Karen tells her about being blindsided at the bottom of the stairwell—about Chris taking the blow to the head and that he never moved.
"Was there a lot of blood?" Helen asked.
"Not that I could see...maybe a little."
"He's probably okay...probably just a concussion."
"Concussion?"
Helen nods and points to Karen's injured hand. "A concussion is bruising to the brain. Depending on how hard they struck him he might be out of commission for several days." As an afterthought, she adds, "He's definitely going to have a massive headache for a while."
As they get nearer, Karen's wonder and amazement festers to dread. She stops, bends over, and vomits.
Helen's hand pats her on the back, comforting her until the nausea passes.
"Well, it appears you and I are both going to be treated like queens."
Karen wipes her mouth, straightens, and then starts walking again. She asks, "What are you talking about?"
Helen puts her arm around Karen's shoulders as they walk, squeezing her affectionately. "When is your cycle due?"
Karen glances over, confused. "I'm a few days overdue...why?"
"My darling," Helen says, a note of joy in her voice. "You're pregnant."
* * *
The one that took her from Carson's Crossing, the one called Simon, escorted her through the maze of wooden corridors, up a flight of stairs, and pushed her into an interior room. She crossed to the wall opposite the door and sat down, waiting for Simon to go away. But he'd stood there for what seemed like minutes, watching her, licking his lips, and blatantly rubbing his growing erection. She tried not to look at him, focusing instead on her new surroundings.
The room was small—she made it from the door to the back wall in four or five steps. Its length appeared to be only a few feet longer than its width. There was a small mattress in one corner. Even in the darkness, she noticed dark stains on the fabric. It smelled as if someone had died and rotted somewhere in here.
What surprised her most about the Highwaymen's living quarters was the small sink and a toilet—both with running water. When Simon pushed her through the doorway, he pointed them out to her, telling her she could use the water for cleaning purposes, but he warned her about drinking it.
He said, "It has to be boiled first."
He continues to stand there and stare.
She can't take it anymore. "Do you want me to say thanks or something?" There's no hiding the poison in her words. As the silence between them grows, she asks, "Well?"
Finally, he speaks. "Hopefully, you'll come to appreciate me. There are other's here that would not treat you as kindly as I have."
"Says the pervert standing in my doorway stroking his cock?"
He abruptly stops—as if just then realizing what he'd been doing. "Believe me...some of the others would have already ripped your clothes off and taken you. In fact, they probably would have been happy to share you among all their friends too." He shakes his head. "You just don't know how lucky you are that I took claim of you...and if you don't start showing a little appreciation soon...well," he says, voice lowering to sinister levels. "I might just decide you're not worth the trouble to protect."
Karen recognized the truth in his voice. He's not bragging but stating a fact. She saw how the other Highwaymen were treating the captive women. Several of them had been raped during the nights of their journey here. Thankfully, that hadn't happened to her and based on what Simon is telling her—she wonders if that is because of him.
Taking a deep breath, she says, "I hope you'll forgive me if I'm not at the point to say thank you yet."
He nods. "I understand. We have taken you from one situation and forced into another, and you need to find your place in it. I get it."
She wonders if he really does.
He moves to shut the door, but pauses to say, "I'll bring food later." He points toward the mattress. "And I'll see if I can find something a little cleaner for you to lie on."
With that, he closes the door and locks it from the outside.
* * *
Karen wished she knew where they took Helen, but the Highwaymen separated all the women outside and escorted them into different sections of the complex. She'd lost sight of Helen almost immediately.
Before their separation, Helen assured her, "I'll come to you as soon as I can. Stay strong...if he's alive, he'll come for you."
This was the first time Helen vocally entertained the idea that Chris might not have survived the blow to the head. While she didn't realize what Helen had said at the moment, now that she has nothing but a dark room to occupy her, the doctor's words reverberate through her mind.
Chris had to be all right—had to be. But if he was okay, why hadn't he come to find her? Why has he not, at least, revealed himself? He wouldn't want her to worry. He'd want her to know that help was just around the corner. These thoughts make Helen's last statement really resonate.
"...if he's alive..."
If.
For such a small word, it sure has considerable meaning.
The dimly lighted room grows darker, letting Karen know another day has passed and another night was descending.
And still no Chris. Now that she's locked in the depths of this complex, how will he ever find her? What's more, how can he possibly get inside without being seen? If the Highwaymen find him, they'll kill him on the spot.
She stands, walks over to the sink, and splashes some water on her face—its coolness is refreshing, but it leaves an oily sheen on her skin. A strip of cloth, a makeshift rag, lies draped across the back of the sink. She snatches it up and furiously rubs at her face to wipe away the water’s residue.
After rubbing her skin almost raw, the tosses the rag back where she found it and makes her way to the door. She jiggles the handle in the vain hope that maybe Simon left it unlocked. If what Zak had told them was true, maybe the Highwaymen's open-door policy throughout the complex might hold true here.
She turns the knob. It moves easily in her hand, but when she pushes against the door, it still won't budge. There must be another lock on the other side. She wonders why Simon hasn't returned. He said he'd bring a new mattress but so far, he hasn't returned since putting her in here.
Her stomach growls, the sound of it fills the small room. After being fed cooked horse meat, what she assumed was Pete, she hadn't been able to bring herself to eat it on the other occasions they'd brought it. Now, though—she'd eat it if she had it.
Pacing relentlessly, her thoughts keep turning to Chris. Will she ever see him again? Her footsteps clomp on the wood floor and she hopes the sound of them is disturbing whoever is below her. Maybe they'll get pissed off and come up to investigate. If that happens, she might overpower them and slip out. If she could escape...
She shakes her head, clearing the thoughts. This is all wishful thinking. She'll never be given an opportunity to escape—there's no way they'd give her that chance. It wouldn't surprise her to find out someone is standing guard outside her door. No, not to guard her. If there is someone there, they're there to keep her in line.
If she were to get hysterical and start screaming, would they come inside and deal with her before it got too far? Would they gag her again? Knock her out cold? Or worse, kill her if she becomes too problematic?
Her stomach knots up, as if a fist has reached inside her, grabbed her intestines, and twisted them. Falling to the floor, she cries out and clutches her stomach. In an instant, the pain is gone.
Helen told her she was pregnant. Was this sudden pain from that? Or is hunger taking more of a toll than she realized? Standing, she moves to the door.
"Anybody out there?" She bangs on the wood with the flat of her palm. "Please...I need something to eat." She'll even eat the horse if that's what they give her. It's just horse meat, she tells herself. She has to disconnect her mind that the horse had a name—that the horse was essentially a pet.
A pet? She couldn't think that wa
y. She and Chris had talked about their trip, and Pete had been one of the top subjects. If it came down to it, they'd eat the horse if food became scarce.
This wasn't the way she expected, but the result is the same—Pete is sustenance now. Refusing to eat these last few days were taking a toll on her body. Pain is a great reminder that neglecting one's body can have consequences.
Her guts twist again and placing her back to the door, she sinks to the floor.
It's dark now—absolute dark. She can't see her hand in front of her face.
"Please..." she says, closing her eyes.
Not only is she starving, but she's tired too.
So...very...tired.
* * *
When she wakes, she's lying down and someone is hovering over her. The door to her room—no, she thinks, it's not a room—it's a cell. The door to her cell is open, allowing light to spill inside.
"Chris?" she asks, voice weak and cracking. She tries to focus through the halo of light surrounding the figure hovering above her.
"No, child...it's me, Helen."
"Chris!" she says again, her voice gaining more strength.
"I'm sorry, Karen...Chris isn't here."
"No, no...He has to be." She shakes her head. "He should be here by now."
A new stream of thoughts ignites new panic within her. The last thing she remembered was darkness, and she was lying against the door to her prison. Now, based on the light streaming through the slits in the outer wall of the complex, the sun is high in the sky. That means she's been unconscious for at least that night and half the day. That's not right either, though. Something within her says she's been out of it longer.
"How long have I been out?"
Helen moves and the light shifts to profile Helen's face. Touching Karen's brow, she says, "You've been out for two days." Her hand moves to the back of Karen's neck, helping her to sit up. "Here..." she says, pressing a cup to her lips. "...Drink this."
Karen sips. It's not straight water—there's something in it she can't quite put a finger on.
"What is this?" she asks, finishing the small cup and handing it back. Still feeling weak, she falls back onto the mattress.
The mattress. The stained, urine-smelling mattress. She forces herself up and turns to look down. The fabric below her is clean and free of stains.
She sinks back down and looks up at Helen.
"I had them change it out...there was no way you were laying on that other one."
"Thank you."
"Mint tea."
Confused, Karen asks, "What?"
Helen holds up the cup. "You asked what you were drinking. It’s mint tea." She places the cup on the floor and removes some dried meat from her bag. "Don't worry," she says, handing the strip to Karen. "It's not horse."
Karen takes it and gnaws on it greedily.
"Now, how are you feeling?"
"Better, but still starving, weak..." she pauses, thinking about Chris. "A little heartbroken."
"That's understandable." She touches Karen's arm. "Have faith...I'm sure he'll come for you."
Karen shakes her head. "But how? You know the size of this place. He'll never be able to find me. Unless I'm outside, he'll never know if I'm really here."
Helen looks toward the door. She's the only one in the room but her actions tell Karen that someone is standing close by—probably just outside the door and out of view, but close enough to listen.
Helen leans close, whispers, "The young man that met with Elgin back at that town...was he helping you and Chris?"
Karen perks up. "Yes. We’d just met him...that's Zak." As soon as she says his voice out loud, her heart sinks. She remembers the crib and the Tainted baby inside. Was Zak helping them? Or was there something else? Zak had secrets and neither she nor Chris had a chance to question him about it. Could they trust Zak? She wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but then the image of that Tainted child fills her mind.
"Can I trust him?"
Karen notices that Helen referred to herself and didn't include them all.
Can I trust him? Not, can we trust him?
Despite her trepidation, she nods. "Yes, I think we can. Why?"
Helen looks away. The weak light glimmers off her wet eyes. Taking a deep breath, she whispers, "Zak has my daughter."
* * *
When Karen was in the apartment, right before the Tainted attacked, she’d caught a glimpse of Helen’s daughter as she and Zak bolted away from danger.
"That was your daughter?"
Helen nods, her panicking eyes dancing between Karen and turning to look at the door. "You're the only one I've told. If they would have known, they'd use her as leverage over me. I was actually relieved when Elgin gave her to Zak and left them behind. I thought he'd be able to keep her safe—maybe even run...run far away from the Highwaymen."
Karen bolts upward, but Helen's hands are there on her shoulders, restraining her and gently pressing her back onto the mattress.
"Don't..." She warns, nervously looking back at the door again. "Be quiet and don't get excited. We're still captives here."
Karen's mind is spinning. Why would Helen ask about Zak if...
"You've seen him!" she whispers. "He's here? Zak's here?"
Helen nods. "I saw him this morning. He's walking around here like he belongs."
"He did...once. Are you sure it was him?"
Helen nods again. "When my daughter went away with him, I burned the image of his face in my mind. I thought he meant her harm."
"No. She's actually in pretty good hands." Thinking of the baby in the crib again, she wonders if this is actually true, or just her way to set Helen's mind at ease. "If you saw Zak, did you see Chris?"
"No...Just Zak."
That means she didn't see her daughter either.
"What does this mean?"
"I think he and my daughter have come to help us." She pauses, then adds, "And Chris."
Karen notices the pause though. If Helen, a doctor, thinks Chris might not have made it through the injury to his head, how can she continue to hold on to hope?
"Anyway," Helen continues. "Be ready. The next time I see him, I'll try and get his attention and find out what he plans to do. Maybe I'll be able to help from the inside." She pauses, glances down at the floor. "And ask him how Audrey is doing?"
She shakes her head as if clearing an unwanted memory. Her eyes lock in on Karen. "Just be ready to run."
"Time's up, bitch."
Helen turns, looking up at the bulky Highwayman standing in the doorway. It's not Simon and Karen hopes this one hasn't replaced him. She grabs her bag off the floor and reaches in, pulling out a plastic bag. "Here's some more food. Eat up...you'll need your strength."
Karen takes the bag, but Helen doesn't release it right away. She meets the doctor's eyes. "Stay strong, Karen."
With that said, she winks down at her, releases her grip, turns, and walks out of Karen's cell. The big Highwayman follows, shutting and locking the door behind him.
A sinking feeling festers in the pit of Karen's stomach...a feeling she might never see the doctor again.
* * *
Not long after, Simon appears.
Karen lies on the mattress, dozing, trying to build up her strength. She's not sure what made her so weak, but the doctor's mint tea and the food seemed to have helped her body. That's not all though, the thought Zak was out there, somewhere, put a renewed spark of life within her.
It only took one person to extinguish that spark—Simon.
He stands in the doorway, in much the same way as when he'd first thrown her in here. Left arm leaning against the doorjamb, right hand slowly gliding up and down his crotch.
She rises to a sitting position and backs into the corner with her knees drawn up to her chin. She doesn't like the look in his eyes.
"I see you're feeling better?"
Petrified, Karen remains quiet. She closes her eyes for a moment, hoping that when she opens
them again, Simon will be gone—just a dream.
She opens her eyes.
Simon is still there.
He's no longer rubbing his member through the fabric of his jeans though. No, he's released it and gently strokes it in plain sight.
Stepping into the room, he closes the door behind him.
He smiles down at her.
"Please..." she says, pleading, knowing it won't do any good. She had been expecting this since learning why the Highwaymen didn't kill off all the women after their latest raid.
"Oh, I aim to please, all right." He stands over her, stroking himself with a sinister sneer plastered onto his face.
* * *
Simon came to her room six times over the next two days. Each time, Karen became more submissive and less defensive. She'd fought that first time, only to have Simon grab her injured hand and give the broken fingers a forceful squeeze. By the third time, she just lay there, knowing he'd be finished in less than a minute, gather his clothes about him, and retreat from the room as if embarrassed that he couldn't prolong his orgasm.
Something happened the seventh time he came to her.
Something unexpected.
He'd stripped and was lying on top of her, just about to make his entrance into her when the entire complex began to buzz. Voices and shouts echoed throughout, causing Simon to pause and listen.
Suddenly, the door burst open. "Simon!" Screamed a Highwayman Karen hadn't seen before.
The next word out of his mouth both thrilled and terrified her at the same time.
"Fire!"
Simon jumped up, donned his clothes as quickly as he could, and ran from the room.
Karen lay there, buttoning up her own clothing when she noticed something.
Simon left her door open.
He also left his staff—his weapon, leaning against the wall.
20
"I need your help with something, but I have to warn you, you might not like what you see."
Audrey looks at him, brows raised in question. "Okay, but I'd like to ask for your help in return."
Tainted Souls Page 12
