But it was too late. Her
oxygen-deprived muscles had no energy for the journey. Slowly her
thoughts turned to molasses and the edge of her vision blurred from
more than just water. She began sinking again, with nothing left to
prop her from a cold and certain death.
Jen let her
last breath bubble from her mouth and nose, drew water into her
lungs, and… regained consciousness. She blinked in surprise to see
a white ceiling. It was spinning nauseatingly, but vastly different
from the watery grave she’d expected. It took her a long time to
remember what’d happened. Her arms, handcuffed behind her back,
were too numb to feel. And she’d tangled the sheets around her legs
by thrashing through her hallucinations. She couldn’t bear to think
about what Esteban had injected her with. It was too terrifying to
contemplate.
What if I get
addicted?
The more pessimistic part of her
mind told her it wouldn’t matter, that life was all but
over.
She tried to sit but her
muscles didn’t respond. They weren’t yet ready to relinquish
control to her mind, but she felt the aches and pains. Every joint
felt as if she’d hyper-flexed it and every ligament felt as if
she’d pulled it beyond reason. When she closed her eyes she could
easily imagine a fire was raging inside her body, charring her
flesh and blazing a trail of pain in its wake. She wondered how
long it would take to flush the drugs from her system, because she
couldn’t stand any more torment. And she didn’t intend to give her
captors reason to inject her again. So, although she’d never
acknowledge it, they’d succeeded in phase one of her
cowing.
Quarter of an
hour passed before she had the strength to push herself to a
sitting position. She immediately knew something was grievously
wrong. Her clothes were misaligned and she could feel throbbing
bruises on her breasts through the drug-induced pain. A sickening
thought permeated the haze and soaked her mind.
Did they rape me already?
Someone had
definitely unbuttoned her shirt, they’d put the buttons in the
wrong holes when doing it back up. A wave of nausea settled in her
midriff and she ceased contemplating rape to focus on not
vomiting.
The nausea
gradually subsided until only a lingering queasiness remained,
and
that
would stay
with her until she’d flushed the drugs from her body – or she got
another hit. She regained a portion of strength and used it to
stand on unsteady feet. The cuffs made it frightening because she
had nothing to stop herself from toppling to the ground if she
stumbled. First, she wanted to see Claire, and she wrestled with
her foggy memory to find Claire’s room. It was empty.
This can’t be right… I got it
wrong.
But she recognised the few trinkets
Claire had used to brighten her room.
So
where is she?
Then she realised she had no
clue what time it was.
Daytime?
They regulated the lights
with the sun.
Yes, daytime.
A finger of
clear thought poked through her enfeebled mind and she came up with
an eloquent explanation for Claire’s absence:
She’s somewhere else.
So, with a
series of dolly-steps, she turned around and wandered through the
halls looking for her friend. She couldn’t face the prospect of
examining her body for rape without emotional support. She needed
someone who understood and who’d been through it.
She eventually shuffled
into the lounge room.
“…
isn’t how I
wanted to spend my weekend either,” Adrian was
muttering.
“
Why does
Esteban have to work today anyway?” Junior asked, wincing as he
poked at his dressing, but completely incapable of leaving it
alone.
“
Company
emergency, remember? He’s on the reaction team.”
“
Ha!” Junior
stopped short of saying what he honestly thought.
Serves him right for all the trouble he
causes.
He was first to see Jen.
“Hello
princess
,”
he snarled.
She remained
silent.
“
How’re you
feeling?” Adrian asked more compassionately. He didn’t really need
to ask, he could see the answer by looking in her eyes – they were
bewildered and unfocussed.
Jen quivered. “Can you
take my cuffs off?”
Adrian nodded. “Hang on a
moment.” He strode from the room, presumably to get a
key.
“
You did some
real fucking damage to my neck last night.” Junior didn’t know what
else to say. He was furious with her, though no longer felt the
need to cut off her feet.
She didn’t
answer. She just sank into a chair, sitting uncomfortably upright
to protect her wrists from unnecessary damage. The colours in the
room looked muted and she wondered whether it was the lingering
drugs or whether her outlook on life had changed.
Will things always look less vibrant now? Is this
how depressed people see things?
It was as
if somebody had taken a bucket of murky water and splashed it over
the world to wash away the pleasure, the vigour, the
life
.
“
Here.” Adrian
was back, holding a small key triumphantly in the air. “Stand
up.”
She stood and turned her
back to him. There was quiet click, a clank, and the cuffs were
off. She gently brushed fingers over her wrists, which were too
sensitive for real rubbing.
“
Are you
okay?” Adrian asked. “They look painful.”
Jen shook her head. “I’ll
be fine.” She wanted to leave. She couldn’t stand the thought of
casually talking to men who might’ve raped her the previous
night.
“
I’ll get you
some skin-healing cream,” Adrian offered. He was gone before Jen
could protest and had returned before either Junior or Jen could
think of anything to say.
“
Here.” He
offered her the tube. “It’ll help.”
Reluctance
oozed from every pore of her skin, but she accepted. She didn’t
want anything from these people, except her freedom. She eased
herself back onto the couch, removing the weight from her wobbly
legs to apply the cream. It felt cold and soothing when she dabbed
it on her skin. According to the print on the tube, it was
anti-inflammatory and had a mild anaesthetic to dull the pain.
“Thanks,” she mumbled, wishing her upbringing hadn’t forced her to
say that word.
They have no right to my
gratitude.
Jen tossed the tube back. “Am I
free to go?”
Adrian nodded and said,
“As far as you can without a chip, yes.”
Jen kept her
eyes trained on them while she stood. If she had the balance to
accompany her presence of mind, she would’ve backed from the room.
As it was, she used all her concentration to avoid having to crawl.
Back in her room, she closed the door and removed her sweat-soaked
shirt and bra. A sinking feeling weighed in her heart when she saw
the bruises. Ugly black and blue welts, which were turning yellow
at the fringes, neatly fit the shape of a human hand. Someone had
taken advantage of her unconsciousness.
The question is, how much?
Badly
bruised breasts was one thing, seamen dripping down her inner
thighs was something else entirely. She removed her jeans and
underpants to perform the examination.
Holding her
breath, she checked, sick with the prospect of confirming her fear.
But there appeared to be nothing amiss.
Strange.
She studied herself three
times before daring to believe that nobody had raped her.
Maybe they got interrupted?
But a less savoury thought soon displaced her tentative
euphoria.
Maybe they’re waiting until I
can fight back… maybe the sick bastards think that’s more
fun.
She dressed in silence, bathing in
temporary relief. She knew they were close to forcing her into an
unwanted sexual encounter; it was just a matter of time.
I have to get out of here.
She still
believed her original plan was the best.
Borrow a microchip.
Last time Edward,
the pompous English arse, had caught her unprepared.
But next time will be
different
. She considered everyone in the
Guild a fair target. They were all guilty, or so she repeatedly
tried to affirm in her mind.
She wished she
could banish the final effects of whatever they’d injected her
with, but dared not wait for it to clear. She suspected they’d
inject her again before too long.
And then
the game’s all over.
One more shot and she’d
be addicted, of that, she was somehow convinced.
She wove
toward Claire’s room on slightly steadier feet, growing anxious
when she found it still vacant.
Where are
you?
She checked the showers and toilets,
smiling politely every time she saw another woman. The suspense was
too much. “Excuse me.” She sounded like a child. “I’m looking for
Claire, do you know where she is?”
The woman she’d
apprehended looked sad and reached out to brush Jen’s shoulder.
“She died.”
“
What?” The
strength drained from her legs and she couldn’t understand what
stopped her from collapsing.
“
They killed
her last night.”
Jen’s lip quivered with
shock. The other women were familiar with the Guild’s disregard for
human life but it was Jen’s first taste. “Why?”
She had long dark hair
and, like the others, unnaturally large breasts. They heaved when
she shrugged. “Nobody knows. They dispose of us when we lose our
appeal, but Claire was still young.”
“
Younger than
me,” Jen affirmed.
“
Oh,
you
have nothing to worry
about.” She did her best to smile reassuringly. “You’re pretty
enough to keep them attracted for ages yet.”
“
Who?” Jen
mouthed the word but not even a whisper escaped.
The dark haired woman
understood her question anyway. “Frank. I think they call him
Junior… not him, but his friends.” She saw the helpless fury
brewing in Jen’s eyes. “Take some advice, don’t do anything stupid,
okay? Don’t do anything at all.” She didn’t want to see Jen
hurt.
Jen thanked her and
shuffled back the way she’d come, beginning to understand how to
navigate the bunker. Adrian and Junior were exactly where she’d
left them, except now they were engrossed in magazines. She
demanded to know whose microchip she should escape with, “Who
killed her?”
Adrian peered over the
latest issue of Fortune and adjusted his glasses before folding the
pages together and depositing the magazine on the lamp table.
“Who?”
“
Claire
Robinson.”
Adrian felt a smidgeon of
shame that he’d never known her surname, but it quickly passed.
“Esteban of course.”
Junior was still living
in his sphere of silence. He wasn’t yet ready to forgive Jen for
wounding him.
Jen paled and returned to
her room, shuffling unsteadily down the corridor. She didn’t notice
that Adrian was following. He reached her door just as she reached
her bed. “Get away from me,” she shouted when she saw him standing
there.
Adrian’s expression was
always serious and Jen couldn’t remember seeing him smile. But now
he did, or tried to. It didn’t come naturally to him and tended to
make him look sinister rather than convey the intended reassurance.
“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”
“
Promises
don’t mean shit if I can’t trust you to keep them.”
“
That’s a good
point,” Adrian conceded. “So I’ll have to earn your trust
first.”
“
How about
letting me go? That’d be a good start.” Jen felt uncomfortable with
him standing in the doorway. She looked desperately around for a
weapon, but found none. And she certainly wasn’t strong enough to
beat him away with fists alone.
Adrian entered her room
and closed the door. But instead of approaching her bed, he sat on
the table. “I’m just going to sit here.” He paused, but Jen didn’t
accept the opportunity to speak. “I never knew Claire’s last
name.”
You’re not
doing yourself any favours.
Jen maintained
her disdainful stare.
“
I never got
the chance to talk to her much, but she seemed like a nice girl.”
Adrian ran a hand through his neatly matted hair.
“
What did she
do wrong?”
“
Nothing,”
Adrian admitted with a shameful expression. “Esteban has a
replacement.”
“
Me.” Jen
understood. “Did she really kill someone?” Her voice was barely
more than a whisper.
Adrian nodded. “Her
boyfriend, in self-defence.” But people on the outside perceive
domestic altercations differently from people embroiled on the
inside. Claire was the only one who truly knew whether it was
self-defence or malicious murder, and now that she was gone, nobody
could know the truth. But it felt wrong to dishonour the dead by
speaking ill of them for crimes against which they could no longer
defend themselves. It seemed fitting to give her the benefit of the
doubt. Besides, she’d paid a thousand times for her
mistakes.