by Smith, Bryan
Livia had no idea what could possibly follow the incredible and inspiring thing she’d just witnessed. Anything short of life-changing would be a letdown in the wake of the inferno oven’s fiery debut.
The warden and her entourage returned to their booth, with Livia again trailing behind the other women on her hands and knees. Again, she was made to sit at their feet. However, they were so caught up in the excitement of what they’d just seen that they paid her little attention for the next little while as they chatted exuberantly amongst themselves.
Another distraction soon appeared in the form of the expanded menus, delivered to their booth by the same young waitress who’d tended to them earlier. More excited babble ensued as the women reviewed the menu options, taking turns reading some of them out loud.
A lot of it sounded fancier than Livia had imagined, the meat and organs prepared and served in a variety of creative ways. The lingering stench of charred human flesh aside, it was almost possible to believe they were in a five-star Manhattan bistro rather than a decadent, atrocity-themed nightclub inside a prison located within the remotest part of a frozen wasteland.
It was kind of fucking surreal.
This element of the evening’s overall bizarreness was forgotten moments later, however, as stage lights came on and the electro-goth music from before resumed playing. The music was turned up louder now, the German lyrics and vocals sounding harsher than before as the female singer’s voice made the club’s sound system throb with an electric, palpable sexuality. It was music that sounded made for a strip club specializing in gothic themes, an impression that proved apt as a trio of scantily clad women came waltzing out onto the stage.
Livia’s jaw dropped open.
They were Frauenschaft women, all of them. All were wearing the familiar uniform of red booty shorts and tight, swastika-adorned white T-shirts. One of them was Lina, the group’s leader. As the music continued to pulse, the woman began to dance sensually across the stage. They came together and rubbed against one another in sexually suggestive ways before moving apart again. Other shapely members of the Frauenschaft soon joined them on the stage as the first song transitioned into another that sounded almost exactly like it.
So aghast was she at this development that Livia barely noticed when the original trio of dancers descended from the stage and spread out through the crowd. Her fury mounted quickly as she stewed over it. These bitches were inmates. Unless they were there to die, inmates were never allowed into Berlin 666, and yet the vibe tonight was unmistakable—these women were in no imminent danger of losing their lives.
Something was very, very wrong here.
That impression intensified as Lina approached the booth and smilingly addressed Ms. Wickman directly. “Hello, Evelyn.”
An inmate addressing the warden by her first name?
Livia frowned.
What the fuck is happening?
“Hello, Lina,” the warden replied, her tone frosty. “Nice performance. Please go away.”
Lina stayed right where she was as she said, “I just thought I’d offer you a lap dance.” She put her hands to her breasts, pushing them together and squeezing them. “Your preference is pleasures of the Sapphic kind, correct?” She smiled. “I know it is.”
Ms. Wickman stared stonily back at her a moment before saying, “Not from the likes of you.” She waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “Away with you.”
Lina shrugged as her hands came away from her breasts. “Your loss, Evelyn. I’ll move on to someone more appreciative.” She snapped an arm outward in the customary Nazi salute. “Heil, Hitler!”
Ms. Wickman stared at her, said nothing.
Lina frowned. “Warden, I’m surprised at you. Not showing our Fuhrer the proper respect?” She shook her head, making a tsk-tsk sound. “How sad.”
Again, Livia was stunned. Lina’s disrespectful behavior should have been an automatic death sentence. It was shocking that she wasn’t dead on the floor right now. Almost as surprising was the prolonged period of silence that ensued as the trio of women seated on the booth bench said absolutely nothing to each other. The celebratory mood of before suddenly seemed like a distant memory. This was very strange and disconcerting.
“Something has to be done,” Helga said, breaking the silence at last. “She openly disrespected you. That cannot fucking stand. I’ll--”
“You’ll shut up,” the warden interjected, her tone even frostier than before. “We’ll talk about it later, in private. Until then, we will enjoy the remainder of our evening.”
She picked up a glass from the table and drank deeply of the liquor inside it.
As the evening wore on, Livia was mostly forgotten, the women apparently having lost interest in the sadistic fun they’d been having with her earlier. By that point, she was okay with being ignored.
It gave her time to ruminate over these surprising developments and consider how she might turn them to her advantage.
23.
Once again experiencing morning-after effects from a night of overindulgence, Helga was shocked to find herself rousted out of bed at an unusually early hour. The banging on her door commenced at just after five and did not let up until she was forced to respond. Her initial instinct was to ignore it and slip back into sleep, but the knocking was too strident and constant for that.
Surrendering at last, she rolled out of bed and pulled on a slinky satin robe with a hem that hit at mid-thigh. She clumsily attempted to tie the sash as she staggered over to the door. Her intent was to rip the door open and scream at whoever this was with the temerity to wake her in such an obnoxious way at so ungodly an hour. A belated cautionary instinct kicked in at the last second and her hand froze on the knob before she could turn it.
It was unlikely anyone who meant her harm could gain access to this part of employee housing, which was strictly limited to upper echelon staff members. However, one could never be too careful. That was especially true now, given the uncharacteristically jittery vibe the warden had been giving off over the last day or so. Helga had no idea what had happened, but something had the woman rattled.
She had been standing there just a few seconds when the strident knocking resumed, causing her to audibly gasp. Her gun was on the nightstand. She glanced that way and saw the 9mm pistol in its holster. Having it in hand would make her feel a lot better.
Just as she was about to start edging in that direction, a faintly familiar voice spoke from the other side of the door. “I heard that, Ms. Von Trammpe,” the voice said, referring to the regrettable gasp. “Your caution is understandable. However, if you would please look through the peephole, you will see that I am no one to fear.”
Helga frowned.
That voice. I know this bitch. Who is she?
She put an eye to the peephole. The woman standing out in the hallway was indeed familiar. Helga had last seen her sitting across the table from her in that bar in Denmark almost a year ago. This was Ms. Ludmire, a woman similar in temperament and appearance to Ms. Wickman, though she was a bit younger-looking than the warden. She was also higher up in the organization that ran Prison 13. It wouldn’t do to keep her standing out there in the hallway for long.
That didn’t mean she was safe, of course, or that she could entirely trust this woman. Her mysterious employers were ruthless people. If for some reason they decided she was a liability or no longer useful to them, she was, well…expendable. Knowing that, however, changed nothing about her current predicament. All she could do here was let the woman in and hope for the best.
As she opened the door, the clumsily tied sash came unknotted and the front of the satin robe fell open, revealing her breasts and the smooth expanse of her belly. Ms. Ludmire took in this sight with a look of faint amusement, arching an eyebrow as she said, “Hello, Ms. Von Trammpe. I apologize for waking you so early, but I’m here on a matter of some urgency. Do you mind if I come in?”
Helga didn’t bother tying the robe’
s sash again. Her body was one of her prime assets, after all. It could be used as a weapon of distraction, if nothing else. And she’d spied that telltale glint in Ms. Ludmire’s eye, the familiar one Helga had spotted in the eyes of so many appreciative men and women over the years. The woman liked what she was seeing. So let her see it.
Helga moved out of the way and waved the woman into the room. She shut the door once Ms. Ludmire was inside and started talking before she could turn and face her directly. “Sorry I look such a frazzled mess this morning, but--”
Ms. Ludmire was facing away from her, but that wasn’t the reason Helga abruptly ceased talking. The reason for that was the same thing that had captured Ms. Ludmire’s attention upon coming into the room.
Helga gasped again.
Oh, fuck.
She was mortified. Waking up to this without a witness present would have been bad enough, but with a figure of this importance in the room, the revelation put her in sheer nightmare territory. The floor compartment was open and empty and the shriveled, pathetic thing that had once been her dance show partner was curled up on the rumpled sheets of her bed, apparently sound asleep.
Holy fucking shit.
Helga had no memory of having taken Megan out of the floor box, which was something she normally refrained from doing when her faculties were diminished from drink. And the reason for that was the potential for exactly this kind of sloppiness. She was lucky Megan hadn’t killed her while she slept. Why she hadn’t, she had no idea. In her place, she certainly would have done it. And even in her weakened state, it would’ve been an easy thing to do, with the gun right fucking there, for fuck’s sake.
She could think of no way to forgivably explain away so glaring an oversight, so she just kept her mouth shut and waited for Ms. Ludmire to say something.
To Helga’s immense surprise, the woman was smiling as she turned around. “Am I correct in assuming this poor creature is what remains of your former partner?”
Something in Ms. Ludmire’s tone made Helga hesitate before speaking. Her instinct was to apologize and toss Megan back in the compartment. The sooner this evidence of carelessness was out of sight—and, hopefully, out of mind—the better she would feel. Yet there was a pronounced note of what felt like admiration in the woman’s tone. It made no sense under the circumstances, but all she could do was roll with it and hope for the best.
Helga smiled. “That’s her.”
Ms. Ludmire went to Helga’s bed and sat on its edge, with her torso twisted sideways as she reached out to gently stroke Megan’s bald scalp. The emaciated woman shivered at the touch, but did not awake.
“Does she spend much time out of the box?”
Helga kept her tone neutral as she said, “When the mood strikes me. As it did last night.”
“And is she always this docile when she sleeps with you?”
Helga smiled. “Yes, madam, always. Her mind and spirit are thoroughly shattered. I trained the instinct to disobey out of her with harsh discipline. She’s hardly anything like a real woman anymore. She’s more of a pet now.”
Ms. Ludmire stroked Megan’s scalp another few times before saying, “I must say, I am impressed. This level of total psychological dominance is not easy to attain. I saw something special in you from the beginning, Ms. Von Trammpe, and this just affirms it.”
“Please call me Helga.”
Ms. Ludmire rose from the bed and smoothed the fabric of her black skirt with a swipe of her hand. “What I’m seeing here, Helga, shows me that you possess the potential to go very far in the organization for which we both work. Which is why I’m here today.”
Helga frowned. “I don’t understand. Unless…are you offering me another job?”
Ms. Ludmire smiled and came closer. She reached out and plucked at one of the satin robe’s open flaps, causing a side of it to slide off Helga’s bare shoulder. Helga shrugged the garment the rest of the way off and allowed it to fall to the floor at her feet.
She stood there calmly, expecting to be groped. The prospect neither pleased nor displeased her. She had long ago accepted it as just part of how things were both here at the prison and within the larger organization. Those with the power were free to take advantage of those beneath them any way they pleased.
But Ms. Ludmire did not grope Helga. Instead, she looked her slowly up and down in a dispassionate way. Her manner was more like that of a doctor conducting an examination than anything else. There was no leer in that gaze. She was being appraised, nothing more.
Now the woman looked her in the eye and said, “You are a perfect physical specimen. Absolutely perfect.”
Helga smiled. “Thank you.”
“Perfectly Aryan. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Helga’s smile faltered. “I…suppose.”
Ms. Ludmire moved a step closer and placed a hand lightly on Helga’s waist. As before, there was nothing sexual in the gesture, at least not overtly. It was more a way of lending emphasis to what she was saying, a way of strengthening and acknowledging a connection. Maybe this was naïve, bit that was how it felt.
“A radical change is coming to this facility, Helga. Only a select few current staff members will remain after the transition. We would like you to be one of them. I would like you to be one of them.” Her hand came away from Helga’s waist as she moved back a step. “How would you like that?”
“I’d like it very much.”
“I thought you would. This pleases me, Helga. I expect great things of you.”
Helga pursed her lips a moment, thinking about it. “Will I remain as vice-warden or take another position?”
Ms. Ludmire shook her head. “The position of vice-warden will no longer exist. There will be no wardens at all, in fact, because the facility currently known as Prison 13 will no longer be a prison. It will serve a grander, far more important purpose, one we hope will help facilitate the realization of our most important goals. We would like you to run the repurposed facility. Would that interest you?”
Helga had so many questions swirling in her head. Foremost among them were queries about the facility’s new purpose and what was to become of Ms. Wickman. If what Ms. Ludmire was telling her was true—and she had no reason to doubt any of it—that information would be revealed in time. For now all that mattered was securing her place in the new scheme of things.
Her nod was emphatic. “I’m very interested.”
“Good.”
“Will Ms. Wickman stay on, as well?”
Ms. Ludmire’s expression turned cold. “She will not. Evelyn Wickman has performed acceptably in her capacity as warden. However, it has become clear to many within the organization that she is not really one of us. She possesses the necessary moral flexibility in abundance, but she does not believe as you and I believe. Indeed, she has on many occasions shown open disrespect for the values we cherish most.”
Helga nodded as if she understood perfectly. In fact, the opposite was true. She was more confused than ever.
Ms. Ludmire smiled, apparently sensing this. “The Order of the Dragon is a many-headed hydra, Helga. It is known by many different names and there are many factions working to achieve seemingly different things. Often the men and women working for these opposing factions are unaware that they share the same master. Some of our most closely held secrets are kept from those in positions of power until we are certain they are truly worthy. In the case of Ms. Wickman…” She paused here, making a soft sound of amusement. “Well, let’s just say she has been judged lacking.”
Helga’s expression was thoughtful. “And I have been judged…worthy?”
Ms. Ludmire nodded. “You have.”
Helga felt a swelling of pride.
Ms. Ludmire moved around her and started toward the door. She paused there and turned back again to say, “And Helga?”
“Yes, Ms. Ludmire?”
“I expect the utmost discretion from you. Do not discuss what I’ve
told you with anyone. Do you understand?”
Helga nodded. “I understand.”
“Excellent. We’ll talk again soon.”
Ms. Ludmire opened the door and slipped back out into the hallway, easing the door shut behind her.
Helga let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and felt a shiver of excitement go through her. She was on the cusp of attaining great power. However, she was also nervous about the prospect of continuing to interact with Ms. Wickman as a subordinate until the transition happened. Helga would have to work hard to maintain a façade of normality around the woman, which wouldn’t always be easy.
But I’ll fucking do it, she thought. I’ll do it and soon I’ll have everything.
Megan was awake and sitting up in the bed as Helga turned back in that direction. She did not look as if she’d just emerged bleary-eyed from sleep. Her eyes were open and aware. Helga knew right away the little bitch had been awake and listening to most of her conversation with Ms. Ludmire.
Helga came to a decision.
A great change was coming. It was time to let go of the past.
Megan shrank back in horror as Helga came rushing at her. Her mouth moved as she made a series of frantic-sounding, unintelligible noises. Helga grabbed her by one of her stick-thin arms and hauled her off the bed. Next she took the gun from her nightstand and placed the muzzle against the trembling woman’s forehead. Tears streamed down Megan’s face as she made more inarticulate pleading noises.
Helga smiled. “I’d ask if you have any last words, but, well, that’s not really possible.”
She laughed.
Megan dropped to her knees and began planting wet kisses all over Helga’s bare feet. Helga allowed this to go on for a time, enjoying the trembling and crying of her one-time partner.
It made her feel powerful.
Shooting her in the head was almost an anticlimax.
24.
Shonda Danning was waiting for her in the hallway when Jessica emerged from the D-Block showers that morning. The woman was standing with her back against the wall to Jessica’s left as she came out into the hallway. The positioning made strategic sense. Inmates returning to the block were required to go in the opposite direction. The tactic would have worked against virtually anyone else, but not against Jessica Sloan.
