Theia saw what he was referring to: a set of brass knuckles. She knew exactly what those were. “NO! Stop, Chase! Please!”
Chase didn't acknowledge. He proceeded to beat Benny's face in until he broke through his skull, and even continued then. Theia forced herself to look away as she cried in agony. “Okay, girl,” Chase said turning toward her. She forced herself to look. Benny wasn't recognizable anymore. He was reduced to less than a corpse. “I asked you to strip, remember?”
Theia struggled, but Sam and Spencer's grip was too strong. Chase removed the brass knuckles, not minding the blood still covering his hands. He pulled off her glasses, dangled them before her, then threw them on the floor. He stomped on them, watching her reaction with a smile as he rubbed the sole of his shoe on the shards.
She remembered something her father taught her... Struggling was something she knew Chase wanted, so she relaxed her body. The kids pinning her down started to tear open her shirt and force down her pants. They paused to stare when they saw her privates, and that was when she chose to act. She forced Spencer's head down, slamming it into the floor. When Sam attempted to grab her again, she punched straight into his throat with a scream. Chase looked at her with shock. She ignored him since he wasn't moving at her. She pulled up her pants and straightened what remained of her shirt before trying to run out.
“No!” growled Chase, grabbing her before she could escape.
Theia didn't know what came over her... She twisted her body so that Chase lost his grip, then she proceeded to punch him in the groin and kick one of his knees, breaking it. When he fell onto his back, she took the brass knuckles from the floor and pummeled his face in until he hardly had a face left. She stopped herself before he wasn't breathing anymore. She couldn't bring herself to kill him, but the enticing thought was almost too appealing to resist satisfying.
Theia ran out of the refrigerator, through the dining area, and out of the building. With the smell of blood still fresh in her nostrils, she vomited while weeping bitterly. “No!” she repeated over and over. “No! Noooo!” She let herself collapse there, once again finding herself wishing she would die there in the cold, alone. “Dad, please,” she whispered, her voice too weak for even her to hear anymore.
I need you.
MERCY
Broken, tear-soaked and fallen to her knees, Mercy was forced to accept the sight before her. Haley was dead. Her blood was still warm and wet on Mercy's hands.
Mercy could not move. She could not cry, and could barely breathe. It was such fulminant agony, shrouding a curse over her that would plod her feet and erode her heart – a cut that would bleed forever. From her knees she fell onto her back, never intending to stand again.
“That's too bad,” said one of the men surrounding the body. “Well, what should we do with this, Shane?”
Mercy lifted her head, fixing her eyes on the men who failed to save her niece. The man addressed as Shane appeared around thirty, the same age as everyone else in the room. The man answered. “Toss her in the pile, I guess.”
Pile? questioned Mercy. She refused to tolerate hearing the word. From surrendering her will to live, within a matter of seconds she returned to her feet and confronted Shane. “You won't throw my niece into some pile!”
“The girl's dead,” said the man. “Would you prefer a back yard to bury her in?”
“Yes. I would prefer that.” Her response was cold, glaring and fearless.
His very appearance disgusted her. From the indistinguishable tattoo on his neck, she judged Shane's skin was covered from chest to legs with ink. Were it not for winter, she imagined he'd wear a wife beater with a bandanna. He carried himself so arrogantly. He only had apathy for Haley from the moment the others brought her inside.
“Then, feel free to. We won't stop ya,” he said to Mercy. He looked at his men. “Leave the body.”
“Your men are going to help.” Shane only laughed, the others with him. “Look, I'm only asking for this one thing. What are you doing here, anyway? This is a church.”
“More like a chapel,” retorted one of Shane's men.
Then the boss added, “Sorry to have misled you. But the world's gone to shit, in case you didn't notice.”
Mercy tried to retain composure, but as the moments passed, the reality seethed its way further into her mind. Haley's gone. Gone... Perhaps it was denial at first, like it was with their family. She had forced herself to be strong for her innocent niece. All the months hiding underground, and not once did she permit Haley to cry, nor herself. There was promise on her part that the time would come for them to mourn, but it was not then. It was not until their country, their people, or perhaps even the whole world, returned to order. Haley was her strength to remain composed, to remain sane, and to remain alive. Now without Haley, it seemed all her strength had gone. Even her legs were scarcely capable of holding her up.
Without another word to them, Mercy tucked her hands under Haley's body and started to lift. The others watched as if it were a show, placing bets that she would fail lifting a body nearly as long as her own. And she did, losing her balance and falling backward, striking her forehead against the edge of a pew. Haley's body fell hard on the carpeted floor. Mercy was reduced to tears again, being consumed with shame. As the men around her laughed, she attempted a second effort. Though a sharp pain stung her lower spine as she stood, she ignored it, and managed to stand fully with her niece in her arms. She stepped once, then again. With each passing moment she could feel her strength fading, knowing she would have to set Haley down before long.
Haley's head fell back over Mercy's arm. Against her better judgment, Mercy tried bending her elbow forward to lift the head, but it only strained her muscles more. She reached the front doors, further than she expected. As she stepped just a foot from them, she had to lower herself and rest. Still, she never ceased cradling Haley's head like an infant.
The chapel doors flung open from the outside. Mercy looked up, seeing a fairly large figure wearing a trench coat entering, an indignant expression on his face. Once stepping inside, he paused when seeing Mercy and the little girl in her arms. His strong expression faltered for that brief moment.
“Well, if it isn't the Ghost himself. Hello, friend,” said Shane.
“Who the hell is this?” the tall man asked, still looking at them.
“I don't know, Ethan. They just … showed up.”
Ethan, Mercy mentally noted, ignoring the first name Shane called him. Is he their boss or something? He doesn't look any older than Shane. Whoever Ethan was, he was tall, carrying a heavyweight build. He's obviously not starving, she substantiated. He had dark brown hair that almost looked black; probably more dirty than natural. Ethan wore no colors; only black, from the collar of his long leather coat to his boots. He was far more serious than the others. She wasn't sure if he lacked emotions, or was just chronically pissed off. His all-business dress and attitude gave away his position. Who else would speak to Shane like that other than a man with authority? Who else could enter and start demanding information?
Ethan walked further into the church, glancing again at Mercy and the deceased girl in her arms. “What's a woman and a dead girl doing here?” spat Ethan. Blood soaked into his gloves as he brushed his hands across the table, walking toward Shane, whose men kept their distance. “Better yet, what are you doing here? Is there something of value in this chapel?”
“The Lord Jesus,” remarked Shane. “We've prayed a lot, hoping the good Lord would conjure a huge pile of red meat and some pussy. We got one wish...”
“Hilarious, Stauffer. Your boss sent me to have you report to her.”
Shane paused, his arrogant demeanor shifting to vulnerability. “Why? What's she want?”
“An explanation for why you're in a church.” Ethan sighed. He turned toward Mercy and the body she held. He paused for a moment, observing them intently. “Who are they?” he asked again.
Shane snapped his fingers, gesturing his me
n to leave the building. As they moved to exit, he stood close to Ethan to give his answer. “I'll tell the boss. If you really care to know, stay and listen.”
She. The word echoed in her mind. 'The boss?' 'Scarlet?' What kind of group is this? … Is Scarlet the boss, then? She held Haley close as the others walked out one by one, imagining one of them, particularly Shane, would kick or stomp or spit on Haley as they passed for their own sadistic amusement. The fact they were leaving her alone with Ethan was no consolation to her.
“You two, wait outside,” Ethan said to Shane and one other just before they stepped out. With Shane closing the doors behind him, Ethan knelt beside Mercy, looking closely at Haley's face. Then, at Mercy. “Did they kill her?” he asked. Mercy shook her head slightly. “Were you leaving to bury her?”
“Yes...” reluctantly answered Mercy.
“Then what? Run away? Maybe say a prayer first?”
“I didn't think that far ahead. I don't really pray.” She could not discern any sincerity in Ethan. His questions felt devoid of emotion, like how he seemed as a person.
“The boss will want a word with you, too.”
“Please,” she begged. “Can I bury my niece first?”
“Wouldn't it be more dignifying to leave her on the floor in this church? The worms would take longer to find her. Or, would you rather feed them sooner?”
“Then the flies would eat her.”
“What makes flies worse than worms?”
Mercy was silent from pure disgust. Has he even seen who I'm holding? My own family! My dead niece. He still tells me to leave her on some floor? Ethan's question was not worth a verbal response. She turned her face away from him, burying her nose into Haley's hair and smelling her essence before time permanently diminished it. She closed her eyes, trying to pretend the little one was still alive somehow.
“You can come back when my boss is done with you.”
Mercy removed her face from Haley's scalp then shot a spiteful glare at Ethan. “Just a few minutes,” she said, nearly demanding it, with implied consequences.
Ethan already lost patience for the conversation. He flung open the doors, snapping his fingers to order the men beside Shane to remove her. They stepped up to Mercy, who started throwing punches at them. She did not manage to injure them, but kept up the struggle long enough for Ethan to step behind her and lock his arms around her neck, making it feel as if it would kill her. Before she lost consciousness she relented. With her fists relaxed and her arms raised (as much as she could), she surrendered entirely. Ethan relinquished his hold, dropping her to the floor as she gasped for air. The henchmen each forcefully lifted her by an arm, and Ethan led the way out of the church.
Mercy was too far away to look back by the time she regained enough oxygen to be fully conscious. Maybe it's better that I don't see her just left on the floor like that. They'll let me go if I cooperate. If I don't see you again, Haley, I'm so sorry.
The building Ethan was leading them to was the one she saw upon arrival to the area. It was faintly lit all over and was the largest building in sight. She could tell she was in an ordinary neighborhood, which made it apparent in her mind that they were approaching a former school. She tried to find street signs or a sign positioned on or around the building saying its name, but found nothing.
Roads that were not lit from lamps, traffic lights, cars or buildings were still something she needed adjusting to. It seemed her escorts were fully adjusted to the darkness; as if they learned to see without their eyes. She admired how they could walk any distance without lights. Twice they flawlessly stepped over and off edges that had caused Mercy to trip, not knowing to expect the obstacles. She wondered where inside they were taking her; if there would be any light to see, or any other prisoners to share space with.
She could see Ethan more clearly the closer they got. The walk was only a couple hundred feet, but the anticipation had its own way of extending the time it took to arrive.
Ethan walked with a slight hunch, indicating to Mercy that he was not as confident as he first seemed. The way he approached the building was as if it bored him – or pained him. Somehow the sight of him eased her fear. There stood two shadowy figures at opposite sides of the main doors to the building, standing guard with rifles long enough to use as canes. Who are these people? The question was far more prevalent in her mind than anything else. No one dressed, spoke or carried themselves like military or government agents, but they were highly organized. The Uprising tore the country down only three months prior; hardly enough time to establish some sort of network everyone understood. They had been a clan or secret society for some time.
“Who's she?” asked the guard to their right.
“More baggage,” replied Ethan.
Mercy half-expected to be frisked at least, but she wasn't examined at all. Upon entering the building, she saw the main hallway lit with candles. Some men used flashlights. No less than a dozen, she estimated were in that hall. Likely a lot more throughout the building. They forced her down to her knees, the guide to her right relieving himself from managing her while the one to her left kept his grip on her shoulder.
Ethan paused amid everyone, scouring every direction of the building he could see. “Where's Shane? I was right behind him,” he said loudly, seeming to be addressing everyone.
“Upstairs talking to the boss,” Mercy heard someone answer. She attempted to lift her head enough to see who was conversing, continuing to keep tabs as much as possible on everyone she was encountering. “She wants you up there too,” he added.
“The girl is Shane's responsibility. Should I leave her with the others?”
“For now? Probably,” answered the same man.
Mercy's escort forcefully lifted her back to her feet. Ethan walked ahead of them as Mercy wondered every possibility of what 'others' meant. Other prisoners? Just other women? There's only men here. It could just be the other women. If he meant prisoners... Ethan led them to the other end of the hall, to the last room on the left. He unlocked the door and Mercy's escort threw her inside. She heard the door lock again as she found herself in a room of unknown size or layout, completely devoid of light.
She said nothing, waiting.
Through the darkness, she finally heard someone speak to her. “Hey...” said a man with a soft voice. “What's your name?” She had only been thrown in a minute before, and already someone in the room wanted to get to know her? Neither responding, or refusing to respond, seemed appropriate. What's answering going to do? Did he see that I'm a woman? Then her company spoke again, asking, “What got you in here?”
Perhaps it was futile not to answer. “My niece was dying,” she said equally as soft as the man.
“A woman!” said another voice, this one much deeper than the others. “I told you! Now pay up.”
The softer voice replied, “I'm out of cigarettes, and I've been out of matches even longer than that.”
Can they see around the room? How could they bet on cigarettes? And what do I have to do with this bet? Mercy could hear someone stand and walk somewhere in the room. She moved herself toward her left to get out of way of the door. They probably know where the door is, at least. The footsteps were not coming closer, she could hear. She kept her eyes open despite not being able to see.
“So, where you from, baby?” said the deeper voice.
Mercy said nothing. She inched further to her left, intent on being untraceable. With two men in the room, both showing interest in her without as much as seeing her face, she chose to take no chances.
“What's wrong? Don't be afraid, baby.” He sounded happy for a prisoner. “We can see you moving, so don't try to hide.”
Mercy stopped in her tracks. How can he see me? Call his bluff? Don't call his bluff...? She ultimately decided to remain completely still; it was likely her best hope. Her eyes were adjusting slowly – she could distinguish some outlines – which was better than nothing. She was hoping some debris, preferably obj
ects as large as furniture, were residing between her and the men.
“You said your niece was dying. How is she now?” asked the same voice.
Mercy tensed up, never answering him.
“A few days ago, before I was brought here, I found this little girl, no older than ten, crying in the street. She was missing her brother.” The man's voice was welcoming. A ploy, she thought. It was difficult, though, to resist speaking back, because he was not intimidating her. Still, she refused to take the chance of looking vulnerable. Admitting why she stumbled into the turf was already excessive. “I asked the little girl what happened to her brother. She said her brother was looking for their parents and a man found him. She saw the man take her brother into a car across the street, and a few minutes later he walked out of the car and disappeared. When her brother never came out, she ran to the car and found him without any pants on. A blade was pinning him to the seat through his neck.”
The deeper voice had a sincerity to it. Whoever was speaking to her, she could hear some pain in his voice. Listening to him consoled her enough to relax her body, making her recognize how tense she was without knowing it.
“The little girl told me she was sitting across the street from where her brother was,” he continued. “She pointed at the car his body was in. She couldn't understand why his pants were off; she couldn't understand why the man killed her brother. And she still didn't know where her parents were.” The man paused. Mercy was envisioning the horrific story. “I invited the little girl to come with me, but she refused. I thought maybe I should make her come with me before someone else came along and did the same to her that happened to her brother. I asked myself if that would have been wrong. After all, I could barely feed myself, and half the reason I was out in the street was to find some pussy. It didn't make me any better of a person that I was willing to force myself onto a woman versus a little girl.”
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