta let me come up for air sometimes, okay?” Elton smiled, nodded. “Okay. You just sit back and relax. I’ll get you there in another minute, honey, I promise.” Then she dove back down and Elton closed his eyes again. In moments his hands were sliding toward her head.

  The next minute was a slowly-building chaos of events. At first Janice did nothing but her hired job. Then she tried to pull back again only to find Elton’s strong hands holding her down. For a moment she gave in and tried to quickly finish him off, but soon the need for air became too overwhelming and she began to struggle. Elton held her down, his mind racing back to his basement and the sounds of rattling chains he was so accustomed to hearing.

  Then Janice began to truly fight with all her might. This was the moment Elton had been waiting for, whether he knew it or not. His clinical diagnosis would have been Sadistic Personality Disorder, and his preference would have been bondage. He knew none of this, of course. He only knew he could never finish his time with his angel unless she was struggling.

  He would have finished just then, much to the surprise and possible relief of poor Janice, if it hadn’t been for Aaron Dalton. Aaron was one of The Honey Hole’s two bouncers, and he had come off his shift a little late that evening. Usually he was in his car by 3:05 on the nose, and often he even followed Janice or one of the other girls to her car. Tonight he had been engaged in an annoying conversation with the other bouncer, haggling over whether or not he could finish the final hour of duty. Little did either man realize the real danger had been outside in the parking lot.

  Elton’s door jerked open and a huge pair of hands grabbed him by the shirt. A colossal heave pulled the otherwise engaged sadist mostly out of his car, though Elton’s own significant mass held him down.

  “What?” he managed to slur before Aaron Dalton heaved again. This time Elton’s bulk gave way and he found himself suddenly standing by the side of his car with his pants down and his member out and erect for all the world to see. Aaron pulled back and landed a solid punch on Elton’s jaw. In the car, Janice “Jiggles” Greene was coughing back to life.

  In truth there was no further fight, though Elton did take one weak swing at Aaron’s face. Another blow to Elton’s gut effectively knocked the wind out of him and ended any further thoughts of retaliation.

  Elton was on his knees trying ineffectually to pull up his pants when he heard Janice yelling.

  “No! Aaron, no!” Elton looked up, expecting another smash to his face or perhaps the barrel of a gun. What he saw instead was a cell phone in Aaron’s hands. His fingers were hovering over the touchscreen.

  “You gotta be kidding, me, Janice,” Aaron said. His voice was low, matching his size appreciatively. “This asshole’s going to jail. Don’t tell me you love him or some shit!”

  “He’s a John!” Janice yelled back, and Aaron’s hand lowered a bit. “You know I can’t take another conviction.”

  Aaron visibly deflated. “You’re tricking again? Jesus, Jan. Why…? Listen, you need money I’m sure Dave can give you a loan or-”

  “I already owe Dave four hundred. I’m not tricking. Not really. I just…” But when she looked into Aaron’s eyes she found she couldn’t finish the lie she had begun.

  Elton, meanwhile, had pulled up his pants and was spasmodically squeezing the baggie in his pocket. His feeble mind was trying to figure out what to do. If I go to jail they’ll search my house. If they search my house they’ll find my basement. If they find my basement I’ll never have another angel again. I think the ether would knock him out too, but he’s strong. I’ll never get it to his face. Oh God what to do what to do?

  Elton’s fear, however, amounted to nothing. Even before he had contemplated the unlikelihood of getting his handkerchief to Aaron’s face, Janice was walking shame-faced toward her car and apologizing profusely to the man who had saved her. It was when Aaron’s arm went around Janice’s shoulders that Elton’s brain registered what had happened. He quickly jumped back into his car and drove away.

  In the parking lot of The Honey Hole Go-Go Bar and Lounge Janice Greene began to reprioritize her life.

  CHAPTER 5

  BETRAYAL

  1

  Normally very patient, Rhonda was finding it hard to keep busy tonight. She had been waiting and waiting for this moment. Her girls had already left for the day, no doubt they were already having dinner or getting ready for the bi-weekly meeting. She checked the time. She still had almost an hour before the meeting.

  More than enough time, she thought. Though I do wish I take my time with this one.

  While she waited, listening for the unmistakable sound of rattled chains followed by the thunk! that came whenever any man woke for the first time and tried to sit up, she filled out another file.

  Rhonda’s files were immense. They filled more than a dozen filing cabinets which banked one whole wall of her sizeable office space. Each also had a companioned and more elaborate electronic file on her computer, but she still liked to write her initial notes by hand. There was just something special about the rasp of paper under her fingertips, about the tangible solid feel of that pen in her hands. Most of the thousands of files were, of course, dedicated to the thousands of men who had graced her training room. Just then, however, she was writing about one of her girls.

  On the top of her folder the name ‘Josie’ was written in bold black marker. Rhonda’s knowledge of the girls was certainly nothing compared to Monica’s, but working so closely alongside them every day she had come to believe she knew things that Monica didn’t. She recorded such things in her files and, on rare occasions Monica or one of the headwomen might ask to see her observations. When a girl retired after her ten years of service, Rhonda often had her stay late one evening during her final weeks to show her the file. Together they would read every word, often laughing and even crying over the multitude of memories stored within.

  She wondered if Monica ever did something similar. Lucy, for example, had proven to be one of the island’s finest women, and it would be a shame to see her go. But Lucy was a hunter, not a trainer, so Rhonda had no special connection with her and had no file to share.

  ‘You didn’t ask to watch Charles’ initiation,’ she had already written. The prose was addressed to Josie herself, as was all of the fil
es on her girls.

  ‘I find this strange. I would have thought you’d have wanted to cut his balls off yourself, but to each her own I suppose. I suspect you may still be in a state of shock from recruiting him. You were very different today. So confident. I’ve never seen you like that. You were acting more like a headwoman than a simple trainer. I think you already know that Gertrude is making you her next second-in-command, and I personally believe she’s made a wise choice. Oh yes, Gertrude. She says to treat your little man like all the others, but I think not. This scum deserves a special treatment, and I plan on serving it to him in an especially vicious, almost elegant, style.’

  After this, the muscular, sadistic woman had added a large smiley face, an oddity she reserved for only her most unique emotional moments. Now, her pen was hovering over the page. She wanted to add something else, something indicating what she was planning to do, but superstition was holding her back. She was afraid that to write the deed before it was done might ruin it somehow. But the rapist pig hadn’t yet woken from her steady diet of drugs, and her patience was wearing thin.

  When the chains inside box #131 finally rattled and the thunk! and inevitable curses finally came, Rhonda sighed deeply and smiled. Seconds later, she was standing outside Charles’ box with her shoes just in view of his sinful little eyes and a gleaming scalpel dangling loosely from her hand.

  2

  On the first floor of the fortress, beneath twenty bedrooms and across the foyer from the mess hall, miles away from incinerator where men met their final demise, there was a single room that represented the whole of women on Monroe’s Island. No such place could be said to exist in the world of men.

  The room was rectangular with no windows. It held twenty cushioned chairs in four rows. There was, in the small open space in front of the chairs, a solitary lectern.