by Abi Ketner
“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” She shrieks in agonizing pain. The sizzle of her skin and smell of the burning flesh reaches even me. Her head flips back, the tendons tight, as her mouth opens to scream again.
The sound of her shrill vocals snaps Mac from his bloodied stupor, and the next part happens so fast I barely catch the blur of movement. Mac breaks free and uses his remaining hand to pull a dagger from his boot. He lunges forward and throws it straight into her heart with a sickening thump. Instantly, her chin flops to her chest.
“Oh my God!” escapes from my mouth.
Wilson shakes his head, aims his pistol, and blows Mac away. Bits of brain and blood spatter those closest to the stage and they frantically try to brush it off. I bend over and heave at the sickening sight.
“What a pity,” Wilson says. “I wanted to torture him a tad longer.”
The people around us stand with grim faces. I feel their hatred, anger, and despair. The message is clear—the guards still own the Hole and no one, not even their own, is free from their judgment.
I look at Cole, but he shakes his head as if saying don’t speak. I wonder if he knew the guard who was executed, but there’s no chance to ask him as he pulls me along while shoving through the crowd, dispersing with heavy feet. I feel hopeless.
Cole leads me around the back of the hospital and past the stares of several groups of distraught guards. The eyes I want to avoid most are Wilson’s, but he glares right at me. His uniform is slick with the blood of his victims—a picture of Satan himself.
“ID card and access code,” the guard says at the post. Cole hands over his ID.
“Access code 0406.”
“I need to see hers as well.” The guard motions to me.
After checking the paperwork, he turns, eyes me with a hungry smile, and winks. “You may proceed.”
I wonder what the paper says, but there’ll be time to ask later.
We enter a garage filled with tanks and other military vehicles. No graffiti lines the walls, no broken glass littering the cement floor. It’s the cleanest place in the Hole. The incandescent lights of the training center brighten the garage, making it seem almost livable in comparison to everywhere else. Halfway in, I stop to throw up between two parked vehicles. I can’t purge my mind of the images of the executions, and my stomach won’t settle.
“Pull it together. We don’t have time for this.”
“I’m trying,” I say, trying to catch my breath. But then I heave again, making a loud, retching noise.
Ugh, stop bringing attention to yourself.
“Is that it? Geez.”
“You could try being sensitive, you know.” I stand and wipe my face with my collar, trying to make myself presentable.
“You saw what happens to those who’re sensitive. Now come on.”
“But that’s different,” I mumble back.
He jerks me aside. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Me? Just shut up and move.” He stands so close I can see the veins in his eyes.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Is there a situation here?” A guard interrupts us.
Cole steps back and salutes. “No, sir.”
“It sounds like your sinner has quite a mouth on her. Do you need me to set her straight?” His icy stare is unreadable, but his hand moves to the baton strapped at his side.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I have it under control, sir,” Cole says.
The tall guard glares at me with cold, blue eyes and steps forward until he stands in front of me. He twists his head toward Cole. “I know she’s your first female prisoner, so I’m making this clear now… Weakness is not acceptable.” Then he touches a lock of my hair, fiddling with it between his fingers. “She’s delicious though, isn’t she? Lust. How tempting. You should really watch that mouth of yours, darlin’, or we’ll find a better use for it.” He hisses in my ear like a snake.
I pull my head away from him and step backward into Cole. His chest tightens the second I touch him, so I freeze.
“At ease.” The guard spins, but shouts as he walks away, “Oh, Cole… don’t forget we’re watching you as well!”
For a moment, I’m frozen and Cole’s face turns various shades of red. I can’t tell if he’s furious with me or with the guard, but he’s definitely angry. Zeus whines at his side, startling me. With the intensity of the morning’s events, I forgot he was even with us.
“Let’s get out of here. And don’t speak,” Cole says.
Fear overrules my humiliation. My fingers tremble and my heart flutters anxiously. I stay close behind him as we enter the training center. The last thing I want to do is enter a building teeming with more guards, but I have no other choice.
The training center looks like an indoor dome. Different stations take up sections of the massive room. On the walls, I glimpse an arsenal of weapons comprised of numerous makes and models of guns and knives of all sizes and even unsuspecting weapons such as sticks and batons. Everything gleams in the light as if polished daily. I don’t have a name for most of the things I see, but I know they’re all lethal in the hands of a guard. At one particular station, men line in a row, shooting at a moving target. The noise is deafening without ear protection and I cringe at the echo of each discharge. Another group suit up in all of their combat gear to perform a simulated attack. Some turn to watch us, while others focus on the task at hand.
“Keep your head down and walk,” Cole says to me. Zeus growls at the man nearest to us, so the man turns around and goes in another direction. The elevator door closes after we step in and Cole swipes his badge.
In the relative safety of the elevator, I can’t hold it in any longer. “I can’t believe he killed her. Why would he kill her? If he loved her—”
“Because he loved her.” Cole cuts me off. Without any invitation, he keeps talking. “Everyone’s known about Mac and Claire for a while. Mac’s been a friend of mine since we joined the guards. I have no doubt he did it because he loved her. He knew they’d torture her just to break him. And they’d do it in front of him.” Cole pauses and closes his eyes for a moment. “He killed her out of love. The very love that most of us will never feel because we aren’t allowed.”
“Wow. How did I not see that?” I ask.
“Because you don’t know what it feels like to be in love.”
“And you do?”
“I’m not having this conversation with you.”
“What was up with Zeus back there?”
Zeus cocks his head when I mention his name. Cole leans against the wall and puts his hands on top of his head.
“That’s him being protective of you, I guess. Not sure why he didn’t rip off the guy’s head in the garage, but he didn’t.”
“He can do that?”
“Have you not seen his teeth?”
“Okay, stupid question.” I look down at Zeus as he presses his wet nose into my thigh. I place both of my hands around his head and kiss him between his ears. “Thank you.”
Nothing more is said. One, because I’m trying to block out what I just witnessed, and two, because I want to forget about the “him being in love” question. The elevator heaves to a stop. Getting off at the eighth floor is harder today than yesterday, but I put my shoulders back and walk toward the desk, attempting to mentally compose myself.
Cole signs me in. “I’ll be back at seven,” he says in a brusque manner.
“Yes, sir.” The trauma of the morning has me itching to go back to my dirty room and lie on my mattress.
Without any further instructions, Cole reenters the elevator with Zeus. Rage is written on his face as he punches the buttons. His eyes narrow to slits and his posture stiffens as if ready for a fight. I make eye contact with him just as the door closes with a squeal. If anyone accused him of rage, he’d have a hard time proving them wrong.
The monotony of work comforts me, although it takes forever to fold the huge mounds of linens. I’d prefer to hide in a closet somewhere, alon
e in the dark, away from the eyes of the guards who pass in the hallways. Most of the nurses avoid me because of the attention the guards pay me. I don’t blame them. No one wants to make herself anymore of a target than needed, and I seem to be a magnet for it.
The hours pass quickly, and at seven, Cole and Zeus show up right on time. Cole looks no less enraged than when he left. His fingers jab the buttons in the elevator and he says nothing as we jostle downward. Then, once outside, he walks briskly ahead, never acknowledging me or speaking.
Did I do something wrong? I’m too afraid to ask because of his outburst at the table this morning. Maybe the execution made him afraid to talk to me.
Once inside my quarters, he spins around and shoves me against the wall. I bite my lips in fear, shaking in his grip.
“Don’t mistake my niceness for weakness, okay?” he asks.
I nod.
“Yesterday, I saved your life because it was my job. Nothing more.” He releases me and I’m not sure what hurts more, my arms or my feelings.
“Okay,” I say, unconvinced and trembling.
Yet, this morning, he seemed to think my life was worth something.
He turns, drags Zeus with him, and slams his door.
I crumble to my mattress, unable to shake my fear and the memories.
The salacious look on the head guard’s face as I passed. The icy blue eyes of the guard in the garage, how his fingers in my hair made me shiver under his control. The way my stepfather looked at me with greediness.
I wake up sweating and panic, bolting upright in the dark.
When I calm down, I hear someone knocking on a door nearby.
“Sure, man. Come in,” Cole says.
A parade of feet shuffles into his room, followed by laughter and the sound of cans popping open. I press my back against the wall and pull in my knees. My chest heaves with the agony of the unknown.
What if they see I drew on my walls? What if they come into my room and beat me… or worse?
Then his door creaks open and a sliver of light trails across my room. I freeze.
“Lexi, come in here and serve the men,” Cole says.
I stand cautiously, staring at his silhouette in the doorway, unsure of his demanding voice.
“Did you not hear me? I’m ordering you to come and serve them. Now!”
I skitter nervously into his room. Four guards and Cole sit around the table, playing cards, drinking beer, and laughing. Their eyes all lift to mine in expectation and they smile in unison.
“Grab them another beer,” Cole says.
I breathe deeply and retrieve four beers. Cracking them open, I set the drinks on the table. I look at Cole, waiting for him to say something. He raises his eyebrow.
“Did you forget something? Where’s mine?” he asks.
The others roar with laughter.
“She’s real smart, buddy,” the dark-haired boy says. A part of his right ear is missing like something or someone bit it off.
Gross.
“Aww, come on. If she was smart, she wouldn’t be here now, would she?” Cole says.
“How’d she manage to escape red-light duty? What makes her so damn special?” one asks. “Sucks to be you, dude. If she were my assignment, I’d go nuts not thumping her.”
Their comments make me dizzy. I give myself a mental slap, pull myself together, and pop open Cole’s drink. I want to run from the room, but it would only make things worse.
“Why are we ordering our entertainment when we have her?” Cole asks while raising his beer. The others tap their cans against his and down their beers in thirsty, sloppy gulps. Setting down their drinks, they get back to their game.
I stand against the wall, heat rising up my neck from the humiliation. Every time they need a new beer, they motion for me, and I scramble to get one.
“Sit on my lap, sweetheart. I don’t bite,” one says.
“He might not, but I do,” Cole says.
The one chokes, spewing beer all over Cole’s shirt, and smacks his back like a good ol’ boy.
I roll my eyes. Drunk, dirty, and disgusting.
“Naw, seriously, go back to your room. Our girls will be here in three, two, on—”
A knock on his door brings cheers from the others and barking from Zeus. Cole opens the door and prostitutes pour inside. They’re tall, leggy, painted ladies wearing clothing that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. One of them immediately sits on a guard’s lap. He runs his hands up her back and fondles her beneath her clothing.
Slinking away, I fumble for the doorknob. Cole steps in my path, blocking my exit. He’s so close I can almost taste the beer on his breath. His eyes are glazed over but dark as ever. Unsure of what to do, I wait.
Please don’t make me stay.
He turns the knob, opens the door, and follows me out. His hand catches my wrist, jerking me back.
“It’s not what you think,” he gruffly whispers.
Then he slams the door.
What?
Walking back to my bed, feeling defeated, I trip over my own feet and crash onto my knees. I don’t have the strength to rise. All the goodness I so desperately clung to doesn’t exist here. I bang my fists on the bed in anger, pain, and suffering.
I just don’t understand anyone or anything.
With gaudy music playing in the background, I fall asleep, pleading with God to make tomorrow bearable.
CHAPTER 6
Dawn breaks through my window in one glorious streak of white light. My head aches from lack of sleep and the pounding music last night. I must’ve clenched my teeth while I was sleeping because it hurts to open my mouth.
I rub my eyes and drag myself out of bed. As I get dressed, Cole’s statement—“It’s not what you think”—keeps playing over and over in my head. I want to ask him about it, but I doubt I will… at least not now. But it frustrates me because he could be referring to so many different things. My thoughts swim laps in my head, trying to make sense of his words.
The hospital does nothing to dull the now-roaring scream in my mind, and the noise sets off a constant ringing in my ears. The smells are too putrid to block. So all around, I feel like a disaster.
And today of all days, they give me my first assignment—other than folding laundry. Lovely.
The charge nurse pulls me aside immediately upon Cole’s departure to let me know she has work lined up for me.
“What do I do?” I ask.
She leads me to the patient’s doorway and stops.
“Go in and see if she needs anything. Change her linens. Clean out her trash can… if she has one. Otherwise, pick up the trash on the floor, and if you moan about it, I’ll send you over to Horny Hank’s room. Which I’m pretty sure is the last place you want to go.” Her round face scowls at me. Whenever she talks, the imposing mole on her chin speaks to me with its three straw-like hairs protruding. It’s hard not to fixate on them.
Why doesn’t she pluck them?
I enter my patient’s room and take a moment to look around. There’s no one here. The silence disturbs me. Perplexed, I stand and scrutinize the room.
Now what?
I gather the dirty sheets and drop them on the floor. I glance down and that’s when I see the body. Her snow-white hair lies matted across her forehead. Her urine-soaked hospital gown is stained with feces and plastered to her body like saran wrap. Her chest doesn’t move. I kneel and check her for a pulse, breathing, anything to indicate she’s alive. No response.
Straightening up, I feel numb. This patient probably fell out of bed and no one heard or helped her. Maybe she would’ve died even with help, but either way she was alone, and I can’t help but feel bad for her.
My mind wanders to my father. He abhorred situations like this and that’s exactly why he spoke out. He risked everything by opposing the commander, yet he did it regardless. I hope I possess his bravery, his compassion, and his belief in the dignity of others. Moments like this test my resolve to the co
re, though. I look at the lady lying before me, and the indecency of her plight makes my neck tighten and my nerves edgy. I turn in one swift motion and bolt back to the nurse’s station.
“She’s rotten, isn’t she? Nasty old hag. What did she want this time?” the head nurse asks.
“She didn’t say a word…” My voice trails off as I try to suppress my emotions.
“Well, did you at least change her linens?”
“No.” I take a step forward and look her full in the face. “She’s dead.”
“Oh. Well, she’s better off stiff.” Her lips draw down in a look of dismay. “I guess you’ll need a new patient, then.” She flips through her charts like nothing happened. I wonder how she does it.
“Give her Alyssa,” a quiet voice from behind her says. “I need a break.” A nurse with silky, black hair peers from behind the charge nurse. She pulls her hair back from her face, revealing an orange brand—gluttony—which distracts me, and I want to punch myself for judging her by the color of her brand.
“I’m not sure she can handle her.”
“She needs someone to take care of her, and I’m not going to do it,” the quiet girl says. “I can’t.”
“Okay, she’s all yours.” The charge nurse points toward a wooden door at the end of the hallway. “Room six.”
“What’s wrong with her?” I’m not thrilled about meeting another patient after the last one turned up dead.
“She’s sick,” the head nurse huffs.
I get the feeling I’m missing some crucial piece of information and she’s not willing to give it to me. So I shake it off and stand straight before putting my hands on my hips. “I’m not going anywhere till you tell me. You can’t expect me to just walk in there and pretend I know what’s wrong.” The head nurse gives me a stern look. “Please.”
“There’s nothing we can do for her except try to keep her comfortable. Her pain is difficult to manage. Sutton’s trying everything he possibly can, but there isn’t enough morphine here and the commander won’t allow us to have more medicines since it’s all for sinners anyway. What she has now is all we have left. So we need to make it last until she—” The quiet nurse chokes on her words. “Until she dies.”