by E. S. Carter
The door opens and Faye and I both stand. I wondered if when she entered would I immediately sense her, and the answer is no. I sense someone, but my awareness is all jumbled up in the unsteady thrum of my pulse and the tornados churning through my belly.
“Calliah?” a slightly accented voice enquiries from the doorway
The voice is wrong. I know Damaris, and even with our years apart, this voice does not belong to her.
“Is Damaris not coming?” I ask frantically. “Because I can come back if she’s not ready, just tell her I’m here whenever she’s ready, I’m here.”
Even to my ears the words rushing from my lips sound wrong. Nothing could keep Damaris from me, just as nothing would ever keep me from her.
The door closes with a quiet snick, and the woman with the wrong voice walks deeper into the room.
“May I sit with you?” she quietly requests.
I nod but remain standing for a few seconds, hoping against hope that Damaris is hidden behind her, and any minute now she will rush into my arms.
She doesn’t.
I sit.
Faye breaks the uncomfortable silence.
“How do you know Damaris?” she asks, and the other woman shifts awkwardly in her chair.
“This may seem a little strange, but I will try to explain,” she replies softly. “I am Damaris.”
Three words that hit me square in the gut.
I am Damaris.
“No, no, no. You can’t be. You don’t feel like her or smell like her or sound like her. You can’t be Damaris,” I accuse, my words running into one another with urgency, wanting, no needing her to leave. I want her to leave here and bring Damaris back to me, and I want her to stop playing this painful and cruel game.
Faye takes one of my hands, and I brush her away violently, batting at her without thought. My chair wobbles when I stand suddenly, and I begin to pace the room.
Back and fore, back and fore.
I must not fall apart. This is a mistake.
“Cal, please sit,” Faye begs, also on her feet. Her voice becomes clearer to my ears the closer she gets.
The ticking of the clock gets louder, banging on the inside of my head incessantly until I snap.
“Just tell me where my sister is!” I scream in frustration, allowing the turmoil, confusion and anger to explode from me, hoping to destroy everything in my path to Damaris.
“I knew your sister a long time ago,” the woman says, her words direct and clear, penetrating through my panic.
I still, my back to the wall, my shoulders dropping, my legs leaden.
“We were held together for a few days, both of us with child, both of us too young to understand the horrors that were to come despite having lived through enough for a thousand lifetimes.”
I take a small step back until I feel the wall behind me, and I slide slowly down until I crouch with both my backside and my feet on the floor.
“Your sister, Damaris,” she continues softly. “She cared for me, and she promised me that things would be okay, that we would survive. She was stronger than I, despite being half my size through starvation.”
“Go on,” I whisper brokenly, desperate to hear every word, and needing this final piece of my sister.
“Two days we were held in a room no bigger than a store cupboard with no food or drink. There were six of us, all pregnant, all no more than children ourselves. On the third day, they brought a man. Each one of us was dragged from the room individually, and on the cold stone floor right outside the cell door, he removed what was growing inside us without medicine, without pain relief and in a way that I will not describe to you because it was barbaric.”
Faye’s silent sobs are punctuated with small sniffs, but I am frozen. My emotions are shutting down, my mind picturing Damaris on the floor outside that room.
“Then they threw us back into the room to see if we’d survive the night. They didn’t care if we lived or died, and as some of the girls bled out on the floor at my feet, your sister held me throughout it all and soothed me while I cried. She held me, and comforted me, ignoring the pain that wracked through her small body, and by the morning she’d haemorrhaged in my arms.”
Cold. I am so cold.
I wrap my arms around my shins and rest my forehead on the hard bumps of my knees. My mind locking on the image of my sister bleeding out on a cold cell floor, the baby inside her torn from her body and discarded like filth.
Her voice is barely more than a whisper when the woman continues, “The three of us who survived were rescued the following day by a man who works for James. We were brought here to recover. On my second day at the vineyard, a nurse asked me if I had a name. Having only ever been called by my number, I recited, one nine two one three, and she looked at me with tears in her eyes.”
The tattooed brand across my breast burns and I force my fingers to link together to stop myself from gouging at it with my nails.
The woman’s voice turns wistful, and by the time she finishes, the first of my tears fall.
“She held my hand in hers and told me to choose who I wanted to be, that I could pick any name because I was free to do so. She told me not to rush my decision, but to think about what I wanted from my new world. I didn’t hesitate. I told her I’d chosen my name and from that day forward I became Damaris.”
Great wracking sobs heave from my chest and punch into the air around us. My chest burns with the pain of losing my sister all over again, and it refills with pride for her. Pride for a small, battered and bleeding girl who inspired the stranger before me to keep her name alive.
A warm hand lands on the top of my head and begins smoothing my hair. From crown to nape, the hand strokes and soothes, each touch a thank you, each caress an apology for living to carry her name, while my sister had died in her arms.
“The day after I’d chosen my name, the nurse returned to my room to tell me that she’d researched the meaning behind it. She said that Damaris meant gentle. I can’t think of a better definition for the girl who comforted me until her last breath. Your sister was special, Calliah,” she whispers into my hair placing a kiss there. “If you take any comfort from my story, please know that I survived because of her, I’m here now to tell you my story because of her, and I live every day in her honour.”
I close my eyes and drift off to the place where my sister always waits for me, to the green field with long grass filled with yellow flowers. A place where the sun shines brightly in a cotton candy sky, and the birds sing songs of freedom and happiness.
“Damaris,” I call out when I get there. “I see you, gentle one.”
Grim
A bucket of ice cold water hits me straight in the face, and I snap awake with a harsh grunt.
Awareness rushes over me with the next dousing of frigid liquid, and I snarl, shaking off the excess like a dog.
“Enough with the fucking bath. I had a shower before I left tonight, fuck-you-very-much.”
My eyes blink through the wetness, and I twist at the waist to find that I’m bound by thick rope to a high-backed chair.
The man standing before me with a bucket laughs. His playboy good looks glimmering in the dim light, making him look even more handsome than his pictures. Smarmy fucker.
“It’s good that you could finally join us, Mr Renshaw,” he taunts. “Hopefully I’ll get to play with you for a while before the Hunters try and fail to rescue you.”
“While I appreciate the invitation, Alexiou, I’m not very good at playing games. But what I can promise I’ll be magnificent at is gutting you and filling your mouth with your own shit.”
Alexiou drops the bucket in his hands and throws his head back with an affected laugh that drips with sarcasm.
“Oh, Henry, your brother told me you were a funny one.”
He flicks his chin at someone behind me, and another person walks from the back of the room into my line of sight.
James motherfucking Renshaw.
�
�I knew I couldn’t trust you, brother, what with your Oedipus Complex. Mother would have been so proud. It’s a shame I carved her into tiny pieces, and she’s not around to fuck you anymore. What will you do now to pass the time?”
James stops and stands next to Alexiou, a broad smile filling his face.
“Oh, Henry. Do you think I gave a shit about that old hag? You killing her was a blessing and ticked off one more thing on my to-do list.”
He chuckles darkly before making a dramatic performance of reattaching his earpiece which he pulls out from the inner pocket of his jacket.
“I have the cockerel, awaiting your arrival,” he announces to the speaker, his face blank until he turns to me and winks when he hears Cole’s reply.
Satisfied that his plan is complete, he tugs out the earpiece and throws it on the floor, grinding the device into dust with the heel of his shoe.
“They are on their way,” he smiles to Alexiou before his face falls and he adds, “Kyrillos has been taken out.”
Alexiou stares at him for a beat before he strikes out with his fist and catches James sweetly on his jaw. James’ head snaps back with the blow, and he stumbles slightly. Then Alexiou roars like a maniac before his head twists to look at me, and I see the desire for carnage in his eyes.
Never one to back down from a challenge, I stretch my face into a wide smile and prod at the wound James just opened with his admission of Kyrillos’ demise.
“Aw, did you lose your fuck-buddy? Are we going to have to witness you sobbing like a bitch because your lover’s entrails hang from the gates of your kingdom?”
Alexiou takes a measured step forward and slips his hand into his jacket to pull out something that does not belong to him. Missy sits sweetly in her sheath, while his fingers wrap around her handle.
I’m going to cut off his balls and hang them next to the ear around my neck. Thieving cunt of a motherfucker.
“Do you not like me touching your property, Henry?” he sneers as he takes another step towards me while slowly removing Missy’s cover. “I guess that makes two of us then because when James told me all about the whore you stole from us, I told him to do everything in his power to get her back.”
My fists clench as I struggle against my bindings, the chair rocking on its legs under my movements.
“And I thought you should know,” he continues to taunt as he takes another step forward. “That someone is going to be collecting her-” he glances at the expensive watch on his wrist, twisting his lips in a show of pondering, “-any time now.”
The tight ropes against my wrists cut into my skin as I twist and yank trying to break free, determined to snap this cunt’s neck.
“It’s a shame really,” he muses, bringing Missy’s tip to his pointer finger and pricking it slightly. “That she won’t be here to see the show. I’m sure she’d appreciate the work I’m going to do to your face. It must be awful for her to have to look at that uneven monstrosity every time you fuck her. Or does she beg you to take her from behind so she doesn’t have to try and come to visions of your ugly face contorting above her?”
I’m going to rip out his fucking throat.
“Poor thing,” he continues. “I’ll make sure she knows what it’s like to get fucked by a real man when she arrives. I’ll use her for so long and so hard that her two holes will become one.”
Bang.
The door explodes from its hinges landing half way across the room and knocking James clean off his feet.
Bang.
The first bullet hits Alexiou in the shoulder just before he drops to the floor and rolls until he’s behind me.
Bang.
The second bullet misses his retreating form and hits the concrete at my feet.
Luke enters the room followed by Cole, and both have their weapons raised, their eyes flicking from James lying out cold on his back with the door half covering his body, and Alexiou who crouches behind me with Missy to my throat.
“We have control of the compound,” Cole states coolly, his eyes locked on Alexiou. “It’s over, give up now, and I’ll end you quickly. Play games with me and I’ll hand you over to one of my brothers, and I assure you, if they get their hands on you, there will be nothing quick about your death.”
Alexiou presses Missy’s tip into the soft skin of my throat, and a trickle of blood escapes the small incision.
James groans from the other side of the room, but neither Hunter pays him any attention.
“End them both, now,” I growl through clenched teeth, earning me the press of Missy’s serrated edge to my jugular.
“Oh, Henry,” Alexiou chastises, carefully keeping his head behind mine. “If they end me, who will save the property you stole from me?”
“Kill them both, take me out if you have to, just take the fucking shot,” I urge, my eyes glaring first at Cole, and then at Luke, imploring them to end this even if they must shoot through me to do it.
“Honourable of you, Henry,” Alexiou mocks. The stupid bastard still thinks he’s in control of this situation when he’ll never leave this room alive.
“It’s a shame your brother James doesn’t have your morals,” he gloats, continuing to regale us with details of my capture. “He was the one who took you out in the barracks, did you know that Henry? He cut your connection to the Hunters, killed your men, knocked you out and brought you to me. He also told me all about your plans. It seems James tried to play us both at one point but soon released where his loyalties lie.”
Another, smaller knife, presses into the skin on the opposite side of my neck. It’s a quarter of the size of Missy and was likely strapped to his ankle, but it could still kill a man quickly if you knew how to use it.
This leaves Alexiou free to move Missy towards my eye.
“Remember what I said I was going to do to your face, Henry? I wonder if all three of your brothers will enjoy the show?”
“Take. The. Fucking. Shot,” I demand with an animalistic roar as Missy’s edge begins to carve a line from the corner of my eye, down through my cheek towards my mouth. The pain is like acid burning through my flesh, my natural instincts to thrash and move are buried with the far greater need to remain unaffected to allow either Hunter a clear shot if they get a chance.
The knife digs deeper into my flesh, and I feel it grind against my cheekbone, the pain excruciating, and my blood thrums with the need to destroy.
“Oh, oopsie,” Alexiou chuckles. “It seems I went a bit deeper there than I’d intended. Your cheek is going to flap around like a torn gill if I don’t take more care.”
I blink once long and deep, drawing in air through my nostrils, preparing to attack. Even if all I do is knock him to the ground and get my throat slit in the process, it will be enough to stop this fucking charade.
Bang.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.
The first shot comes from the side of the room with the five consecutive shots following in quick succession. I wait for the pain of the bullets to force its way through the adrenaline pumping in my veins, my mind scrambling to assess how many of the six hit me and where.
I take stock of my body. The only pain radiating in thick, sharp waves comes from my torn-up face. Not one of those bullets hit me. Not one.
“Grim,” James’ voice comes from behind me. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It wasn’t meant to go down this way,” he confesses as he carves through the ropes around my wrists, chest and ankles.
Cole and Luke are quickly in front me, weapons at their sides, the threat eliminated. Luke eyes my face blankly, while Cole bends his tall frame, kneeling before me to assess the damage.
“Looking pretty carved up there, brother,” he winces before adding, “But you’ll survive.”
Then he rises to his full height and walks behind me where I hear him kicking at what I assume is the dead body of Alexiou.
When my limbs are cut free, and the last rope falls severed to the floor, I’m on my feet and wielding the chair I’d been strapp
ed to like a club.
“You two-faced cunt,” I roar before swiping the chair through the air, just missing James’ head by a fraction of a millimetre when he ducks just in time.
“Grim,” Luke warns, before coming up behind me and placing a firm hand on my shoulder before squeezing hard enough to send a bolt of pain shooting down my arm to my fingers like an electric shock.
“He had no choice. Alexiou was onto us. James captured you and took you to him to give us time to take out Fedorov and Kyrillos. He did so hoping that Alexiou would use you to draw us out. Which he did,” he points out casually, his hand motioning towards Alexiou’s bullet-riddled frame.
Cole walks up to stand next to James, his eyes on me, his position and stance indicating that he will stop me if I attempt to attack James again.
Blood drips from my carved face and runs down my neck, saturating my shirt. My hand is still locked around the leg of the chair as I stare down the man with whom I share blood. His face is a mask of regret, while his left arm hangs impotently at his side, indicating that the force the door hit him with tore his shoulder from its socket. He didn’t get out of this unscathed either.
He sees me assessing his damaged arm and shrugs with his good shoulder.
“Good thing I’m right handed I guess,” he says without a smile, although there is a slight vein of humour in his words.
“Where is Cal,” I demand, my arm raising a few inches, threatening to knock off his head with the chair if he answers incorrectly.
“Alexiou was bluffing. He didn’t know where she was. She’s safe at the vineyard just as I promised you.”
Words which Cole backs up with, “She’s with Faye, Grim. You know I’d never risk the safety of my wife.”
My mind rages, and with no one left to kill I have no outlet for the turbulence claiming my sanity. My Devil whispers in my head, “Lies, lies, lies, it’s all lies. Kill them all.” And I want to obey him. I want to carry out his wishes more than I want to take my next breath.
I stare at James, watching him twitch under my scrutiny. I take in his every movement and gesture, my mind in turmoil, refusing to trust him, while something in my chest believes him wholeheartedly.
