by M L Sparrow
“No, we’re going to the bathroom quickly.”
“Oh, are we going after that?”
“No,” he looks uncomfortable, “sorry.” We go to the big bathroom with the shower and Kit lingers hesitantly outside the door. “Sin said I’m supposed to come in with you, but…” He blushes, chewing on his lower lip for a second as he decides his next few words, “I’ll wait out here if you swear not to lock the door.”
Hardly believing my luck, I nod instantly, “Promise.”
“Okay,” he accepts my answer without question and I feel a twinge of regret for the ideas forming in my head. A plan is formulating. Closing the door on Kit and my regret, I don’t lock it. Not yet. I take care of my bodily ablutions, giving myself time to think. By the time I step out of the shower and reach for the towel my plan is still far from fine-tuned, but with a little bit of luck it will work. Knotting the towel securely around me like body armour, I pad over to the door, take a deep breath and pull it open a crack. Poking my head through the space, I find Kit leaning back against the opposite wall, hands dug deep into his pocket. As soon as he sees me he stands to attention and a blush steals into his cheeks as he takes in my state of attire.
His embarrassment fuels my own as I force myself to say, “Kit, I…I need you to get me something.”
“W-what?” he stutters, despite the fact that barely any of my body is showing through the inch of open door.
“It’s, er, my time of the month.” For a moment he just looks at me blankly and I pray to god that he doesn’t make me expand, but then the flush of colour overtakes his face and I know he’s finally got it. His eyes widen in panic as if menstrual bleeding were contagious. “Could you get me something for it?” I prompt.
“Yes,” the single word erupts from his mouth, making me jump. Spinning on his heels, he hurries down the corridor and I feel a flash of triumph, until he turns back. “I can’t just leave you here, you’ll have to come too.”
“I’m not dressed!” my voice rises in indignation.
“Oh… Well,” he glances over his shoulder, “I guess I could just run and grab someone, but…” Shamelessly manipulative, I bat my eyes at him with a pleading look and he caves.
Once Kit has gone, leaving with a promise to return quickly, I scurry back into the bathroom, locking the door behind me this time. The lock is flimsy, though; it won’t put up much resistance, so I don’t waste any time. The window isn’t as stiff as the one in the toilet, but it still takes a lot of work to force it open and even then there is barely enough room for me to stick my torso out and peer down. The dark, garbage filled alley beneath is devoid of people, meaning I can, hopefully, shimmy down the drainpipe without being noticed. Looking down, I have a sudden rush of vertigo, but I know this may be my only chance, so I draw back, take a deep breath and lift my foot onto the windowsill, only to realize that I’m still only garbed in a towel. Swearing to myself, devastated by the loss of precious moments, I scramble to yank on my clothes and shoes, tying the laces with clumsy fingers.
My boots feel heavy and clumpy on my feet as I climb up and squeeze through the narrow opening onto the narrow outside ledge. A soft breeze ruffles my damp curls, flattening one against my cheek, and tugs enticingly at my clothes. I will my muscles to move, but the moment I move even an inch I can feel my balance wavering. Clutching the top of the window, I know I have to get going. Using the window frame to hang onto, I slowly lower myself into a crouch; brutally aware that time is limited. Knees knocking, I hug the wall as my fingers creep along it to grasp the pipe. All the breath stutters out of my lungs as I force the fingers of my other hand to release their death grip on the window.
The moment I let go, I can feel myself tilting backwards. Wrapping both hands around the pipe, I cling on for dear life and carefully lower my legs, one by one, over the edge. And then I slide down. It’s not as easy as it sounds. My sweaty palms make the pipe hard to grip and my shoulders scream from the strain of holding most of my weight, because I can’t seem to find a foothold. The descent seems to go on forever, but, eventually, my feet touch ground. I’m so relieved that my legs almost buckle and I have to hang on a minute longer to avoid ending up sitting in the litter heaped against the walls.
When I do start walking on unsteady legs, the cobbled street is slimy beneath my boots. At first I pick my way around the garbage, but as my pace quickens I abandoned that tactic and simply wade through it. From the open window I can hear the bathroom door being kicked in and urgent voices calling to each other.
“There she is!” some exclaims and I glance up to see a man’s head sticking from the open window. A second later it withdraws and is replaced by Kits’. Guilt gnaws a hole in my stomach and I quickly turn away, because I don’t want to see the betrayal on his face.
“Sunny!” the teenagers yell makes me wince, but I hurry onwards. The Ghetto is a maze of alleyways, leading from one decrepit building to another – some of the brick structures appear to have fared the test of time, others are crumbling, without roofs or collapsing in on themselves – and I soon find myself lost. The hand-me-down clothes Sins’ men provided me with are aged and tatty and they hang loosely off me, which help me blend in just enough so as not to be openly gaped at, though several people take a second look.
It has rained recently, the air is still heavy and damp. It’s oppressive. My feet splash in the puddles, the sound echoing in my ears. I’m not sure how long I walk, but it doesn’t seem like long, before I start noticing people rushing passed me, heading in the opposite direction. Ragged clothes, lank hair, unwashed faces. The gaggle of girls don’t even glance my way as they hurry passed, too absorbed in their conversation.
Their voices are hushed, but rising with urgency and I manage to catch brief snippets, “… gotta warn everyone...police…” That’s all I need to hear to spur me on.
“Where?” the word bursts from me as I lunge forward to grab the speakers arm. “Where are the police?” Startled, the girl instinctively yanks her arm free and her friends crowd around her, as if it were a fight and she required backup.
Expression a mixture of wariness and hostility, the girl scans me up and down before shrugging, “They’re in the Square.”
“Where’s that?” my voice rises in desperation, hands clasping together in front of me.
The girl’s brows draw together and she looks at me as if I’m insane, “Er, down there.” She points with a long, bony finger.
“Thank you, thank you.” Taking off straight away, I throw the words over my shoulder as I hurry down the path that was suggested. At the end of the long, thin alley people are bustling around. Indistinguishable shouts can be heard. A black and white uniform appears in the mouth of the alley, facing away from me. Heart racing, my steps quicken. I open my mouth to call out, but the words never make it past the hand which suddenly clamps over my mouth.
My startled scream is smothered. The hand remains locked in place, whilst another arm wraps around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides at the same time as hauling me back against a big, wiry body. Kicking back, I hit something, but it doesn’t make any difference; he continues to pull me backwards, further into the alley. Writhing desperately, I rear my head back as I fight to free my arms, but his grip is unbreakable. That doesn’t stop me struggling though. My foot slips on something and I go down. His forearm bites into my ribs as he stumbles to support my weight. His hand slips momentarily and I take the opportunity to shriek. It is cut in half by the return of his palm. Still, it serves its purpose. The policeman spins around. Taking a step into the alley, he peers around, but we’re already tucked away in the shadows. He doesn’t bother to search harder. After a moment, he turns and walks away, disappearing from view.
Behind me, the figure moves, bending down until I can feel warm breath on my neck, “I saw you climb down the drainpipe, coulda broken your fool neck.” A familiar voice… Terror receding, my eyes narrow and I bite down hard. Hard enough to taste copper. Swearing under his breath
, Sins’ fingers dig into my skin instead of releasing. After a moment, he says with irritating calm, “That hurt.”
Good, I think unrepentantly. He seems to guess my thoughts because he chuckles softly. The sound raises the tiny hairs on the back of my neck. “If I let go, are you going to scream?” For a moment I consider this, then shake my head. “Why don’t I believe you?” he mutters wryly, but begins to peel back his fingers one by one. As soon as I’m free of the constricting grasp, I jerk my head forward and work my jaw to get rid of the phantom fingers still holding it, twisting my head to glare at him when he refuses to release the arm pinning me against him. A bruise is shadowing his right cheek and blood is crusted around a cut on his lower lip. I wonder briefly if I’d inflicted those wounds, but they’re not that fresh and I’m not that lucky.
“Let me go,” I demand tightly.
“So you can run to the nearest cop? I don’ think so.”
“I won’t, I promise.”
“Like your word means anything to me,” he throws my own words back at me. There is a moment, in which I recall my broken promise to Kit, before he declares, “We’re going back to Base.” I dig in my heels. “Please, don’t make me sling you over my shoulder,” the warning in his voice is obvious. Arm slipping from around me, his large hand wraps around my upper arm instead. His right sleeve is ripped up to the elbow, the material gaping open, and I catch a glimpse of smooth, unadorned skin. Something inside me jolts in shock. It looks like there’s no Brand, but I must be mistaken; he’s probably used make-up to cover it, so as not to be identified. I don’t think on it too long, because he begins marching me back the way I’d come.
“No,” I hiss and then more loudly, “No, let go of me!”
Without a word, he slings an arm around my shoulders, hooking it around my neck and pulling me into his side, forcibly turning my face so that my protests are muffled by his dark hoodie. At a glance we probably look like playful lovers, even as I grapple to tear away his arm. He doesn’t look back to see if anyone has heard my cry, he just keeps walking, pulling me along with him. Something squelches beneath my feet, but I don’t bother to look down as I shove fruitlessly at him.
“Let go of me,” my shout is lost in the folds of musky smelling material, “you can’t do this.”
“You keep saying that,” Sin replies conversationally, “and yet here we are.”
I splutter indignantly.
Exiting the alley, we walk down a street which is just as narrow and dirty, though at least the garbage has been shovelled to the sides.
“Keep walkin’,” Sin yanks me forward when I try to stop once more and I stumble, cursing him to hell and back, which he seems to find amusing, so I attempt to stamp on his toes. I miss and he laughs, a low, rusty sound which comes from the back of his throat.
Several steps later, I complain loudly, “You’re hurting me”, though he’s not. He doesn’t reply, but his grip loosens ever so slightly, though not enough for me to pull away.
Face turned into his shoulder I can’t see much of what is going on around us, however, after a minute or two of walking I hear a feminine voice call out, “Sin, hey, Sin.”
“Bloody hell,” he mutters, even as he stops and turns to face the person hurrying towards us, “Hi, Maya. You okay?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she gushes and I twist my head to catch a glimpse of dark hair scraped back from a gaunt, but pretty face. Huge brown eyes flickered enquiringly in my direction. “Who’s this?”
I expect him to flounder, but he lies smoothly, “She’s a friend.”
“No, I’m not,” I spit the words out one by one.
“She’s just saying that ‘cos we had a fight,” he flashes a fake smile, his words imply something deeper than friendship and the girls eyes narrow slightly.
“I haven’t seen you round here before.”
“She’s new,” he explains quickly, his arm tightening around my neck in silent warning, “arrived the other day.”
In a split second the girl’s expression morphs from jealous to genuinely sympathetic, “I’m so sorry. I was only six when my family got sent to the Ghetto, but I remember how hard it was.”
“Six?” I echo in shock. Suddenly curious, I want to ask more, but Sin begins to whisk me away and all I can do is glance back over my shoulder, the questions dying unheard on my lips. Six years of age and banished to the Ghetto, her life ruined, how was something like that allowed to happen?
“Well, if you ever need someone to talk to,” she says in a rush as we leave, “Sin knows where I live, just get him to bring you. What’s your name?”
“Sunny,” I answer instinctively, causing Sin to cuss under his breath as his strides lengthen and I have to jog to avoid being dragged along in his wake.
Maya laughs, “Just like the Presidents’ daughter, as a matter of fact you look kinda like her…” Comprehension widens her eyes momentarily and they swing from my face to the back of Sin’s head, “Tell me you didn’t. Are you crazy? Sin? Sin!”
Needless to say, he ignores her, but, sensing I may have found an ally, I give her a look of appeal. Please, it says, please help me. However, the girls feet remain glued firmly to the floor, even as she calls after us. Sin leads me through the winding streets without hesitation; to me everything looks the same, but his feet seem to be beating a familiar path and sooner than expected we return to the same place I had escaped not long ago. This time we go through the front door. The building is three stories, brick and unassuming. The front door is battered, the paint flaking, but sturdy. Fishing a key out of his jeans pocket, Sin jams it into the rusty lock.
“Why don’t you use electronic locks?” I ask with a frown when he struggles to turn it.
“Because,” he answers through gritted teeth as he grapples with the lock, “when the power goes out we would either be left wide open, or locked in.”
I shrug, “An electronic lock is much more secure.”
“An electronic lock can be hacked,” he looks at me pointedly and I hike my shoulders once more.
“A manual lock can be picked,” I throw back.
Now it’s his turn to shrug.
“Admit it, you’re just a technophobe.” Glancing up, I catch the brief flash of triumph which brightens his face as the door swings open, before my words register and he scowls down at me.
“Just get inside.”
Still smiling from my small victory, which momentarily overshadows the fact that my escape attempt failed, I don’t notice that Sin’s stopped until I barge right into the back of him. Standing stock still, he appears to be listening to the laughing conversation taking place in the rec room just ahead of us. It is a slow transformation, however, as seconds tick by his face mutates into a mask of the most terrifying rage. Instinctively I try to step back, but his fingers around my wrist are like diamond manacles binding me to him. My movement draws his gaze to me and the chill grey freezes my blood. Without a word, he moves forward, pulling me with him towards the half open door of the rec room. Shoving it open fully with his free hand, he steps into the room and instantly all eyes are on us. Careening against the wall, the door swings back on us, hitting his shoulder and bouncing off once more, but he doesn’t pay it any heed, all his attention focused on the small group of men gathered around the TV screen.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” his voice is soft, quiet and all the more dangerous for it. A shiver races down my spine. This is the calm before the storm. “She” – he stabs a finger in my direction – “has been missing over an hour, so why weren’t you out searchin’? What are you doin’ here pissin’ around?”
“Sin…” someone splutters, but doesn’t finish their sentence.
“Well,” the first word is quietly spoken, the rest are shouted, “I’m waiting.” Almost jumping out of my skin, I scan the gathering of anxious faces, all of them waiting for the stone to drop. “And why the fuck are you playin’ on that thing?” Sin roars. One second he is with me in the doorwa
y, the next he is beside the TV, ripping out the wires which connect the controllers, “The police are crawling all over the place, she probably activated a transmitter or something when she fixed it.”
“I did not,” I defend indignantly, but a hand on my shoulder stops me from saying anything else.
“Probably best to shut up,” Kit advises, having come up behind me to watch the scene unfolding. He doesn’t look at me and again I feel remorse churning in my stomach. It doesn’t last long, though, because a collective gasp, followed by a loud crash, distracts me.
Instantly, my gaze jerks back to Sin, who has knocked the TV off the crate and onto the floor and is currently stomping the life out of it. No one attempt to stop him, not even when he puts his foot through the screen and the devise makes a faint crackling, sizzling sound which proceeds its death. The wooden crate suffers the same fate.
Even when he’s done, standing there glowering at everyone and breathing heavily, no one moves. No one dares to. They don’t want to incur his wrath. In fact, no one breathes again until he leaves the room, slinging over his shoulder as he pushes past Kit and I into the hallway, “Take her to her room. Now!”
I don’t need to be told that I’ve made a horrible mistake; the knowledge weighs heavily on me, like carrying a bag of cement on my shoulder, I can feel myself physically drooping beneath the burden. My footsteps, as I shuffle down the steps leading to my room in the basement, kick up tiny clouds of dirt and dust. Kit hasn’t spoken to me yet and the silence abrades my every nerve like sandpaper. Pressing my lips together to stop them from quivering, I stare at the back of the tall teenagers’ head, brown hair sticking up in all directions. I may have blown my chance of rescuing myself, but the police were here now and it was only a matter of time before they discovered my whereabouts. I would be going home soon, of that I was sure, one way or another.
Chapter 6
My certainty of being liberated died little by little in the long, lonely days afterwards. Since my escape attempt I was no longer permitted to leave my room, except for quick toilet brakes, which I am taken on by a silent mountain of a man. The same man brings my meals. I vaguely wonder if Sin sends such humongous men to attend me as some kind of warning, however, I can’t ask him because I don’t see him, nor do I see Kit, who I am dying to apologize to. All I can do is lie on my bed staring up at the ceiling, listening to the voices which occasionally filter down from between the floorboards and drown in my melancholy. I spend a lot of my time sleeping, curled beneath the thin covers, unwilling to move. It is on one of these occasions that I am stirred from my dreamless dozing by the soft rustle of voices. For a moment my sleep hazed brain thinks there is someone in the room with me, but my eyes quickly scan the empty box and find it devoid of company. Sitting up in bed, I lift my gaze to the ceiling as I rub the sleep from my eyes.