by Rachel West
“How long do you think we have?” I change the subject.
“I don’t know. A few days maybe. Less, probably.”
“I don’t want to give in to them,” I say. My voice wavers, “I don’t want to die in front of a crowd. I don’t want to just give up like it was all for nothing.”
“We’ll fight,” Red says resolutely, “When it’s time to transport us to Haven we’ll fight. That will be our best chance. We’ll fight and if we die…” he trails off for a moment then his voice grows cold, hard, “So be it.”
***
Later that afternoon Jaxon comes into the small prison. A Praetor – his escort perhaps, waits by the door as Jaxon approaches my cell.
I stare up from the ground at him. He leans casually against the bars of my cell and even knowing he betrayed me my soul aches as I look at him.
“I found your sister,” Jaxon says.
My heart skips a beat. No. I can’t let him hang her too. “My sister has nothing to do with this,” I snarl, “Just leave her be.”
Jaxon raises one eyebrow. “I thought she had everything to do with this.”
“Piss off,” I snap.
“What’s wrong with you?” Jaxon replies, angry and confused. He wraps his fingers around the prison bars and leans his face in. I look into his eyes. Green. He has green eyes. The iris is so light, the color of a drop of dew on summer grass, with a dark yellow ring circling it like a halo. “Evie?”
“You betrayed me,” I shout, “And you want me to trust you now? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I never--,” For a moment I see an expression I can only describe as hurt flash across his face, “If we fought them you and Red would have been killed immediately. At least now there is a chance. We can get you out of this.”
My heart flutters. Hope. Or fear maybe. “Why would you help us?”
Jaxon shrugs. “I thought we were friends. Am I wrong?”
I look away unable to meet his beseeching gaze. I rest my cheek on the grey wall. Some past inhabitant dented it, digging a fingernail in perhaps, and imprinted a sun into the wall. I can feel the marking imprinting against my cheek and I wonder what happened to the artist. Dead, most like.
“Do you still have the paste I gave you?” Jaxon seems to realize I have no answer for him.
“Yeah,” I say, “They didn’t find it.”
“Give it to me,” Jaxon puts out his hand. “I will find a way out of this for us. I promise.”
“And Red,” I step forward, “I won’t leave him.”
“Of course. Now, give it to me.”
I bend over, and wiggle my torso, trying to dislodge the paste from within my bra. Jaxon watches it all with an expressionless face. I blush, I must look like an idiot having some kind of spasm. “It’s in my shirt,” I explain, “I’m trying to get it out. My hands are cuffed,” I turn around and show him the metal wrapped around my wrists.
“Guards!” Jaxon shouts. I startle back from the sound as his voice echoes hollowly through the room.
“M’lord,” Jaxon’s escort shuffles forward.
“Give me the key to her cell and cuffs.”
“M’lord. She is a prisoner. A criminal.”
“She is a child. If you are to keep her locked in this cell at least release her hands. Give me the keys. Now,” Jaxon demands.
The Preator’s face pales as he fumbles for the key hanging at his belt. “Of course, sir. Here you are sir,”
“Excellent. Now leave us once more.”
“But…”
“Go!” Jaxon hisses.
The Praetor backpedals from the cell, stopping just inside the door of the prison to watch us. To watch me, is more like, to watch me and hope I don’t hurt the precious son of the Great Uniter.
Jaxon unlocks the cell and pushes open the door. “We can’t let him see,” Jaxon whipsers too quietly for the Preator to over here. “Come here, I’ll get it.”
I take a hesitant step forward. It’s not like I’ve never been touched. But with Jaxon it seems -- I don’t know how to explain it. Even trapped, surrounded by Praetors, the thought of Jaxon’s touch makes my flesh burn.
“Which side?” He asks with a teasing smile.
“The right,” I say then stumble over my words trying to clarify, “My right, your left.”
Jaxon laughs lightly. “Got it.” I step closer, until I’m nearly pressed against the him. “Turn around,” he whipsers “so the guard can’t see.” I comply, turning around so my back is pressed against his chest. He reaches up under my shirt. His hand grazes across my stomach. So gentle I barely notice it as he reaches into my bra and pulls out the tube. Goosebumps break out on my skin. It’s over before I know it and already part of me misses the warmth of his hand against my skin.
But then his hands are on my arms and with a click of the keys he unlocks the cuffs around my wrists and shoves me roughly forward. I stumble forward two steps and turn just in time to see him slip the paste up his sleeve. He smiles a secret smile at me and I can’t help but notice the little flip in my heart.
“I will come back for you. I swear it,” Jaxon whispers. “Please refrain from doing anything stupid.” He turns to leave, pulling the door of my cell shut once more. As he approaches Red’s cell he waggles his fingers at Red who growls in return. I roll my eyes but I can’t be mad at Jaxon. Not with the relief I feel knowing he didn’t truly betray me. I should have known. I should have trusted him. But the way he looked at me when the Praetors came… his eyes so empty. Impossible not to believe it real.
As Jaxon and his escort are about to leave they pause just before the door. “Send her to my room tonight. I wish to remind her of the true difference in our stations,” Jaxon says.
The guard laughs, a “hew-hah” sound that sickens me down to my stomach.
“No!” Red shouts. He slams his body against the cell walls as if he can break through the metal by sheer willpower. “I will kill you,” he hisses with cold rage “I will kill you if you touch her.” Red wraps his fingers around the bars with a grip so tight I wonder if he really can break through them. “I will kill you.”
Jaxon pauses by Red’s cell just out of reach from Red’s stretching hands. Jaxon smiles, a taunting smile, a smile full of Millennial arrogance that causes Red’s face to transform with hate. Jaxon’s Praetor escort bashes Red’s knuckles with his baton and laughs as Red backs away with a sharp cry.
Jaxon and the Praetor exit. Red stares over at me with a look of helpless desperation. “I won’t let them touch you. I won’t,” he promises me. I think of all the times Red has protected me in the past. How in the Hollows he stood up for me time and time again. I never knew why he chose me of all the helpless wretches and I doubt I ever will. The look on his face as he realizes he cannot protect me this time…
“It will be okay,” I reassure him.
“Why? Why is he doing this? I knew we should never have trusted him.”
I want to tell Red it is a ploy. That Jaxon is still on our side but the guards are just outside the door. And the thought of the Praetors listening stills my tongue. I can’t tell Red the truth. Not yet. “He probably wants to gloat,” I lie.
Red curses under his breath and I leave him to it. I crawl closer to the wall, looking at the faint imprint of a sun. Using my thumb, I dig into the plaster and draw a tree beneath the sun. The imprint is barely visible; to see it you’d have to look dead on. I contemplate for a moment then draw a small stick figure. Then another one, with their small, pointed arms linked together. I am not sure who they are supposed to be. Maybe me and Jaxon, or me and Red. Maybe my sister and I. Whoever they are, seeing them on the wall fills me with satisfaction.
Pleased, I lay my head back, pressed against the small figures.
CHAPTER 19
Two women come for me just as the sun begins to set. The older of the two is a squat woman with grey hair curling around her face like the horns of a goat. The other woman is thin in every way with steely grey
eyes that look me over like she’s found better stuck to her shoe.
“Come on missy,” the squat woman orders. “Edna and I will get you fixed up nice and right.”
“Belle, dear. Don’t rush the girl. Look at the poor thing, she’s exhausted.”
The two women come over to me, one on each side, and lift me by my elbows. I cry out as pain rockets down my arm. “What is going on here?” Belle, the shorter of the two, asks. She peels down the top of my shirt and bares my shoulder. “Oh you poor child. We’ll get a compress on that right away. Don’t you worry.”
Together they guide me from my cell. As we pass by Red he reaches his hand out from his cell. His fingers brush gently against my arm, the only comfort he can offer. I want to tell him everything is fine. That these women are not leading me away to be tortured or killed. That Jaxon has a plan. I hate myself for being unable to take the pain from his face. I try to reassure him with a grin, but the last few days have been so draining that all I can manage is a tumultuous smile.
I am brought through a back door to the main house on the prison. I imagine being chained in the flat, warehouse-like building where the rest of the prisoners are kept. Being forced to look each day upon this opulent mansion. The disparity is sickening. Through a narrow hallway and a series of rooms that all look the same, we finally reach our destination.
We stop in the middle of a small, strictly appointed room. It is clear someone lives here, but whoever they are, they aren’t here now. A single bed is backed under a window whose glass is made from vibrant colors. A closet adorns one wall with the door opposite leading to a bathroom.
Edna reaches over me and pulls my shirt off. It should be embarrassing, humiliating, but there is something comforting about these two; something grandmotherly. I doubted my protestations would get me far anyway. Not in the heart of a work-prison.
Edna’s fingers dance around my shoulder, pressing lightly against the tenderness. “Not broken,” she says. She takes me by wrist and shoulder, stretching my arm out as far as it will go, and guides me through a series of motions. With a sudden jerk she pulls my arm and I scream as white hot fire burns through me. My vision darkens for and for an instant I think I will collapse but then just as quickly the pain stops. “Dislocated.”
Belle comes over and strokes my head gently. “Could have given the girl some warning, Edna. You never think!”
“Thank you,” I whisper. My voice is hoarse and my throat raw from screaming. But that is a simple price to alleviate the agony of my shoulder. Edna nods at me as Belle chatters on behind us.
"Time to get you cleaned up," Belle urges me towards the bathroom. “In you go. Quickly, now!"
The women leave me alone in the bathroom with a bare razor and a bottle of soap. After nearly two weeks of travelling, clean skin feels like a luxury I thought I’d never see again. I wonder though, why they would leave the razor here. A gift perhaps, an offer of a weapon? Or something else? A message that there is only one way out of what's to come and this is my last chance to take it.
I balance the razor between two fingers and hold it up to the last bit of light shining through the small window. The setting sun reflects off the sharp edge painting it blood red. I toss the razor between my hands as I think what to do with it. A weapon, certainly, but I have nowhere to hide it.
Would Belle and Edna notice if I brought it with me? I think of Edna's sharp eyes. She would notice. I doubted little got past her. But my pride was too strong and I had to try. If things came down to a fight even this little razor might be enough to save my life.
I slip the small razor into my mouth letting it come to rest between tooth and cheek. The sharp edge pinches against my gums but there is no taste of blood.
"Come on, dear," Belle bangs on the door. "Not much time left now"
I grab a towel off the wall and wrap it around my body. I pull the door open to Belle and Edna's surprised faces. Edna glances past me to the shelf I grabbed the razor from.
She sighs, a sad, regretful sound, and holds her palm out flat. I try to play innocent but the façade doesn’t fool her. "Come now."
I sigh because I know I can’t make this into a scene. Not when we are on the brink of rescuing my sister. I will just have to trust Jaxon knows what he is doing. I pull the razor from my mouth and drop it into Edna’s outstretched hand.
The two women bring me into the adjacent room and sit me down in front of a vanity. My reflection glares sullenly back at me. Skin paler than I have ever seen it; a small scattering of bruises across my neck and arms. Too much has happened too fast and the wear is showing on my flesh. I look away as Belle begins drying my hair. Edna searches through a closet behind us.
“Put this on,” Edna holds the dress out to me. The dress is green with yellow threading. It reminds me of sunshine and parks and beautiful things of which I have no knowledge. I reach out and stroke the sleeves, the edges are fraying with age, but even still...it is beautiful. The women leave me alone for a moment while I pull on the dress. It is tight through the shoulders and hips; made for someone years younger than me. But even still – I flatten my hands along the length of my stomach and examine the dress in the mirror.
Belle and Edna return to the room. Belle begins playing with my hair again, brushing it out and braiding the strands with deft fingers. When finished with the braid she pulls it up tightly against my skull and secures it in place with a silver barrette.
Edna looks up at me and narrows her eyes. “Take it down,” she says to Belle.
“It looks prettier up,” Belle says.
“Leave it down,” Edna orders and in her voice there is no room for compromise. Belle looks a little put out but she unravels the braid, leaving my hair to drape loosely over my shoulders.
When Edna and Belle are done with their fussing the stand me up in the center of the room. They circle around, looking me over critically as I hold in the urge to make a run for it.
“You’re beautiful!” Belle claps her hands against her cheeks. She rushes to the door and pulls it open. “Off we go now!
While Belle is distracted, Edna leans in and whispers to me, “Do nothing to incite his anger,” she speaks so softly her lips barely move. “Do not argue with him. Do not challenge his authority. His daughter will be there – avoid her if you can. The boy, he’s alright. Be careful.”
A shiver runs down my spine at the urgent sound of her voice. I nod slightly to show her I understand even though I don’t. Is she talking of Jaxon? If she is it doesn’t make any sense. But who else could she mean?
“Stop lollygagging, dear sister,” Belle calls out to Edna. “We can’t keep the Masters waiting.”
The two guide me through a maze of rooms. We stop outside a large oak double-door. The wood is carved with images of women dancing around a fire. I press my hand against the carvings but flinch back when the light touch causes the door to swing forward slightly.
“Have fun,” Belle says. She presses her hands against my back and pushes me forward. Edna opens the door for me and as I pass she gives me one last lingering look with her lips drawn tight in a grim line.
I freeze as the door slams shut behind me. I am in a dining room but I don’t even know if that’s the right word. Banquet room? Ballroom? The ceilings arch up so high above my head that they lose themselves to shadow before roof. A table sits in the middle of the room with space to seat two dozen although only four sit there now. I realize it wasn’t Jaxon the two women were preparing me for, but rather the elaborate setup in front of me.
My eyes are drawn to Jaxon; he’s dressed so differently than I am used to I almost don’t recognize him. His outfit almost looks like – I draw my eyes down the shirt and realize exactly what it is. The inner portion of a Praetor’s uniform. It must be the only thing they could find to fit him.
Next to him sits a girl who appears only a couple years older than me. She has brilliant red hair that falls down her back in waves and a petulant frown on her face as she looks me
over.
I glance to the boy sitting across from them. A child -- no older than Annie was when she was taken. He sits neatly in his chair with legs that don't quite reach the ground and wears a red bow tie crookedly tilting to one side.
But it is the man at the head of the table that commands the most attention. He’s big in every way except for his small, piggish eyes. His skin has that stuffed look of a man gone too fat too fast, like a sausage close to bursting. He runs his eyes over my body, pausing in places that leave me shuddering with disgust. Small tattoos dot the corners of his eyes, nearly lost to the bulging fat around them. A Millennial then. He must be the head of the household and the two others his children. Botley, his name was, if what Jaxon said previously was correct.
“This must be our lovely kidnapper,” he calls out. His voice has the loud, booming sound of a man playing a part. I stand quietly as I wait for some instruction on what I am to do next. I glance quickly over my shoulder to see two Praetors guarding the exit. They stand rigidly, with eyes that look straight through me like I mean nothing. I turn back to Botley who holds up a wineglass in welcome. “Please, join us,” he commands.
I inch forward slowly. Every one of my instincts tells me to run, to get out of here, to disappear and never look back. But I can’t leave Red. I can’t leave Annie. And the rational parts of my mind tell me I would never be able to run fast enough.
The youngest boy glances up at me nervously as I sit in the empty chair next to him. I smile at him but he recoils away like I am some kind of monster. Embarrassed I look down at the table. Whoever laid out the table was prepared for me – the only dishes laid out are a small wooden bowl and a spoon to match. No sharp edges and nothing to use as a weapon.
