by Ella Burns
A thick coughing and sputtering noise comes from the boy on the table, much to my dismay. Rattling metal, the telltale sign of struggles, quickly follow.
“What the fuck!” the boy exclaims as he thrashes about on the cold table. “What the fuck is this! Help!” He starts to shout and cry.
I sigh but don’t respond, my head hanging between my knees.
“Who's there! I heard you. Who is that? What are you doing to me!”
I hate this.
“I didn’t do this to you,” I respond simply, “You’ve been taken by a woman named Jane.”
The boy stops thrashing long enough to listen. As he hears where my voice is coming from, he lifts his head slightly and down to the left towards my cage. His eyes widen as he takes in my prison and realizes I, too, am trapped. While he probably thinks he has the short end of this deal being on the table, I can’t deny having felt jealousy at some of the people who come through here. At least their pain is almost over. My hell continues day by day, no end in sight.
“What the hell is going on, man,” the boy asks frantically, “What the hell is this place?”
“Like I said, you’ve been taken for a woman named Jane. She is an artist.”
“What the fuck kind of artist is she! Where are we? What's going to happen?”
I look him in the eyes. “Hell, my friend. We are in hell.”
The boy stops asking questions and continues to struggle against the bonds. I’ve seen all kinds of escape attempts and know just how futile it is, but long ago discovered that telling them that only makes this in-between time that much worse. When I hear the faint sounds of footsteps down the gallery, I know the time has come.
The door opens, and immediately the boy's thrashing increases as Jane walks in. While her face could be mistaken for sweet and pretty, the darkness in her eyes always gives her away. That and the blood-spattered butcher’s apron she prefers to don.
I can’t see his face from this angle but can imagine the terror written there. I have the power to look away, to close my eyes, but I can’t shut my ears.
I listen because I have no choice.
I listen to the boy plead and beg.
I listen to Jane laugh and tease the boy.
I listen as she picks up a bone saw.
And for what seems like forever, I listen to the boy scream.
✽✽✽
The next day, the boy’s struggles are over, and Jane’s work has only just begun. He spent the last twenty-four hours being tortured for Jane’s art.
Once, Jane spoke to me about her logic behind her projects.
“Fear and pain, Branson. That is what my beautiful artwork requires to be truly complete, truly amazing.”
She continued on to tell me how the aura of pain stays with the pieces of the people left behind. That always stuck with me. ‘Aura of Pain’.
I didn’t comment but wondered what type of aura I would leave behind, if my pain would leave a blackened stain, my only footprint on this miserable earth.
The familiar smell of blood, organs, and shit washes over me but I ignore them, still staring at the second cage. When Jane takes a break to remove the unneeded body parts, I decide to risk it and ask.
“What’s the other cage for, Jane?” She turns to me, obviously surprised that I would dare ask a question.
“You’ll see,” she replies in the singsong voice I hate so much. Her smile chills me to my core. Whatever it is, it won’t be good. I lean back and close my eyes.
A piercing noise startles me awake and I open my eyes to see a familiar metal bin that Jane uses for ‘garbage’ being dragged across the floor by Bud. I know there is some kind of furnace somewhere on the property, but I’ve never seen it.
Groaning, I sit up and try to work some of the kinks out of my neck. This is a sign she is almost done. A sign I will be out of here soon. I hold back my sigh of relief as I watch Bud leave, turning my attention back to Jane.
Jane has her back to me as she puts what must be the finishing touches on her project. It’s taken about three days this time and, as crappy as it is, I look forward to going back to my room where I can at least stand properly and lay my body out mostly flat.
Thalassemia. Thiamine Deficiency. Thoracic Outlet Syndrome. Thigh. Throat.
“Perfect!” Jane finally exclaims, causing me to lean forward in anticipation of being shown the latest grotesque statue before being led down the gallery. Jane removes her apron and hangs it in its usual spot before turning towards the door. Bud or I typically place finished pieces for her in a pre-designated spot, as they are often too heavy for her to lift on her own.
Jane walks towards the door, and a small cry escapes my lips. Did she forget about me? She always lets me out to see before she leaves.
“Hey, Jane,” I croak, “Can I see your piece?”
Hope fills me that she has just forgotten and my request will inspire her to show it off and let me out.
She smirks at me and winks before turning off the lights and closing the door. The blackness is complete, no window or hint of light from anywhere. This has never happened before.
New is never good in this place.
✽✽✽
Time seems to be crawling, and it’s hard to tell the passing of it, but I think it’s been at least a day since she left me here. The change in routine has me anxious. Fear is something I’ve long since grown numb to in this place, so feeling it now is unfamiliar and uncomfortable. I wonder if I’m being punished and think back to the last few days to see if I can think of anything that might warrant it, in Jane’s mind, anyway. My mind comes up blank, though, and I’m left wondering.
It’s probably been four days since I’ve eaten and almost twenty-four hours since I’ve been given any water, and my body is screaming for sustenance. There is an aluminum bucket in the corner of my cage, but I haven't gotten that desperate yet. I am pretty used to going without, after all.
Finally, the door opens, and I am blinded by the lights as they flick on. Bud walks in and grabs the project. I catch a glimpse through watering eyes and bile lifts in my throat. Are those his balls? I shake my head, eager to erase the image from my mind.
“Hey, Bud, what's going on?” I rasp, “Why am I still in here?”
Ignoring me, Bud leaves the room with the project in tow. The lights are left on this time and I’m not sure if the view of the morbid workshop is better or worse than the blackness. A second later Bud returns and, much to my delight, goes to open the cage. Before I can get too excited, he tosses a bowl of slop and a water bottle in with me and slams the door closed.
Apparently, this is my new room.
Chapter Three
Branson
Weeks pass and I’m left in the cage. Bud comes in periodically to throw water and minimal food in with me and I soon stop asking questions. Even when Jane comes to do a new project, leaving me here the entire time, I don’t ask. I say nothing. I don't even want to know anymore.
Some days I pray she drags me out and puts me on the table.
After weeks in the cage, I hear Jane’s voice down the gallery corridor. Her voice sounds pleasant and light and I frown, wondering who she is talking to. She never talks to Bud that way, much less her subjects, much less me.
A moment later, the light turns on and I look over to see Jane followed by a small girl carrying a teddy bear. The girl’s no more than ten or so. My face pales and bile rises up in my throat. Oh god, she’s using children again.
The little girl has a plain face with stringy blonde hair framing it. She's honestly a bit homely looking with slightly sunken cheeks and pale skin. Her eyes, though, are bright and green, beautiful and wide. She looks around the room with curiosity, but not fear.
“Here we are, sweetie! This is Mama’s workshop!”
Mama?
“But my Mama…” The girl starts to say but is interrupted by Jane violently grabbing her face.
“We talked about this,” Jane says with an edge to her
voice, “I am your mama. And you’re my little Teddy.”
Her face transforms again, and she smiles as she kisses the little girl's head. Flashbacks of my own introduction to Jane’s world whirl through my mind.
Before I can react further, Bud enters the room with a box in his arms. Inside are some blankets and a few children’s toys, which he tosses into the second cage. The small girl doesn’t object as she is led over to it and locked inside. Jane coos at the girl and praises her for doing as she was told before leaving us and locking the door behind her.
The little girl sits in a cage the same size as my own. Since she is so small, it almost seems roomy compared to mine, which barely fits my growing body. In the last year I have grown a lot—which always seems to anger Jane. The little girl wraps her tiny hands around the bars and looks over at me, her bright eyes shining.
“Hello,” she says, “I’m Amelia, but you can call me Teddy. Who are you?”
✽✽✽
It takes me a few hours, but I do manage to get most of Amelia’s story from her. It seems like she has a similar tale to my own, though I am fairly sure I was an accidental pick up, whereas it sounds like Amelia was intentional. Who knows what Jane has in mind for this girl? Perhaps a new protege, since I was such a failure to her. I was right, she’s almost eleven, but so small and runty she looks much younger.
“I was begging out front of the subway, like usual, while Mama took care of one of her friends in the field. She does that a lot,” Amelia tells me proudly, “Mama is so good at taking care of people!”
I don’t comment. Hell, I have no place to say anything. My own mother was a whore too.
“Mama Jane came up to me and asked if I was hungry and when I said yes, she took me for ice cream! Have you had ice cream, Branson? It was sooo good. When we were done, we found my mama and then, we were both in her van. Mama slept the whole way though.”
After this, I hold up my hand, indicating for her to stop.
“I get it, Amelia, but did Jane say why you were here?” The small face frowns slightly in thought before brightening.
“Oh, I remember! Jane said she needed help on some art. I like art. When I was still in school, my teacher said I was really good at it….”
My mind wanders as the girl continues talking. Jane needs help. With her art. I groan at the thought of this sweet little girl being made to participate in Jane's projects. Warped and twisted, like I was. What was worse, being screwed up for life or being on the table itself? Then again, I didn't suppose either of us held much promise for life even outside of this place. I know enough to know the children of whores aren’t among the fortunate. It's one of the reasons escape has never been very high on my 'to do' list. I may not know much of the outside world, but I don’t think there is a place in it for someone like me. Or that’s what I tell myself, anyway.
When I look over, I see Amelia scribbling with crayons, humming softly to herself. I swallow hard. I can't remember the last time I saw something so pure. Ever?
For the next few hours, I just sit and watch her. It’s been so long since I saw another person doing something so simple. Listening to her and watching her does something to me. I have seen dozens of people of all ages brought through those doors, and if I’m being honest, I didn't truly care. The only thing I didn’t like were the live ones, mostly because I had to listen to it. That and the children.
I close my eyes and let the small girl's song wash over me, so different from the screams I usually hear in this room.
Jane killed any bit of empathy I had left. Or so I had thought. It’s like Amelia’s presence, even from across the room, lightens my very soul. The corner of my mouth twitches, and I wonder if I’m smiling.
✽✽✽
When Jane finally comes back, she coos more encouragement at Amelia but doesn’t open her cage right away. Instead, she turns to me.
“Well, precious, it’s been a long month for you, I’m sure,” she says. I don’t comment, not wanting to anger her by agreeing or disagreeing. After a moment, Jane smiles. When Amelia smiled at me, it made me feel warm inside. Jane’s smile only makes me feel cold.
Jane steps forward and pulls a key from her pocket, twisting the lock to my cage.
“I think it’s time we changed some things around here,” she tells me as she steps away from the cage. “Well, come on then, I don’t have all day!”
I scurry out of the cage as fast as my numb limbs will take me and stand before her, doing my best not to shake.
“O-okay, Jane.”
I’m not about to argue. Anything to get me out of this cage, this room.
She smiles at me again before patting me on the head. I don’t cringe at her touch—as much as I want to—and only let myself shiver when she turns back to Amelia’s cage, opening it as well.
I watch as Amelia steps out of the doors before giving Jane a brilliant smile. Smart girl.
“Hi, Mama!” She exclaims and Jane pats her head too, looking down fondly.
“Okay, Teddy, Precious. Come with Mama.”
Without waiting for either of us, Jane turns to leave, trusting us to follow. I glance over at Amelia again and see her watching me. When she smiles, it touches her eyes and I feel my mouth twitch again. When she holds out her hand, I take it and I feel the warmth spread through my body as we step forward, following Jane hand-in-hand.
As we make our way through the gallery, I watch Amelia’s face. Her eyes are even wider than usual, and her breath is quick, but she doesn’t seem overly disturbed by the macabre art she sees. I swallow deeply and keep my eyes forward.
We get to the end of the gallery. My room is off another hallway to our left, but Jane surprises me again when she leads us both to the right. To the stairs.
I haven’t been upstairs in years.
We follow Jane up and watch as she pulls another key out, unlocking it and holding the door open as we cross into the next level of the house. Amelia looks totally unfazed, I guess she came through here recently, but I am sure my eyes are wide as saucers as I take in the unfamiliar sights.
I know we are in the kitchen; I see a fridge and a sink, but they’re dusty and unused. Rather than the smell of blood and bones, I smell dust and mildew. It’s wonderful.
I want to ask what is going on but am too afraid that Jane will change her mind and put me back in my room, or worse, the cage.
“Branson,” Jane says, and immediately my attention is on her. She never uses my name. “I would like you to begin by cleaning this room. There are supplies in that closet.”
I am too surprised to do anything but nod. She wants me to clean? I forget for a moment that I am still holding Amelia’s hand until Jane reaches out and I instinctively flinch. Jane smiles at that before taking Amelia’s hand into her own. I swallow as the cold overwhelms me again.
“We won’t be far,” Jane tells me. “I’ll be back to check on your work soon.”
For the next while, I am left on my own. My body aches from being in the cage for so long and I still feel weak, but the longer I am moving and standing, the better I feel. I am just scrubbing the last dust mites from the counter when I hear footsteps behind me.
“Well, well, well,” Jane says, “What a good little cleaner you are.” She steps into the room and takes a moment to inspect some of the cupboards and even the inside of the fridge—which was turned off, but I still cleaned.
“I should have done this years ago,” she mutters to herself before turning back to me.
“Are you hungry?” she asks me. I hesitate before nodding. Of course I am, I’ve barely eaten in what feels like forever. When Jane beckons me to follow her, I do. This time without hesitation.
I follow her through the dark hallways that are only vaguely familiar to me from when I was first brought her. The walls seem to be peeling a bit at the edges and that old, musty smell permeates everything.
We turn a corner to a sight I have definitely never seen in this house. A table is set up and Amelia
is sitting there wearing a frilly pink dress. Tantalizing aromas drift up from the covered plates, and my mouth immediately begins to water.
Food. Real, honest-to-god food.
I stand there frozen, not sure what I am supposed to do while I watch Jane walk around to the top of the table and take a seat.
“Where are your manners!” Jane scolds. “Sit!”
I hurry over to take a seat across from Amelia. We both look to Jane who is watching us with a small smile on her face.
“My children,” she begins, and despite my hatred for her, I feel a small flush of warmth at being called her child again, “I know this has been a big day for you both, so we will talk more tomorrow of the changes going forward. Tonight, we eat and celebrate our new family.”
After dinner I am brought back to my room downstairs fuller than I can ever remember being. I drift off to sleep thinking of bright green eyes and a brilliant smile, and for once, the nightmares don’t come.
Chapter Four
Branson
I’m in my room for a few days before Bud comes to get me and bring me back to the cage. I’ve been let out twice since the first time to go upstairs and clean, but haven’t been taken to the workroom. It’s the longest I’ve stayed out of there since I can remember.
I haven’t seen Amelia and I can’t get her out of my mind. I’m so distracted and excited that I might get to see her soon that I’m not even bothered like I usually would be when Bud locks me in my cage and shuts the door behind me.
It isn’t too long before Jane comes in with Amelia following closely behind. She’s wearing another girly dress and looks well. Even still, I know better than anyone that much of Jane’s torment is not visible to the eye.
"Okay, Teddy, Mama is going to get the next subject with Uncle Bud, so you go back in here like a good girl now." Jane leads Amelia over to her own cage, but the young girl stops and looks over at me.
