by Jenny Lynn
“Come,” the short man said, then we were all led down the hall following a familiar path. My skin crawled when I noticed we were once again in the large shower room.
“All of you, strip and shower. You have five minutes,” short man shouted. Immediately a number of the girls removed their garments and scurried over to the shower stalls. A few of us, like me, hesitated. One girl took a step back, towards the exit. A guard grabbed her and she shrieked as he tore her clothes, hitting her in the stomach when she struggled. With a groan she doubled over, crumpling on the ground.
A guard stepped towards those of us who were still dressed; the implied threat was enough to scare us into action. With shaking hands I undressed, then joined the other women at the row of rusty showers. The water was still freezing, I picked up a bar of soap and tried to work it into a lather. The entire time, I was aware of the group of men watching us. I felt exposed, humiliated, like I was no longer a person with rights. I had been reduced to property.
After rinsing I turned and saw towels being handed out. I rushed for one, grateful to cover my body. The towel was again small and scratchy, but nothing about this situation was about our comfort or taking care of us.
Short man walked out of the room, into a room across the hall. The guards nudged us until we followed him. I shivered from a mixture of cold and fear, my hair hanging damp against my body. I looked back and saw Caroline behind me, when our eyes met I could see that she was afraid just like I was. Like we all were.
In the other room we were told to line up. It was my first chance to see all of the other women who had been taken; there were nine of us in total. We looked different, but were all young and pretty. The reporter in me wanted to talk to them, piece together everything I could. But what would I do with this information? Instead I looked from face to devastated face, trying to memorize their features. I never wanted to forget any of them, in case I escaped and could help identify them. None of us should ever be forgotten. A clothing rack was wheeled in front of us, then boxes of shoes dropped onto the ground.
“Each of you will now pick a dress and shoes in your size, then get dressed,” the short man instructed us. “You have ten minutes.”
Against the wall, we all looked at each other. I wanted to wear more than a towel that barely concealed me, but each step we were taking was bringing us closer to being sold. To becoming the property of whatever kind of monster would buy an unwilling woman, and whatever things he would want to do to us.
Caroline was the first to step forward cautiously. She approached the rack and pulled out a dress, then started looking through shoes. One by one the others did the same. Short man glared at me, the lone girl against the wall. Resisting would get me nowhere. Resigned, I joined the other girls and assessed the clothes.
They were black dresses in different cuts and sizes, much fancier than what I had been told to wear when they took my photo, mostly short and all were form-fitting. I found a dress in my size, then slid it off the hanger. Slipping it over my head I pulled it over my body then dropped the towel. Around me women were putting on their dresses and shoes. In the box I found a pair of black heels in my size, then slipped them on as well. The scene was absurd. There were rough looking men on guard with bats and tasers, guarding a group of women dressed up for a cocktail party. A man walked from one of us to another, securing our wrists with a zip tie.
“Alright, let’s move out,” the short man said once we were all dressed.
The guards guided us, two per woman, back out into the hallway. Our heels all clicked against the floor, sounding like a clock counting down to the end of our lives as we have lived them. Tap, tap, tap.
We approached large double doors and were ushered outside, leaving the building. The moment the fresh air hit my lungs I breathed in deeply, looking up to the sky. It was night, how late I wasn’t sure. I tried to gauge my surroundings and see if I could recognize any landmarks but I was shoved hard in the ribs towards a waiting van. I stepped forward, keeping close to Caroline as we were split into two groups. Five of us were shoved into one van, four into the other, three guards getting inside with us. The doors were slammed shut, all of us huddled together on the ground.
“Where are you taking us?” I asked once the van was moving.
“Shut the fuck up,” one of the guards told me.
“I just want to know wh-”
A man with thick, calloused hands leaned forward and slapped me across the mouth, hard. My lip stung and I glared at him, my eyes staring right back into his. I felt fire inside me, that urge to talk back, but I knew better. It would get me nowhere. One of the other men chuckled.
“Careful, Joey. We’re not supposed to damage the merchandise.”
Merchandise. Labels to strip us of our humanity. Feeling helpless was maddening. My instincts told me to fight, bite, scratch like a wild thing - but I knew that wouldn’t help me. These were the kind of men who needed no excuse to want to hurt a woman; giving them one would be giving them a chance to take whatever inadequacy they felt in life out on me. On us. I felt Caroline’s hand slip into mine and give me a slight squeeze. Reassurance, comfort, a warning - maybe all three or none of them. The only thing I didn’t doubt was that we were in this together.
The van sped and bumped along, winding down unknown streets, probably passing by cars and people who had no idea what kind of hell we were living through behind the tinted windows. Crime hiding in plain sight. In the distance I heard a siren, my heart beating faster. We all heard it; my fellow captives exchanged glances, the men with guns were alert.
The siren came closer now, promising me hope and freedom. Already I was planning to rush the doors, to pull Caroline after me, to push over one of the men to help the police (probably Joey, revenge for hitting me).
Hope is a fragile thing. It can find you in a desperate moment, wrap itself around you, but just as quickly it can evaporate like smoke between your fingers when you try to hold on tight.
The siren passed right beside the van, but then it continued past us. Some other evil would be stopped tonight, some other poor soul would be saved. Not us. One of the women started to cry softly, while the men laughed and high-fived each other, celebrating their luck. Luck rewarding the wrong people is proof that evil exists in this world.
We drove for who knows how long, to who knows where. The reporter in me had questions, but the victim in me knew I wouldn’t be given many answers. It was a strange disconnect - having researched this exact type of situation extensively, but now finding myself caught in the same trap. Fear was a weapon, I needed to stay calm and use my mind. It was the only weapon I had.
The van came to a stop, the engine still running, and moments later a bang at the back doors made us jump. Joey looked down at us on the ground, his eyes moving from face to terrified face before settling on mine. “It’s go time,” he informed us, tapping his gun like a dare. “Run, and I’ll catch you with a bullet. What’s that, sweetheart?” He sneered at me. “No more questions for me?”
I glared at him. He was hunting for an excuse to hit me again, and I refused to give it to him. He snorted, seemed disappointed, then slipped his gun into a holster inside his jacket - they all did. “That’s what I thought.”
The doors opened and we were guided out, flanked on either side by men we knew were armed. We were at the back entrance of a hotel, moving as a group into an elevator. There weren’t many people around, no one to shout out to. To anyone who may have noticed us, we looked like a group of well-dressed women flanked by security. A private party, maybe. Pimps and escorts, more likely. We passed by the hotel staff in plain sight, like shadows, faint silhouettes to be ignored.
At the elevators we split into two groups, one of the men slipped in a key card and the button for the penthouse was pressed. Whatever happened next was going to happen up there. The floors counted up, taking us all closer to something much worse than being locked away in a cold, dark cell. How ironic that the higher up we traveled, the l
ower my heart sank until it felt crushed under my feet.
The doors opened into an opulent space; shiny marble floors and heavy leather furniture, crystal chandeliers and flickering candles everywhere, casting the room in a warm glow. There were large stone statues; women, couples, busts on pillars. The shadows cast by the lighting made them seem disembodied and ominous. This place didn’t whisper its wealth in the seductive way that Beckett’s penthouse did - it screamed its excess at us - sex and power. I found it tacky, looking for an unguarded exit or something heavy to use as a weapon. The floor to ceiling windows were caressed by heavy red curtains; even if there was a balcony out there, I doubt I could get all the way down to the main floor.
“This way, ladies.” A deep and scratchy voice from across the room beckoned us. I turned and saw a thin older woman with salt and pepper hair waiting in the doorway of an adjoining room. She was the first woman I had seen as part of this operation, not a victim, just as evil as the rest of them. Worse - how could a woman do this to other women? She was a traitor to our sex.
Obediently, the other girls all walked silently into the room. I followed at my own pace, staring at her. Memorizing her face; the creases by her eyes and fanning over her thin lips, the yellowing on her fingers where she was holding a cigarette, the nails painted blood red. I stared her down as I approached, and she returned my stare with her own.
“Care to move quicker, dear? I have a lot of girls to style tonight; makeup, hair. And you’ll definitely need work - you look like shit.”
“Funny, I was thinking the same about you.” I gave her the sweetest smile I could manage and her face creased even deeper in anger.
I walked past and she slammed the door shut behind us as two men took their place in front, guarding us. The witch bumped a bony arm against me as she pointed at a girl, directing her to a white chair in front of a vanity set up with cosmetics and styling products. The girl gave a sob and did as directed. Each of us were cleaned, primped and polished - prize lambs being presented at our best, then sold to slaughter. Devoured by cruelty, until nothing remained.
16
Beckett
I took a taxi to the address I had been provided, it turned out to be a hotel, a fairly luxurious one. The instructions I had been given were to text the number that contacted me when I arrived for next steps. I took out my phone and sent two words; I’m here. I waited a few minutes that felt like an eternity, then received a message back.
There is a man seated at the bar with a yellow rose in his jacket pocket. Go up to him and say: “This place reminds me of an old song, but I forget the words”.
I scanned the space beyond the lobby, there were a few men seated at the bar with their backs turned to me. I walked over, leaning up against the bar to get a better look, when the bartender noticed me.
“Can I offer you a drink?”
“Glenfiddich, neat. Make it a double.”
The bartender grabbed a bottle off the upper shelf and poured. I finally noticed a man with a yellow rose in his jacket and our eyes met. When the bartender put my drink down in front of me, I picked it up and tossed down some cash, then headed to stand beside the man I needed to meet. I swirled my drink, making sure there was no one near us listening in. Not that they would even know what the hell I was saying.
“This place reminds me of an old song, but I forget the words.”
He stared back at me, saying nothing, studying me closely. I knew from firsthand experience that silence can be its own type of weapon, and right now, he was using it against me. Trying to determine if I belonged here - every step of this process was some sort of test. I met his silence with my own, remained calm and collected, leaning against the bar beside him and taking a casual sip from my drink.
“That’s a shame,” he said finally. “Songs are like poetry. Maybe this will help you find what you’re missing.”
He reached down into a black bag at his feet and passed me a red envelope.
“Thank you,” I said.
I tossed the rest of my drink into my mouth, feeling it burn, and placed my glass down before walking away. Around the corner I ripped the envelope open quickly, my instincts to find and protect Ella at war with my training and knowing that I needed to play it cool. Inside I pulled out a thin black masquerade mask and a slip of paper where a short message had been typed.
Put it on and go up to the penthouse. This card is your invitation, the password for this evening is “VAPOR”.
I walked over to the elevator that was connected to the penthouse, and once inside, tied the thin mask over my eyes. I told the man inside where I was headed and he asked me the password. I said vapor and he nodded, pressing the button for PH and we started to move upwards in silence. There was no sense asking him anything - starting to question people would be too suspicious, and I couldn’t risk not getting access to wherever the hell I was going.
A thought hit me full force - what would Ella’s reaction be when she saw me? She couldn’t give it away; it would mean disaster for both of us. No, she was smart. If I was there under the guise of purchasing a woman, there would likely be an opportunity to get close to her. However, the thought of any other man there getting close to Ella set my blood on fire. I would break any hand that dared touch her - every man in that room deserved to die for what they were doing to these girls.
The doors opened and I was stopped by two guards. I handed one the invitation and he looked it over, then held out a box.
“Phone.”
I did as I was told while the other guard walked behind me and started patting me down, probably looking for any weapons or recording devices. I knew better than to come armed. When he was satisfied, he gave the other guard a nod clearing me.
“Enjoy your evening, sir.”
I kept my posture tall as I walked into the main room. Other well-dressed men wearing similar masks were mingling, having hushed conversations, or seated and looking out the window - all were waiting.
A blonde wearing lingerie and towering heels passed by with a tray of champagne, holding it out to me. I accepted and she continued making her rounds. One of the men pinched her ass causing her to gasp and almost drop the tray. She turned to look at him, wearing a practiced and plastered-on ghost of a smile, and the men joined each other in raucous laughter as the loners turned to look over at what the commotion was about. She giggled, it sounded hollow, and then she continued on her way.
I pretended to examine the room with a bored expression, walking the perimeter with my glass of champagne, letting my eyes land on a piece of artwork or sculpture appraisingly. Looking past the dead-eyed statues and soulless paintings, I was actually studying the space.
There were six guards that I could see - two at the front elevator, two standing outside a closed door, one at the entrance to the balcony, another in the far corner of the room beside the fireplace. There could be others in adjoining rooms. When the guard who had patted me down earlier kneeled to check my pant leg, his jacket opened revealing a concealed gun. It was safe to assume they would all be armed, while I was not. I wasn’t even wearing any protection, my suit wouldn’t stand up to bullets, so taking them all on tonight was out of the question. A variety of potential weapons caught my eye; thick rope tying back the curtains, heavy brass candlesticks, the thick legs of wooden chairs. None of them would be enough to clear the room before I was eliminated.
I stepped past a guard and onto the balcony, the air eerily still. Lights and activity swirled below, noise and colors blending together like a kaleidoscope of decadence. People came to Las Vegas to try their luck - others languished here because they had none. I’ve experienced my share of bad luck in my lifetime, Ella had too, but then we found each other and everything changed. Were we about to lose each other forever now? Lady luck is fickle, and you’ll never convince me that she doesn’t play favorites.
I leaned against the railing, looking back on the scene inside. Two girls serving drinks. Six visible guards. Fourteen guests -
fifteen including myself. The nine captive women must be nearby, probably in one of the connecting rooms, including Ella. There was no safe way down from the balcony at this height, nothing nearby we could jump to and break our way inside an adjoining room. The only way out I was sure of was the way I had come in, the private elevator flanked by guards. That meant the only way to save Ella would be to buy her freedom. Whatever the cost, she was leaving here with me. There was no way I would leave without her - they would have to kill me before I watched her get taken away by the kind of man twisted enough to buy an unwilling woman.
“You have the look of someone new to this sort of auction. Curiosity, tinged with just a hint of disgust.”
In the doorway stood a tall man, with dark slicked back hair, and the confident posture of a man who feared nothing. He seemed about my age, but it was hard to tell for sure. He walked over, took a sip of champagne, then stood directly in front of me. The piercing eyes behind his mask studied me, waiting for some type of reaction. I gave him nothing. “Do I know you?” he pressed.
“I believe every aspect of tonight, including the masks, are meant to protect our privacy. So no, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you.”
He chuckled and smiled, then he raised his glass to me. “Fair enough. So I take it you saw something you liked? I haven’t made my mind up yet, but there are a few that caught my eye. They’ll be coming out soon and we’ll get a better look.”
I kept my face as blank as stone, like the statues inside, pushing my revulsion of this man deep inside. I met his gaze head on. I needed to play the game.
“A few caught my eye, but I need more than just another pretty face. I want to see how they move, how they act. I want a challenge - otherwise, what’s the point?” Hearing me say the words out loud that I assumed he wanted to hear, made me hate myself.
