The Body Market: A Leine Basso Thriller (15 page)

“Of course,” she replied. Although Elise herself had never worked with special needs kids, her friend Brittany had spent an entire summer at Camp Challenge and told her about her experiences.
They just want to be treated like everyone else, Elise,
she’d told her. Not wanting this one brief moment of kindness to end, Elise took that advice to heart and held out her manacled hands. Puzzled, Sebastian looked at her, unsure what to do.

“You shake it, like this.” Elise grasped his palm with both her hands and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sebastian’s eyebrows shot upward in surprise. He stared at her with his mouth open, as though mesmerized.

“Move along now, Sebastian. It’s time for bed,” the doctor scolded, shooing him away. Sebastian shook himself as if waking from a trance.

“Bedtime for Sebastian,” he said with a serious nod. He moved aside to let them pass, never taking his eyes off of Elise.

Ramirez fished out a key ring, selected a key, and unlocked the door to the building. He flipped on an overhead light and ushered Elise inside what appeared to be a foyer with a closed door at the far end. To their right was a small bathroom with a sink and a toilet but no door. He locked the door behind them and then unlocked the manacles, placing them in a large metal can nearby.

“Do you need to relieve yourself?” he asked.

She shook her head no. Even though she would have loved to wash the grime off her face, she wasn’t about to pee in front of a complete stranger.

He pointed to a rack of white cotton dresses next to the bathroom. “Find one that fits and give me your clothing.”

Hands shaking, Elise searched each one for a size, but they appeared to be homemade with no labels. She found one she thought would fit and, turning away from him, unzipped her ruined outfit and slipped her arms out of the sleeves. Before she let her dress drop to the floor, she quickly slid the white one over her head and pulled it down over her hips. It reached past her knees and was quite thin. She stepped out of the one she had been wearing and picked it up, handing it to the old man.

“What are you going to do with it?” she asked. If she ever got to leave, she’d like to take it with her and have it repaired. Or, at the very least recycle the crystals. It
was
her favorite dress.

“That is no longer your concern.”

“What about shoes?” she asked. Her feet were raw. A trail of blood dotted the floor.

“You do not need shoes here.”

Elise couldn’t imagine anywhere a person wouldn’t need shoes. An image of Cinderella flashed through her mind, igniting a safe memory to grab hold of. If Cinderella could survive and meet her prince, then Elise could, too.

Fairytales are based on fact, like myths, right?

He flipped off the light and opened the door in front of them. Elise peered into the darkness.

“You will find an empty bed at the far end,” he whispered. Light snoring could be heard from either side of the room. “Sleep. You have a big day ahead of you.”

With that, the old man left, closing the door behind him. Elise reached for the handle, but her fingertips met only a smooth surface.

She made her way slowly toward the other end of the room, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A thin stream of moonlight shone through a tiny, barred window to her right illuminating several twin beds lined up against the wall. From what she could see, a form occupied each one, like an army barracks. Elise kept going, careful not to disturb anyone.

At the end of the row of beds she found a vacant mattress made up with sheets and a pillow. A blanket lay folded at the foot of the bed. Elise sat down and listened to the breathing of the other inhabitants. There was a different tenor to one of them and Elise strained to hear.

Someone was crying softly.

Unfolding the blanket, Elise lay on the bed and felt her own tears come.  

E
lise snapped awake
and stared at the ceiling.

Where was she?
Events of the previous night came back to her in dribs and drabs but skated away when she tried to concentrate. She propped herself up on her elbows, and attempted to focus on the activity around her.

Sunlight streamed through the room revealing dozens of girls of differing ages in various stages of waking up—some stood at the end of their beds with heads bowed wearing simple, knee-length dresses, their white shifts neatly folded on their freshly made beds, while others scrambled to change or hurriedly tucked sheets around mattresses. A few whispered to each other—no one spoke out loud—and some had dark circles under their eyes, as though they hadn’t slept well the night before. Elise folded back her covers and sat up the rest of the way, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Something had been left on the end of her bed. Taking her cue from the other girls, she tucked in her sheet and blanket and then unfolded the blue fabric, revealing a plain cotton dress. She took off the white shift and, ignoring the blatant stares from several of the other girls at her expensive silk thong and pushup bra, pulled the blue one over her head. It too stopped just below her knees.

The door at the end of the room opened and everyone fell silent. Stragglers quickly took their places at the end of their cots and stood more or less at attention. Elise did the same. The concrete floor felt rough beneath her feet, and she thought longingly of the pair of Louboutins she’d worn in Tijuana. It seemed so long ago. Not that she would expect to wear heels—at this point, she’d have been happy with a pair of flip-flops.

She peered around the girl next to her to see who was at the door and snapped back in line, panic shooting through her. It was the tall man from the night before. A younger, muscular man followed behind him, restraining a dog by its collar and moving toward her down the line. Most of the girls stared at the floor as they passed.

Beads of perspiration slid down her neck to the small of her back as Elise struggled for calm. The man with the dog was the same man who’d kidnapped her from the Porsche and drugged her. He looked different in daylight, and she might not have recognized him except for the tan stray he’d coaxed into the SUV. All compact muscle, the pit bull’s smaller head and scarred face was unforgettable.

The three of them stopped in front of her. Elise fixed her gaze on the floor, her breath shallow. The man let go of the dog, and it immediately trotted over to her and sniffed at her ankles. A low growl emanated from deep within its throat and Elise held her breath. She’d seen pictures of people who had been mauled by dogs. It wasn’t pretty.

“Take her,” the tall man ordered, and waved his hand at Elise. The man who’d been holding the dog seized her arm and shoved her toward the door. The dog followed behind, growling.

“No—where are you taking me?” she cried, trying to wrench free of his grasp.

He tightened his grip and propelled her ahead of him.

“Help me—” she pleaded with the other girls as they passed. When no one moved, tears sprang to her eyes. Most of them avoided her gaze by staring at the floor, but a few did not. Of those who watched them walk to the door, all had pity in their eyes, mixed with what could only be described as fear.

Once outside, the man forced her toward a small outbuilding Elise hadn’t noticed the night before. It stood roughly four feet high and three feet across with a padlocked door and no windows.

His grip on her arm secure, the man one-handed the lock off its hasp, kicked open the door, and shoved her toward the tiny space.

Oh, my God. They’re going to lock me inside.
Terrified, Elise balked and threw herself backward, digging her heels into the dirt.

“Don’t put me in there, please—” she begged, tears streaming down her face. The dog’s growl grew in intensity, and it snapped at her heels.

Without a word, the man slipped behind her and, using his body weight, heaved her into the dark hole and slammed the door shut. The sound of the lock snapping closed landed with a dull thud in her tiny prison, leaving Elise alone in the dark.

***

The dog man was known as Cruz, named after a famous Banda musician from another century. He enjoyed the recognition on people’s faces when he told them and had called the stray dog Max for
Mad Max
, an old movie Cruz had watched seventeen times. So far, none of the people at the ranch had said anything, which made him rethink his choice. Cruz had been pleased, though, to see how terrified the girls were of Max and used it to his advantage. Even Garcia seemed intimidated.

Cruz didn’t care much for Master Garcia, but he paid well and Cruz liked money. On repeated occasions he’d requested time with one of the girls, but Garcia told him he was too young and needed to wait.

He’d laughed at the reference to his age. He might have been young, but he’d proven his abilities many times over by killing whenever he was told to. Three hundred times over, by his count. Garcia was so impressed with his work that he farmed him out to other “businessmen” who needed his services.

And still he couldn’t taste Garcia’s whores.

Cruz made his first kill when he was eight years old. The member of a local drug gang offered what was a lot of money to Cruz at the time if he would shoot a rival gang member. Cruz did as he asked, his age and supposed innocence allowing him unprecedented access to the target. After that, Cruz made a name for himself as a vicious and talented killer and worked his way up, eventually landing with Garcia. The thrill of having so much power over someone’s life never left him. That he didn’t feel remorse was a plus.

Cruz slept well at night.

He enjoyed commanding the people he was about to kill to dig their own graves. He relished the look of fear on their faces, the tiny ray of hope they harbored that if they took their time digging, he’d grow bored and let them go.

Yes, Cruz enjoyed smashing hope. And why should anyone believe in hope? He was doing them a favor. Life was about survival of the fittest, taking what you could, living
la vida loca.
The crazy life.

Cruz knew how to live crazy.

When the Eastern Europeans brought in the American girl he’d helped kidnap, Cruz nearly exploded with anticipation. But she was off limits to everyone. Garcia made the excuse of waiting for blood tests to confirm she had no diseases. Cruz didn’t care what he caught, as long as he was the first. As Garcia turned down each request, it dawned on him that he was saving the girl for his own pleasure. If so, Cruz would never be allowed to have her.

He would need to take her by force.

“
H
ey—are you
in there?”

The whispering woke Elise. Disoriented, she opened her eyes but saw nothing. She held her hand to her face but still couldn’t make anything out. The temperature had skyrocketed and she was roasting in the airless box. Struggling to breathe, she wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her arm.

“Do you speak Spanish?” the muffled voice asked. It sounded female and came from behind her. Elise scooted toward the voice until she couldn’t go any further and leaned her ear against the wood.

“I’m here,” she said as loud as she dared. The person on the other side answered with a soft knock.

“This is the first time, so it shouldn’t be much longer. Recite songs in your mind or try to remember passages from books,” the girl’s voice suggested. “It will make the time go faster and you won’t go too crazy.”

“Why did they put me in here?” Elise asked. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The box felt like a punishment.

“To show you what will happen if you disobey,” came the reply.

“Who are you?”

“They call me Fanta, but my real name—” She stopped.

Elise strained to hear what was happening outside, but she could barely catch her words, much less distant sounds.

“I have to go.” Fanta’s voice trailed off.

“Wait—” Panicked, Elise banged on the wall, willing her to stay.

There was no answer.

Despair settled over her like a heavy fog and her shoulders sagged. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts. Something scratched feverishly a couple of feet away from where she was sitting. Alarm spiked through her and her breath caught. Elise drew her knees to her chin.

Is there something in here with me?

The scratching continued for a moment, and then quit. Elise squeezed her eyes shut and listened to her heart hammer in her chest. Although she’d never experienced a full-on anxiety attack, the stifling heat and lack of light combined with the possibility of a wild animal inside the box had Elise fighting hard to remain calm.

Fanta’s words carved their way into her mind and she started singing her favorite Taylor Swift song, her voice wobbly at first. Her breathing slowed and after a few stanzas, so did her heartbeat. The scratching resumed but didn’t sound any closer. Elise sang louder, trying to drown it out with her voice.

The door banged open and blazing sunlight filled the tiny space. Elise snapped her mouth shut and squinted at the silhouette.

“
Vamanos
,” the man ordered, his voice gruff.

Elise crawled forward into the light, gulping in the fresh air. She didn’t recognize the man who seized her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. She glanced down at her sweat-soaked, dirt-stained dress and wondered what the rest of her looked like.

The man dragged her across the yard to the first building she’d been in the night before when the doctor examined her. She stumbled up the stairs and into the hallway at the back of the house. The man detoured into the first room on the left, and, leaving her there, walked out, closing the door behind him.

Elise found herself in a spare room with a double bed, a dresser with a mirror, a toilet, a sink, and a claw-foot bathtub. She stumbled to the toilet and sat down. She hadn’t been sure how long she would be kept in the box and had stopped herself from going, not wanting to sit in her own pee.

Not sure what was expected of her, she sat on the edge of the bed when she was finished, her mind blank. She felt numb. Mistreatment, other than being ignored, hadn’t been a part of Elise’s life until now and she had no idea how to process what was happening. So, she didn’t. She stared at the scarred wooden floor and quietly hummed another song to herself.

Soon, she heard footsteps advancing toward her down the hallway. She looked up as the door opened and the tall man with the perfectly shaped goatee walked into the room. He carried a black, leather-bound bible in one hand and a whip in the other. Elise eyed the whip with mounting anxiety and wiped her sweaty palms on her dirt-encrusted dress.

The tall man closed the door behind him with precision and turned to face her.

“You remember me?” he said in clipped English.

Elise nodded, her gaze darting from his face to the whip in his hand.

“Good. You will call me Master Garcia.” He crossed the room, placed the bible on top of the dresser, and swiveled to face her, slapping the whip in his palm. Elise flinched. His mouth curved into a cruel smile, dark eyes glinting in the sunlight streaming through the barred window.

“Your name.”

“Elise,” she whispered.

“I can’t hear you,” he boomed. “What is your name?”

Elise swallowed, her mouth dry. “Elise,” she said again, this time louder.

“And what is my name?”

“Garcia,” she croaked.

“
Master
Garcia,” he commanded. “Say it.”

“Master…Garcia.” Elise closed her eyes. Tears dripped to her chin.

Evidently satisfied, he paced before her, tapping the whip against his palm.

“Well,
Elise
, you have been given into my custody, and I will say from what I saw last night, we have much to do.” His lips curled with a look of distaste and he took a step closer.

Elise tensed, staring at the floor. He prodded her chin with the end of the whip.

“Look at me when I speak to you.”

Slowly, Elise raised her eyes to meet his. Dread weighed in her stomach like an anvil and the hairs at the back of her neck prickled. For the first time in her short life, violence mixed with indifference stared back at her. She struggled to steady her gaze.

“What did you learn in the enclosure?” He stood close enough that Elise could smell the sweat on his oily scalp. “Did you see God?” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear.

Not sure of what he wanted her to say, she decided to answer with a question. “Did I—”

He stepped back and peered down at her. “Answer me, whore,” he bellowed.

Elise covered her head to ward off the sting of the whip, but it didn’t come. Shaking now, she murmured, “I—I didn’t see God.” Her voice trailed to nothing as he strode to the dresser.

He picked up the bible and flipped it open, scanning the pages. He found what he was looking for and walked back toward her, reading in Spanish. 

“
And he answered, what peace, so long as the whoredoms of thy mother Jezebel and her witchcrafts are so many?
”

He glanced up from the book with a scowl and pointed an accusing finger at Elise. “You are the embodiment of the treacherous Jezebel.” His voice echoed against the walls. “You must be cleansed of your witchcraft. Only then will you be worthy in the eyes of the Lord.”

Leaning his head back, he raised both arms and shouted, “Be gone, oh demons who dwell in the breast of this unclean whore. Cleanse her of her wickedness…”

The whip sliced through the air, landing with a sharp crack on Elise’s shoulder. The braided leather bit through her dress and she cried out. Master Garcia brought the whip down again and again on her shoulders and back, ripping through the thin fabric of her dirt-stained shift, while reciting one passage of scripture after another. Her body swimming in hot, agonizing pain, Elise fell to the floor and curled into a ball at his feet, her arms covering her face and head in an ineffective attempt to block the blows.

After what seemed like one hundred strokes of the whip, Master Garcia stopped and, breathing heavily, stepped back, placing both the bible and the whip on top of the dresser. He bent down and seized her elbow, dragging her to her feet.

“Start the bath,” he ordered.

Tears streaming down her face, Elise staggered to the tub and turned on the faucets. She looked around for a plug and realized there was already one in the drain. Master Garcia strode to where she balanced on the lip of the tub.

“Remove your dress and get in.”

Legs shaking, she stood and pulled off the ruined dress. With a brief glance at the shredded and bloodstained fabric, she dropped it to the floor and stepped into the tub. Garcia grimaced when he saw her thong.

“Take off your whore’s clothing. You will not wear such things here.”

Elise raised trembling hands to unfasten her bra, turning away from him as she did. She heard him cross the room and glanced over her shoulder, afraid he would come back with something worse than the whip.

“Sebastian will bring fresh clothes and dress the wounds.” He opened the door and paused. “Be sure this does not happen again. Most whores only need one cleansing. I pray the demons have left you and you are free.”

With that, Garcia walked out and slammed the door behind him.

Elise closed her eyes and sucked in a ragged breath. Equal parts relief and despair washed through her. The water in the tub had risen to mid-calf and she carefully lowered herself to a seated position. A wave of grief followed by unshakable anger flowed through her and she hung her head. Hot tears coursed down her face. If her father knew how she’d been treated he’d raise the dead to see “Master Garcia” rot in prison. If she couldn’t find a way to escape, she would do everything in her power to bring the sadistic bastard down.

No one whipped Elise Bennett.

She clung to the thought and cupped warm, stinging water over her back and shoulders, and watched the bath turn pink from her blood.