“Okay.” Feeling grateful that she hadn't pushed me to talk, I turned back to my homework, for once happy for the drudgery of busywork that let me avoid awkward conversations.
Chapter 5: Violated
I woke with a start to the door at the end of the hall slamming shut. I scrambled upright in my bed, blinking in the sudden light coming through my door. I pulled the blankets tightly around my shoulders, my heart pounding, as heavy boots approached my door in a steady rhythm.
“Tonight,” he'd said. What was tonight? A quick look at my tiny window in the wall revealed darkness outside.
All too soon, that scarred face appeared at my door. Keys clinked, door lock clicked. Door scraped open.
The man filled my doorway, and I shrunk back. As he stepped forward and pulled the chain to turn my light on, I saw that he had a tray of food in his hands. Maybe he's just here to give me food, I thought as I relaxed just little.
But as the man stepped forward and set the tray down, my fears returned full force. He straightened and stared at me with a strange expression on his face. It was an expression I had never noticed or seen before now...but one I would learn to know all too well in the time to come.
“Take it off.”
I clutched the blankets even tighter. “What?”
With a snarl, the man lunged forward and grabbed me by the arm. I shrieked as he pulled me out of the bed, letting the safety of my blankets fall to the floor. He growled and yanked on the neckline of my gown, and it gave with a loud ripping sound. I cried out and clutched the fabric to my chest, but it was savagely pulled from my hands.
No. No, this can't be happening. This can't be real. It's just a dream...just a dream...wake up, Sarah! Wake up, please!
But it wasn't a dream. And I couldn't wake up. No, this was a nightmare worse than anything my sleeping mind could have imagined. And it was happening to me...while I was awake.
I was pushed onto the cot, my head hitting the cinder-blocks with a thump that made my senses swim. I prayed desperately for unconsciousness, to pass out and not remember. For him to stop. For mercy.
But I guess God wasn't listening this time.
What came next is something I will never forget, nor will I ever fully remember. I was being torn apart, inside and out. Assaulted in the most humiliating way possible. I was dirtied in a way that could never be made clean. I screamed, I fought, I struggled. But he was stronger than I, and held me with ease. After I made one furious heave that broke one of my arms free, he reared back and slapped me on the face so hard that my consciousness broke into a million pieces. I swam in a dark spiral of pain and shame, unable to faint, but unable to truly touch reality. He punched me...in the shoulders, in the ribs, in the belly. He slapped me with curved fingers so that my skin bled. With one hand he held my wrists and with the other he hurt me, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
God, make it stop. Please make it stop. Please. Please. Please. Eventually my prayers turned into an incoherent, wordless pleading for relief, for an end to the horror, for the sweet darkness of unconsciousness.
I don't know when it stopped. I don't remember him leaving. I remember vomiting over the side of my cot, I remember crying until my throat was raw and my eyes burned. I remember huddling on my bed in a fetal position, unable to move except for the vicious trembling that wracked my limbs.
The pain. So much pain. Pain like I could never have imagined. It was in my body, but also in my soul. A darkness that could never be cleansed or washed away from the depths of my mind.
I lay there for what might have been days, or it might have been only minutes. When the pain eased enough that I could walk I pushed myself up from the bed, clutching the remains of my gown around me. Avoiding the vomit puddle, I stumbled to the bathroom and pulled the chain to turn the light on. I was still shuddering so hard that my teeth were chattering. I turned the water on in the tub, but I did not plug the drain. I could not sit in the puddled water which washed off the man's filth.
I scrubbed my skin until the scabs on my hands broke and water swirled pink down the drain. I put my head under the faucet and let steaming water run through my hair until my head was sweating from the heat. I sat and washed and scrubbed until the water ran cold. My tears were constant and joined in the cleansing. But no matter what I did, I didn't feel any cleaner.
Finally the coldness of the water forced me out, and I pulled myself up. I left the gown lying in a tattered heap on the floor and wrapped myself in the one clean blanket that had fallen near the foot of the cot. I couldn't stand to touch the cot after what had happened. In a daze I pushed the button on the TV that made it flick to life and shoved a random movie in. I pulled the chains to turn off the bathroom light and the one in the cell.
That night I sat in the corner between the foot of the cot and the wall, huddled in my blanket, numbly watching the scenes of Bambi flicker across the screen. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't think. I couldn't feel. I couldn't eat the food on the tray even though my stomach roiled with hunger.
I told you not to fight.
God, why? Why did you let this happen? Why?
Mama. Daddy. Mama, come find me. Take me home. I want to go home.
And Jenny's voice in my head again: I told you not to fight.
“Are you crazy?” I shouted. “How could I not fight? Why would you even say that?”
“Oh, Sarah.” Jenny's voice sounded infinitely weary, infinitely hopeless. “It won't hurt as much if you don't fight. He won't hurt you so much. It makes it easier.”
“But why? Why are they doing this? What kind of person does this?”
Jenny sighed. It sounded as if she was standing at her door. I could envision her pale, bony fingers curling around the bars. “Don't think about it. You'll go mad. Just survive. Survive...and pray. Eat your food, stay quiet, do what they say. Don't fight, and maybe you'll survive long enough that someone will find us.”
“I can't do this. I want to go home.”
“I know, Sarah. I know.”
The tears began to fall again, and I laid my head against the cool concrete and watched the TV without really seeing it, until my eyelids drifted closed and I drifted into sleep.
***
I was startled awake to my door rattling, and I immediately began to tremble, trying to make myself as small in the corner as I could. Maybe he wouldn't see me. Maybe he would just go away.
But it wasn't the man again. It was Travis. I watched, unable to move, as he walked over to me and knelt, setting a tray on the ground that held a bottle of juice and various first-aid supplies. Under his arm was a roll of cloth.
When he reached out to touch me, I flinched and cried out despite myself. He withdrew.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
“Travis, what's going on? Why are you helping that man? Please, let me go!”
He shook his head. “I can't do that.”
“Why not?”
“Don't worry, Butterfly. It will be okay.”
Fresh tears started. “It's not okay!” I cried. “He hurt me!” I couldn't bring myself to say what came to my tongue next. He raped me.
Travis sighed. “I'll be right back.”
He got up and left, leaving the door ajar behind him. I heard keys rattle in a lock and he came back, followed by Jenny. I gasped when I saw her fully for the first time. Today her dark hair was bound in a messy braid that fell to her waist. She was clad in a simple nightgown much like the man had ripped off of me. She was thin, so scary thin. But what turned my stomach the most was the sight of her belly, swollen with pregnancy. She looked like she would give birth any day.
“Help her. I'll be outside.” Travis turned and walked out, locking the door behind him.
Jenny knelt on the floor where Travis had been a moment before. “Sarah?”
“You're pregnant.” It was a stupid thing to say. Obviously she knew that.
“I know. And if you want to survive, you will be soon, as well.” She didn't giv
e me time to process this before she pulled the blanket off of my shoulder, exposing my nakedness. I squeaked and pulled it back. Jenny sighed and lowered herself painfully to the floor. “I need to clean the wounds or they will get infected. And you better believe The Master won't let you out for medical care.”
Numbly, I let her pull the blanket down. Gently, her touch as light as a feather, she dabbed alcohol on the cuts. She rubbed a sharp-smelling ointment into the bruises. She wrapped a bandage around my ribs where she thought one might be fractured.
She pressed the salve into my hands. “You'll want to keep this. Put it on your legs where he bruised you. It helps.”
I didn't know what else to say but “Thank you.”
She handed me the rolled up fabric, which turned out to be another nightgown. I eased it gingerly over my head and my bruises.
Jenny used the end of the cot to push herself to her feet and walked, off, but only to my bathroom. She came back carrying the brush that had been left earlier. She motioned for me to get up and to sit in the chair at the desk, gingerly placing the soiled blanket over my vomit.
“Eat the sandwich. You need to keep up your strength.”
I looked down and realized that the food was still there from earlier, the food that the man Jenny called the Master had brought. I didn't want to eat it, but I knew she was right. I took a bite of the sandwich.
Without another word, Jenny began to brush my hair. Her touch was gentle, motherly. As I ate she brushed, and, if I closed my eyes I could almost believe I was at home and Mama was standing behind me.
Jenny pulled the band from the end of her hair and braided mine with deft hands. Then she came around to the side and leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms on top of her swollen belly. She watched silently as I choked down the now-dry bread and followed it with the lukewarm juice.
“Look,” She said as I finished. “Travis is the lesser of the evils here. He's under the old man's spell. I don't know why. But he doesn't hurt us without reason. He's just a servant, I guess. If you need something, you ask him. He'll bring you things, within reason. Master won't let you wear anything besides that gown, but you can ask for other things. Soap, toiletries, books, paper, blankets, food, stuff like that. They don't like us to die, at least not right now. So don't be trouble for the Master, keep quiet, and ask Travis if you need something. Okay?”
I nodded numbly. None of this made any sense. Jenny spoke so matter-of-factly, as if we were discussing the weather. You'd never guess from her attitude that she was imprisoned in a cell below the ground, pregnant with her captor's child.
My door creaked open and Travis stuck his head in. “Jenny, you need to go back before he catches you out.”
Jenny nodded and pushed away from the wall, clasping my shoulder as she passed. She walked quietly back into her cell and Travis locked the door behind her before returning to me. He watched me as if I were a deer that might bolt, moving slowly and carefully. He gathered up my soiled blanket and left, reappearing immediately with a plastic bucket full of foaming cleaner. It smelled like Pine-sol, and the familiar scent made my heart clench. He silently sponged the puddle from the floor and wiped it with a towel thrown over his shoulder. All the while I stayed in my chair, afraid to move.
When he was done cleaning he rose. “It will be okay, Butterfly.”
Travis turned to leave but I stopped him. “Wait.” When he turned to look at me, I cringed.
“Yes?”
“C-can I have something? Some soap...m-maybe some paper? A pen?” Those seemed safe. Surely he couldn't object to such simple things.
Travis nodded silently and left. A clean blanket was tossed through the door then it closed, locking with a click. Footsteps receded down the hallway and I was left alone.
Chapter 6: Birth and Death
When I woke, a new tray of food sat on my desk, along with a spiral notebook and a package of pens. A little paper bag proved to hold two bars of soap and a bottle of shampoo.
This time the food was scrambled eggs and toast. A tall glass of milk stood next to the plate, the sides still covered in condensation. I didn't know how Travis kept managing to get in and out of my cell without my noticing, and the thought was pretty disturbing, but on some level I managed to be grateful for what he had given me. I didn't know his role in this. I was struggling to believe that someone so handsome, so kind and so eloquent could truly be as evil as the man who had assaulted...raped...me. Surely he was a prisoner, just like us. Yes, that must be it. A prisoner, or a servant. Kept silent and subservient by some unknown and invisible chains. It was the only explanation that made any sort of sense.
Then again, I didn't have a lot of experience with evil, or depths of darkness that existed in some souls.
After eating the food, I returned to my cot with the notebook and pens. For a long while I stared at the first blank page. I wanted to pour my soul out on those pages. I wanted to fill them with the thoughts that my brain didn't know how to process.
Finally I decided. I had never been good at journal writing. I had also never been held captive by crazy evil men.
Much of my memories of my captivity come from my journals. After a while, with no clock or other ways to tell time apart from the lightening and darkening of the tiny window in the wall, the days start to blur together.
So, I pulled the package of pens open and set one to the paper. I couldn't remember what day it was, so instead I put the day of my captivity, based on the light and dark I had seen from my window.
Day 2:
I don't know where to start. I don't know what to say. I don't know where I am. I don't even know what day it is.
I want to go home. I want to wake up from this nightmare. I want to feel the sun and the sky, something other than this faint basement light and this constant cold. I am so tired of being cold. The bruises ache as if his hands were still on me. I hurt in a place I didn't know I could hurt.
Please .God, let it be the last time. Please God let him leave me alone. I don't know if I can survive that again.
***
“Wake up.” I opened my eyes and immediately shrunk back against the wall when I saw the tall figure looming over me, silhouetted in the light from the hallway. He moved to the side, and I realized it was Travis. There was a strange noise coming from the hall.
“What's going on?”
“Come on.” Travis took my hand and led me from the cot, out into the hall. I blinked in the sudden increase of light. Had he changed his mind? Was he going to help me escape after all?
No such luck. Without any explanation, Travis put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me through the door into Jenny's cell. I turned around to ask him what was going on, only to see the door close and lock behind me.
I turned back to see Jenny lying on her cot, clutching her belly. She groaned, and I realized that was the sound I had heard. I rushed to her side. Her cell was set up the same as mine, but she had hand-painted pictures taped to her wall, a calendar and a clock, as well as a couple rugs, and a much larger collection of movies as well as some books piled on her desk.
“Jenny? What's wrong?”
Jenny's face was pale, and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. “The baby...” she trailed off into a moan of pain. I gasped as I realized I could see her belly contracting. I laid a hand gently on the fabric of her nightgown, feeling the skin hard as a rock beneath my palm.
“The baby's coming?”
Jenny just nodded. After a moment the contraction eased and she relaxed. “Yes.”
“Do you need to go to the hospital?”
Jenny laughed bitterly. “The Master would rather I die here than be seen at a hospital. No, the baby will be born here. Just like the others.”
I couldn't speak for a moment. “The others?”
She nodded. “This babe is my third.”
“What happened to the others?”
“Gone. Ahh!” she tensed and grabbed my hand as another contraction washed ov
er her.
I held her hand until the pain had passed and she lay there panting. “They died?”
“No. Not dead, gone.” Jenny's eyes were closed, but she opened them and held my gaze. “I need you to help me.”
“Help with the baby? But I've never...”
“That part is simple. The birth will go as births always go. No, the help I need from you is much more important.”
I felt ice in my stomach as I realized that she meant me to help her deliver her baby. “I don't know anything about delivering babies.”
Jenny lunged upward and grabbed my gown. “Listen,” she whispered fiercely. “He takes the good ones. The babies born without fault. The only reason Annabelle keeps her child is because the girl was born with a club foot. She will never walk without surgery. My last two babies were perfect, and he took them. I cannot survive losing another.” She let go and fell back, gasping with pain.
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