by Lily White
Several minutes passed in silence. Not exactly silence, really. The fire continued to crackle, the logs breaking down into heaps of embers at my right. It must have burned for a while to reach that point already and I wondered how long I'd been asleep. Whatever Ethan had done to knock me out couldn't have lasted that long. Could it?
"What did you use on me?" The question sliced through the peaceful quiet of the room. At first, Ethan didn't appear as if he'd heard or cared to answer, but eventually he turned his head to look at me. The firelight danced across his face to cast shadows down his cheeks making them appear sunken and hollow. Even still, he was gorgeous with a strong, square jaw and cheekbones that swept up so high they were the perfect frame for his grey eyes. Against the soft flicker of the fire, his eyes were luminescent, glowing like a cat's would when caught in a beam of light.
"I'm not sure what you mean," he finally answered, the baritone depth of his voice lazy and tired. It only made him sound more charming, as if this moment revealed a truth to him beneath the cold, uncaring exterior. It was unfair, really, that a monster like him should have a hidden spark of humanity. His good looks didn't bother me as much as that spark - that potential for vulnerability calling to parts of me that would have been attracted to him if circumstances were different.
Even now, knowing what I know, and having experienced what was done to me on stage, I found myself relaxing in his presence. I was the stupid girl letting her guard drop when faced by a complex man who had soft sides to him that were unreachable without fear of being shredded by his razor sharp edges.
"On stage. What did you use to knock me out for so long?"
He finished his drink, a quick tilt of the tumbler to his lips as the amber liquid poured down his throat. Setting the tumbler on a side table with a soft clink, he slid the tip of his finger around the rim. The silence stretched so long that I assumed he'd ignored the question. It surprised me when his deep voice finally filtered across the space between us.
"I used a taser, but that didn't knock you out for long. Just long enough for a sedative to be administered. While you were out, we patched you up and brought you in here to sleep off the effects."
"Why here and not my dive motel with the sink-toilet combo?"
His mouth stretched into a small grin, the corners twitching with humor. "Did you like that? I found it monstrous when I first saw it, but you can only make due when dealing with small spaces."
Discontent narrowed my eyes. Aggravated by how blasé he was over treating women like animals, I couldn't hide my sarcasm. "I guess it's better than the plastic buckets in the cages."
"Ah, well -" His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging back to the fire as he brushed off the inhumanity.
While he appeared at ease with the not-so-comfortable silence between us, I was practically gnashing my teeth. "Why am I here? You didn't answer me."
A flash of a smile before his face was hard lines and sharp edges again. I must not have processed how near we were to each other, how quickly he could close that small distance to grip my cheeks with his hand. Lips pushed out until they puckered, tears welled in my eyes at the sudden pain. Bringing his face down until we were nose to nose, he stared at me with sleepy eyes while mine had rounded into saucers.
"Never mistake the power dynamic between us. You have no right to demand anything in this place, especially answers from me." Ethan was practically lifting me from the couch by his grip on my face, the sweet smell of liquor bursting across my skin on a warm cloud. "I do not answer to silly actresses whose egos have outgrown them."
My heart stuttered beneath the pressure of my sudden fear. Stunned so that all I could do was stare at him unblinking, I wasn't prepared for him to release me as quickly as he'd grabbed me. I fell back against the couch, reaching up to rub at the burn across my cheeks as he stalked off to his desk.
Slamming down his finger on the button of a console sitting on his desk, he demanded, "Send me a guard." He released the button before anybody had the chance to respond, his weight dropping into his executive chair.
It was obvious when Ethan Cole made a demand, he expected everybody to be sitting there waiting to hear it so they could jump to fulfill it immediately.
"Why you're here doesn't matter. You're awake now, so you can go back to wherever I decide to put you."
The door burst open before I could say another word.
"Take her to the cages," was Ethan's snapped command.
The guard approached me with the rhythmic pound of boots across the wooden floor, each beat vibrating with more strength as he drew closer. Reduced to the victim once again, I curled my fingers around the blanket, dragging it up to cover myself as if that thin and flimsy barrier would somehow protect me. Needless to say, it didn't, the guard snatched my arm with his meaty hand and yanked me to my feet before I could utter a sound in protest.
"Drop the blanket," he barked.
Caught in the rush of time between the lazy stillness of waking up by the fire and this moment where I was being forced from the couch, I'd refused to release the warmth of the blanket. Its end dragged on the ground behind me, the edges still gripped between my fingers. I tilted my chin to look up at the guard to find his teeth bared in anger that I hadn't immediately obeyed his curt order.
Still, I couldn't let it go, couldn't make a connection between my brain and my hands to uncurl my fingers and allow the blanket to drop entirely to the floor. The guard, obviously unhappy with my refusal, lifted a hand to slap me across the cheek. I flinched and braced for the violent strike, clenching my eyes shut and waiting for my head to snap to the side from the blow. It didn't come, and after several tense seconds, I peeked out from beneath my lashes to find Ethan standing at the guard's side, his hand wrapped over the guard's wrist preventing it from swinging in my direction.
"I'll say this one more time," Ethan crooned with a dangerously slow and deep voice. "This particular woman is not to be damaged unless it's on stage and on film. Disregard my instruction again and I'll make you a star on that stage. Do you understand me?"
The guard swallowed and nodded his head, several more seconds passing before Ethan released his hand and stalked away.
Tripping over my own feet, I followed after the guard, being half dragged in the process, while Ethan stood at the side of his desk watching. The edge of the blanket slid over the floor behind me like my own little captive in this nightmarish landscape.
"Wait!"
Ethan's booming voice stopped us both in our tracks. He was going to take my captive. I just knew it. The son of a bitch couldn't even give me that small comfort in the cages where he was sending me.
Why? Why the hell was he dismissing me back to that cold tundra of a prison after I'd done everything he wanted? What kind of cold, heartless dick does something like that?
The kind named Ethan Cole, apparently.
Striding forward, graceful as a stalking cat, he stopped within inches of me, the scent of his cologne mixing with the scent of liquor on his breath. "I'll let you keep the t-shirt and blanket on one condition: that you behave like the good little girl you're supposed to be and stay out of trouble until such time as I need you again. Do not overlook my generosity, Ms. Hart. It's not something I do often. What the director giveth, the director can taketh away just as easily."
Despite my hatred of him, I thanked him with my silence. It took effort on my part, my teeth clamping down on my tongue to keep from barking out a bitchy response. It would have been more of a fuck you to toss the blanket to the ground and refuse his supposed kindness, but I also knew those cages were small freezers that sucked the life out of you as soon as you stepped inside them. I would be shooting myself in the foot to give up at least this small comfort just to prove a point.
"And you will be watching your film once I have it edited and finalized. Birth is the beginning of a new era in this industry, and I believe you'll be more compliant once you understand what it means to me. Until that time, however, you'll b
e sitting and thinking about how you can avoid angering me in the future. There are rules and you will follow them."
Breathe in. Breathe out. Think before speaking. I was learning quickly that I had to temper my responses with this man. "I'm sorry. Nobody told me any rules, so I wasn't aware."
His lips stretched into a knowing grin. "Ah, there she is, the actress I've come to know and love. I'd say it's good to see you're learning how to speak to me, but I don't believe it for a second. Although, I do appreciate the attempt. For that, I'll let you keep the blanket...but not the shirt."
My jaw dropped as Ethan's head shot over to look at the guard. Silent command given and received.
The blanket was yanked from my grasp without much effort on the part of the overly muscled meathead dressed in black fatigues. And before I could utter the words I can undress myself, he was yanking the thin shirt from my body, pulling my arms up above my head with the sudden and forceful tug. My arms slapped back down at my sides, my breasts jiggling from the movement, Ethan's eyes fixating on them for only a brief second before he bent down in front of me to grasp a corner of the blanket between his fingers and present it to me like a participation trophy that was as important to him as a fly he'd swat to death to stop its buzzing.
Who was I kidding? He wouldn't swat the fly. He'd order somebody else to do it. The task was too demeaning for someone of his stature.
Leaning forward to speak against my ear once I wrapped my hand over the edge of the blanket, he whispered, "Despite our misunderstanding, I still hold strong in my belief that your idea of average is quite beautiful."
He stalked off, returning to his desk and taking a seat in his leather chair. Kicking his feet onto the surface of the desk, he crossed his legs at the ankles and relaxed back to fold his hands together behind his head. "Have a good night, Ms. Hart. I hope you sleep well."
The guard grabbed me to lead me from the room, but a thought occurred to me after thinking what Ethan has said. It had completely failed to grab my notice before this moment, but I couldn't exactly blame myself. I'd been forced through hell. That had to have some effect on a girl's psyche.
Reaching out, I grabbed the doorframe and gripped hard to keep from being yanked away from it. My head snapped in Ethan's direction, my mouth opening on a question that drew his attention up from the paper he was reading.
"Birth? What do you mean Birth?"
A faint smile stretched his lips, a deep dimple indenting his cheek that was made darker by the stubble that covered it. "It's the title of the film I made of you."
Holy shit. It hadn't occurred to me that I'd been so frozen with fear onstage, my mind had failed to understand the title the woman with the clapboard had called out. "I don't get it. Nothing was born in that film. Death would have been more appropriate."
Amusement glimmered behind Ethan's cold, grey stare. "That's where you’re wrong. But I'm not surprised by your failure to see it. A killer was born on that stage today. A killer that has been inside you all along and was just waiting for the opportunity to come out."
EMMA
As was standard for this place, I was marched naked down the halls with a lumbering guard at my back cradling his gun to his chest as if it were a threat. At first, it had been, but now that I knew Ethan had decreed his protection order that I not be harmed unless it was on his stage, I knew that no matter what I did, the guard couldn't shoot me.
Not that the knowledge made me feel any better. I was still of the opinion that a bullet to the brain was better than the nightmares this place had in store for me.
My bare feet padded over the floors as we approached the pneumatic door, and I turned to face the wall like the good little prisoner I was. The guard grunted his dissatisfaction that I didn't give him an excuse to manhandle me and went to work punching in the code. The door hissed open like something you would hear on a science fiction movie, the freezing cold sneaking out to scrape at my skin welcoming me back to the tundra. Goosebumps raced over my skin, my muscles instantly tightening until painful as I was led inside to walk the shadowed halls.
Clutching my blanket to my chest, I tried to ignore the women scrambling to hide in their cells as we passed, my focus having been redirected to a question that had come to mind several times already between the time I left this place last and now. Worried about Melanie, I hurried my steps down the halls, taking the turns I remembered from last time. The guard was none too happy about my increased pace, but matched the speed of my steps regardless.
Reaching my former cell, I stood at the door waiting for the guard to open it, but my eye caught sight of movement in the deep shadow, that of another woman curled up on the steel cot folding herself tighter into a fetal position. The guard laughed at my back. "Sorry, sweetheart, but you've been evicted. New arrivals came in today while you were sleeping."
Panic struck a path through my heart. How would I check on Melanie if I wasn't beside her? Before I stepped away, I peered into the shadow wondering if the new girl in my former cell had already been used for one of Ethan's films. Unfortunately, the answer to that question would remain a mystery. Before I could utter a word in protest, the guard grabbed my arm, dragged me past Melanie's cell and planted me by the door in front of the cell on the other side.
I grinned. "Looks like I didn't have to move far."
The guard grunted. "That's because only one girl passed the examination. I'm sure you know what happened to the others."
Oh, God. I was sure they'd been led through the left door instead of right, which meant they were in the fast lane to the snuff stage. "How many?"
Reaching around me, the guard unlocked the door, pulled it open and shoved me inside. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
The cell door slammed shut ending the conversation. I watched while the broad shouldered guard stalked off, his gun tucked to his chest, his black fatigues disappearing into shadow. From a distance the electronic notes of the keypad filtered back to me, the soft hiss of the door opening, the quiet click as it closed.
I rushed over to the wall beside Melanie's bed to find her sitting up, her legs bent in front of her, her arms wrapped around her knees tucking her legs to her chest.
"Are you awake?"
Although she was seated, she wasn't moving much. Just a small patch of her face was visible beneath her matted hair, her cheek resting against her knees and her lips chapped. "Yes," she answered, the word gritty, but not shaky. Whereas my teeth wouldn't stop chattering against the cold, she didn't appear bothered by it. Only sad and defeated.
My thoughts rushed back to what she'd told me the last time I was in the cages, how she claimed medical had stitched her up without painkillers or anesthetic. Why they hadn't done the same to me was anybody's guess. Even now, knowing that I had stitches, I still felt no pain. Perhaps they'd given me something to dull the sting, something that would eventually wear off.
"How are you feeling?"
"Sore," she whispered. "Upset."
Asking her why she was upset would have been stupid. Who wouldn't be upset in this situation? "Did they leave you here all day?"
Not answering at first, she simply shook her head, the curtain of her hair moving over her legs and down her body where it hung at the side of her head. "No. They took us to the showers. They fed us. And then..." Her voice hitched over that unfinished thought. I watched her arms tighten around her legs, the muscles flexing against her skin. "Then they took us to the theater room."
My heart dropped into my stomach and I clutched the blanket to my chest. The theater room. I didn't have to guess what it was, but I didn't want to think about why the women were led in there. Fighting my curiosity was impossible, the question tumbling from my lips even as I regretted asking it. "What happened in the theater room?"
It's odd how silence can sometimes carry a beat. Not during times that are comfortable and relaxing. In those times, the silence is welcome. It soothes you, brushing its warm fingers over your eyes until they are closed. It hums again
st your ear as a lullaby gently leading you into sweet slumber. It's a friend that cushions you against the maelstrom of sensation that pelts you in the outside world.
When you're happy, silence reminds you of the womb, comforting you with the white noise of amniotic fluid or the rhythmic thump thump thump of your mother's heart. Safe. Secure. Hidden from all the monsters that would eventually devour you.
Silence didn't work the same in times of terror or sadness. Instead of a comfort, it was a ticking bomb that counted down the passing seconds while ratcheting the tension inside you. It mocked and scorned, poked and prodded, left you exposed to the elements that tear at your skin and strip away whatever happiness you have inside you.
The beat is no longer a welcome rhythm, it's a curse that reminds you that no matter how horrible your existence was before it started, after the silence passes, your world would only get worse.
I wished for the happy silence while waiting for Melanie's answer, but all I received was the horror.
"They make us watch the films. All of us, watching what was done to each other, to ourselves, to the women who never made it back to the cages after they were taken." A tear dropped from her cheek to slowly trail down her leg. It didn't make it far before the temperature of the room dried it, stealing its warmth to replace it with another cold, stark reminder of this place against Melanie's skin. She shivered against it, whether from fear or pain, I wasn't sure.
"I can still hear the screams, Emma. And the laughter of the guards standing at the back of the room. We tried closing our eyes against the images, but you can't escape. The volume is so loud that you can't block out the sound of what's been done to us. It echoes."
My eyes closed, the memory of Melanie's screams echoing in my head. The stage was visible in my thoughts, the bed, the men who abused her body for Ethan's art. I highly doubted they regretted having to act out the scenes. It wasn't their bodies being shocked by an electric prod or cut by a razor lined gag.
