Paradise Abductions

by Mia Rodriguez

  Chapter 35

  I stare at the filthy floor with astonishment. I just don't know what could've happened to it. Betsey's cackling laughter breaks me out of my stupor.

  "You'd better clean like I tell you to, Little Bird," she chortles, imitating the Mister.

  Revenge. That's what this is about. Betsey finally found the way to get back at me.

  I head towards the kitchen to start my chores. A loud knock makes me return to the living room. When I open it the front door, the Elders stand nonchalantly on the other side. I have them sit down on the sofas as I get Barstowe from his study. They're eyeing the muddy tile when I get back with the Mister. They try to cover the disgust on their faces, but they can't pull it off. The Mister's face shows embarrassment.

  "What can I do for you?" he asks, his tone not as domineering as it usually is.

  He doesn't dismiss me, so I have to stay in the living room in case they need anything. I try not to look to the ground. The mess makes me cringe.

  "We're here because Enzel has something very important to tell you," declares Guildenstein.

  Grinder clears his throat. "I'd like to apologize for yesterday."

  This Mister eyes him suspiciously. "This apology isn't good enough!"

  "Be reasonable, Alcott. The man apologized to you," says an Elder. "What more do you want?"

  "I just don't think he's sorry!"

  "I am," assures Grinder. "I'm very sorry."

  "You'll never get in my business again?" asks the Mister.

  "No, never."

  "You'll abide by my rules?"

  "Yes, Alcott."

  "Okay, I'll consider forgiving you."

  "Thank you, Alcott," states Grinder. "You're truly a great man."

  I guess he realizes who really has the power in Paradise Village.

  When the men leave, the Mister turns his glaring sight to me. His eyes burn with fire. Uh oh! This is the face to fear. And he seems to be furious with me!

  "Why are these floors like this?!" he snaps, spit coming out of his mouth.

  "They were like this when I came in the house, Master Barstowe," I explain, keeping my voice steady and even.

  "Do you realize how embarrassed I am that the Elders saw this mess?!" he yells, his hand indicating the floor. "I suppose not! What do you know with your easy life? What do you know about having so much responsibility on your shoulders like I have?"

  I just listen as he continues ranting, trying to keep myself calm. If I interrupt, it'll make matters worse.

  "Now I'll be a laughingstock! They're probably laughing at me as we speak!"

  He's yelling so loud that the family-wives step into the living room to see what's happening. Betsey wears a self satisfied grin.

  "For goodness sake, Monica, why haven't you cleaned this up?!" he roars.

  "I was following the chore sequence you have for me."

  "Excuses! Just excuses!"

  I stare at him without blinking. I know what's coming. Pain!

  "Betsey, bring me my discipline club! It's on my desk."

  She happily bounces away, almost skipping. The other wives stare at me with horror.

  "Monica, you have no idea how much you've disappointed me! I try to give you everything! I try to protect you and keep you away from harm! This is the way you repay me--by shirking your responsibilities?! Maybe Betsey is right! I spoil you too much!"

  Betsey hears the last part as she's stepping in the living room with the club. Her wide smile covers all her smirking features.

  "This will hurt me more than you, but I've got to teach you respect!"

  WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

  My eyes glue together trying to shut out what's occurring to me, trying to concentrate on something other than the excruciating pain.

  THUD! THUD1 THUD!

  The agony. Doesn't stop. Doesn't alleviate. Pulsating and brutal, the ferocious thuds seem never-ending.

  The Mister gives me the worst beating I've ever had. It is so bad that afterward I have to finish my chores very slowly because every part of me is bruised and barely able to function. My breathing is hard and ragged. My eyes are blurry with agony.

  The wives try to help me with the housekeeping, but Betsey orders them not to touch anything. The sneering grin on her face stays in place the entire time I'm at the house. Miguel gasps when I finally come out after he spent several hours waiting for me. Even though the Mister hadn't hit my face and Miguel can't see the dark purple bruises underneath my clothing, he can see my limp.

  "What happened?" he questions loudly.

  I shush him. He had forgotten to speak quietly so no one hears us. I quickly look to all sides and am relieved nobody is around.

  "Let me help you," he whispers as he nears me.

  "No," I blurt.

  He forgets that he can't touch me. It can mean a death sentence for him if he does. He nods forlornly at me, his eyes indicating he understands what I'm thinking. We start walking slowly and without speaking, his eyes fixed on me with agony.

  "Don't worry," I whisper to him. But his eyes don't loosen their pained stance.

  We don't speak until we're in an isolated area.

  "What happened?" he questions again, upset and with a shaky tone.

  "Betsey had her revenge," I state. "And it's only the beginning."

  I can barely stand up the next day when I wake up. Forcing myself, I start doing my chores in the slave quarters.

  "What's wrong with you?" barks Helga.

  I lift up my blouse and show her the many purple-red bruises permeating my skin. She gasps.

  "Betsey?" she asks.

  I nod.

  "Did she hit you, or did she manipulate Master Barstowe to do it?"

  "She manipulated the Master."

  "I thought so."

  "She's totally unhinged."

  "I warned you. Have you been watching your back like I told you?" she asks, snapping.

  I nod again. "Sometimes you just can't watch for everything."

  To my surprise, instead of making a scathing remark over my inability to have protected myself, she orders another girl to help me.

  "You're going to have to find a way to protect yourself from her," Helga states.

  "I' know."

  As Miguel walks me to the Barstowe household, he keeps having to stop himself from helping me. I have to remind him he can't touch me. My limp got worse today, and I'm even slower than the day before.

  "I found out what Betsey's doing," he states when we reach an isolated spot.

  "What?"

  "I know how she's tracking the mud in."

  "How is she doing it? It hasn't rained since the other day."

  "She's having one of the helper-boys water the lawn first thing in the morning. Then she has the family-wives say their prayers underneath the big oak tree where no grass grows."

  "So when they walk into the house, their shoes are full of mud," I state.

  "That's right."

  "The wives have tried to take off their shoes before coming in but . . ."

  "Betsey won't let them," I say, finishing the sentence for him.

  "Betsey is an evil mastermind."

  "You can say that again."

  When he leaves me at the door, he whispers, "Good luck. Take care of yourself."

  I wince as I step into the house. I don't know what to expect.

  "You're finally here," snaps the Mister, his eyes in wild fury. He's smacking the black mini-bat on his left palm. "You left this house in a mess yesterday!"