The Director

by Lily White

  "Why are we never taken?" She would absently ask.

  Not wanting to admit what I'd done to protect her - not wanting to set that weight on her shoulders, the guilt of knowing her safety had been more important than mine - I would always answer by dismissing the question with a bullshit response. "Who knows? Maybe their record keeping sucks and they forgot that we're in here."

  She always turned to me and smiled, dropping the question until the next time it crossed her mind.

  The first few days had been the standard routine around this place. The selection of women in the morning, their screaming voices waking us all as they were dragged off. Showers next. Breakfast following that. The theater and then shown back to our cells. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Day in. Day out.

  I'm going to guess it was five days until that the routine was broken, and I say five days only because I'd barley kept count. Sometimes it was easier not to keep track of time because doing so reminded you of how long you'd been trapped in Hell.

  Regardless, on that fifth day, the women had been pulled from their cages as per the usual, but instead of the rest of us being marched to the showers, we were kept confined to our cages as three men walked through. Their laughter announced their presence, the sickly sweet scent of a cigar floating down the hallways faster than their feet could carry them. I looked to Melanie once my mind broke from my shock at the disruption of our routine.

  "I have to hand it to you, Ethan, at first I was on the fence, but now that I've seen the results, I'll never doubt your ideas again."

  Ethan didn't respond, the reply coming from a third voice I didn't recognize. "When will you make another film with her?"

  A deep voice I recognized instantly answered, "In two days, which is why she needs to be pulled from the cages. You two timed your visit perfectly."

  "Is she really as wild as she seems?"

  The men came into view and stopped just outside my cage. Ethan's eyes met mine as his lips parted to answer, "Oh, yes, our little Emma is practically feral."

  I froze where I sat on my cot, my back pressed against the cement wall behind me while my bent legs were tucked to my chest. Ethan, in his full seductive glory, stood in the middle of two men, his beard thicker now that time had passed and his strong physique perfectly hinted to by the tailoring of his clothes. I hadn't stared into that cold, grey gaze for several days, but still it couldn't hold my attention. Sliding my focus between the men, I found myself more curious of Ethan's companions than him.

  The man on the left had tawny brown hair and hazel eyes. Although not bad looking, he still had a dirty smugness about him that revolted every decent bone inside me. His cheekbones were so high they shadowed the skin beneath, his nose stick straight over a set of lips that were pulled into a snide, liquid smile. He wasn't as tall as Ethan, nor as broad, but he still filled out his tailored clothes well, proving he wasn't a lazy slob.

  I couldn't say the same for the man standing to Ethan's right.

  With thinning blond hair combed over to hide the bald spot at the center of his head, the man's skin was an ashen white with odd spots of color marring it. His nose was thick, his lips thin and twisted, but it was his eyes that disturbed me the most. Not quite soulless like the man I'd killed on stage, his brown eyes still sparked with something lascivious, a deep perversion that felt like slime rubbing across the skin. I knew instantly at which studio head I was staring. My stomach heaved to remember what he'd done to the woman in another cage, my muscles tightening over my frame to draw my gaze down at his frumpy white polo shirt that did little to contain his bulging belly.

  Obvious that he never missed a meal, he glared in at me like I was a curious animal displayed in a zoo, an entertainment of sorts that would dance like a monkey if I heard the right tune. It was at him that I bared my teeth in rage, soft laughter shaking my shoulders to see him step back in cautious response.

  Ethan just shook his head. "Like I said: she's feral. But there are ways to coax her into behaving." Snapping his fingers, he called a guard over to unlock the cell. Neither of Ethan's companions approached me, but that didn't stop them from staring past Ethan's broad shoulders at the tasty little feast sitting pretty inside her cage.

  "Let's go, Emma," Ethan demanded on a soft tongue and apathetic, bland voice. I knew better than to argue, so I simply narrowed my eyes on him before pushing up to my feet and stumbling out of the cell.

  So weak that I could barely manage walking at a normal pace, I followed the guard to the end of the halls, Ethan and his friends walking behind me discussing everything from films to the joys of expensive cars. Not one of them gave a damn that the women they passed who were tucked in tiny cages were the reason they could afford their high class toys. They didn’t care that those women had earned the money on their backs while being kept in grueling conditions not fit for criminals on death row. The flame of anger that was a steady roll in my core sparked and flared at the bleak understanding that, to men like the studio heads, we were nothing but cheap cattle.

  Reaching the door, the guard cocked a brow and waited for me to turn toward the wall before he keyed in the code that would unlock the door. With its pneumonic hiss, the door popped open, the guard stepping out to lead me into the hall, stopping only when Ethan called out, "We'll take her from here. Thank you."

  I laughed to notice the guard's relief to walk away from me. Word had spread that I was a live grenade ready to explode at any second and the guards had been extra cautious since the second film I made.

  Stopping because I had no idea where I was being taken, I waited for Ethan to step up beside me, his palm hot against my shoulder when he directed me to turn right. To his friends he explained, "The guest suites have been cleaned and made ready for your use. I'll take you there now."

  Guest suites? My shoulders withered. That didn't sound promising.

  The suites were located adjacent to Ethan's, the doors identical but the interior far different. Instead of the sleek, modern lines and colors that graced Ethan's walls, the guest suites were sparse and plain, with a living room half the size of Ethan's suites and no fake view. The warmth of his rooms was noticeably lacking in the beige theme that left much to be desired. The couches were a worn brown, the kitchen nothing more than a sink, a small fridge and a microwave. One door stood at the back of the room, which I assumed would lead to a bedroom and bathroom.

  Shutting the door, Ethan moved to lean against the small kitchen counter, his left ankle crossing over the right as he pinned his stare on me. "It seems the owners of the studio would like to get to know you, Emma. They've thoroughly enjoyed your films."

  Turning my head, I kept my back to the owners and locked eyes with the asshole who was so casually loaning me out to them. I knew better than to believe the blank expression. He didn't like doing this, but was trying to prove some stupid point.

  I'd somehow broken through his polished mask to see the man beneath and he was punishing me with bitter contempt while trying to convince both of us that he didn't care.

  He could lie to himself all he wanted, but he wasn't fooling me.

  Blinking away the daggers I was shooting across the room at him, he flashed a charming smile at his guests. "Neither of you have reason to fear one of her outbursts. I'm sure if you rub her the right way she'll purr like a kitten. If she does give you trouble, she's small enough that the two of you should be able to keep easy control of her. If not, you can call for me. Is there anything else you need?"

  The men didn't answer aloud but must have shook their heads. Satisfied, Ethan pushed up from the counter, shot one more look my direction and walked from the room. I heard the door click quietly shut behind me.

  Silence was thick for a few seconds while I kept my back to the men. It was broken by the quiet click of shoes against the floor, a hand touching my shoulder when the man was within reach. Turning to look over my shoulder, I saw that it was the man with tawny brown hair and hazel eyes.

  "My name is James, and I've been
told yours is Emma."

  Nodding my head, I eyed him warily, my lip pulling up into a small snarl for how close he was.

  "I won't hurt you. That's not what I'm here for. We were just wanting to have some drinks and maybe some fun. Would you like a drink? It might warm you up after your time in the cages."

  My eyes darted to the blonde still keeping his distance. It wasn't difficult to guess what James meant by fun and, sadly, I was going to take part in it whether I wanted to or not. Might as well get piss drunk so I wouldn't remember it.

  "Yes," I answered on a soft voice, intentionally making it feeble to gain sympathy from James. Perhaps if I could sway favor from him, he'd keep the blonde away as much as possible.

  James smiled and it was a nice smile, all white teeth, square jaw and dimples. "Excellent. Why don't you take a seat on the couch and I'll pour us something."

  Sliding over on cautious feet, I sat on the soft cushions of the couch, my eyes locked to the blonde. There was something very wrong about that man and I had every feeling he was as big a sadist as the assholes I fought on stage.

  "Ethan tells us you're from Boston," James said drawing my attention as he handed me a large glass of brown liquid. Holding the rim to my nose, I sniffed it before looking up in question. He smiled. "It's a Long Island Iced Tea, at least I think it is. I haven't made one myself in ages."

  Sipping from the glass, I felt dizzy just from the fumes wafting off the liquid. I highly doubted there was even a touch of soda in this drink. Remembering the reason for accepting it, I gulped it down anyway. James' eyes flashed in satisfaction. "You're thirsty apparently. Let me know when you're done and I'll happily mix you another one."

  Nodding my head, I tucked my legs to the couch as James rounded me to take the other seat. The blonde moved to sit in a single chair facing us, his drink clutched by fat, grubby fingers.

  "So, Boston? Is that right?"

  "Yes," I finally said when both sets of eyes were locked on me in patient wait for my answer. Tense silence fell again, James finally standing up and suggesting he turn on some music.

  The blonde stared for a little while, finally getting up as James sat back down and excused himself to the bathroom. James waited for him to leave the room before saying, "Here's the deal, I know you're uncomfortable as hell being here with us, and you're probably scared shitless, too. I won't hurt you, but my friend might, so I'm willing to make a deal with you for your cooperation."

  My eyes clenched closed. Another deal. For more cooperation. What could he possibly want?

  "What's the deal?" I asked.

  "I can ensure my friend doesn't touch you, but you have to promise to thank me for it, in any way I want. Willingly and completely. A slave, if that's what you want to call it. Answer quick, because he'll return soon."

  Son of a bitch. But two wasn't better than one in this situation. "Fine."

  The night wore on, each hour lighting James' eyes with anticipation, the blonde's becoming more lazy and heavy, his words slurring together as the two men had a conversation. I didn't add much and only answered with clipped, one syllable words when they asked me a question. Before long, the blonde man nodded off without so much as mentioning his name to me. Not that I wanted to know it.

  A hand touched mine. "Would you like to follow me back to the bedroom?"

  I nodded, the movement uncoordinated and loose. I'd only had two drinks, but given the lack of nutritious food, the forced exhaustion, and the high likelihood this man was drugging me just like his friend, everything around me was fuzzy and off balance. James didn't seem too concerned, helping me up from the couch, he tucked an arm around my waist and led me to the bedroom.

  My legs were limp noodles beneath me, and I silently begged the room to stop spinning. James continued talking softly, but his voice echoed and buzzed, the words lost to me in my condition. Setting me on the bed, he slapped at my cheek softly to draw my attention to him. "I think I may have given you a touch too much. Perhaps it was needed considering your violent proclivities."

  He chuckled before moving away to dig through the drawers in a beside table. Finding what he wanted, he crooked a finger at me to scoot up to the head of the bed. I did as I was told, struggling the entire way.

  "I'm going to tie you up," he explained, attaching chords to the iron headboard on either side of me. Moving with an easy grace, he watched my face as he bound my hands, his skin warm against mine. "I've seen your films, Emma, and I have to admit I'm impressed. The feisty girls are always the fun ones, but you take feisty to a whole new level."

  His calm tone of voice was almost flat, disturbingly calm and practiced. Squinting my eyes to bring him into focus, I felt icy fingers of dread drag down my spine, my skin tingling with sharp warning. I'd met sadists like the blonde man before, two of which I killed on film. But this man was in a category all by himself, practically clinical in his approach to the art. I was fighting not to hyperventilate by the time he finished binding my wrists.

  Stepping to the end of the bed, he looked across at me to admire his work. "Press your feet to the mattress and bend your knees up."

  I did as he said, my knees pressed together because I didn't want him looking at me. Regret chased through me hard and heavy for accepting the drinks he made. I wanted to be numb, but not unable to function.

  "Spread your legs apart. Slowly."

  My entire body trembled as I did.

  A satisfied growl rolled out of him. "I think I'm going to have a lot of fun with you. It's too bad I didn't think to record this. You're absolutely breathtaking on film."

  My mind rushed to think, to take that comment and turn it into something I could use. There was little doubt this man would kill me, and I had no way to fight back. Ethan. I needed Ethan to see me. He might be playing his bullshit games of loaning me out, but I doubted he'd be okay with this man killing me.

  "Ethan," I slurred, my vision spinning and my throat closing with fear. "Ethan would have a small camera. He can come and set it up."

  James grinned. "Damn good idea," he crooned, "I'll be right back."

  As soon as he was gone, I closed my eyes and laid my head against the pillow. I must have dozed off because I heard arguing beside me next.

  "Are you out of your mind? I need her healthy for the film in two days."

  "She'll be fine by tomorrow. It was only a little -"

  "She's not to be killed, James, and it pisses me off that you're playing with her like this. You haven't done this before -"

  "That you know of. Really, Ethan. Did you honestly believe that I only keep myself amused with the women in this place? A man need more of a selection than that."

  James' laugh was like a grater being dragged across the skin, nipping at the flesh in quick bursts of pain that warned of the far greater ones coming. "I know what I'm doing. She won't die."

  "You'll answer to the other partners if she does. That'll be your problem, not mine. Her films are making us more money that twenty other films combined. She's the newest star at this moment and killing her would only cut off the cash flow to those men. I doubt they give enough of a shit about your sex life to excuse a mistake like that."

  Afraid to open my eyes, I waited with anxious breath for James' response.

  "She won't die. And even if she did, she can be replaced by another woman."

  Ethan's voice dropped to a dangerous tone. "Not like her, James. I won't find another one like her. So, I suggest you either call this night off or control yourself for the hour that I'll give you with her."

  "An hour? You're trying to tell me how long I can take? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

  Ice was glazing Ethan's answer. "The person who will remind the other partners that they're not above killing off a problematic man."

  Footsteps retreated from the room, and the breath held in my lungs poured out of me to know that I was alone with James once again. The door clicked shut and the mattress dipped beneath me from his weight. "I know you've been awak
e for several minutes, Emma. I could tell by the change in your breathing." He paused, his fingers brushing down my cheek. "Open your eyes."

  They fluttered open, my vision hazy and unfocused.

  "Good," James praised whisper soft, I like to see the fear a woman has in her eyes about death."

  My heart stopped, sputtered to a start again, only to do it all over. Throat closed and tongue swollen, I forced my breathing to even out. One breath in. Hold it. One breath out.

  Nothing helped. My mind had shut down and instinct was screaming inside me to claw his eyes out, knee him in the head, scream like a banshee...do something.

  I was boneless, my muscles relaxed despite spending time with a psychopath, my head lolling to the side when I didn't make a conscious effort to keep it on the pillow. I was completely and undeniably helpless. Not just a woman trapped in a prison, a woman trapped in a useless body. Even if I wasn't bound, it was doubtful I could have fought back.

  "I'll hit record on the camera and then we can get started. In case you're wondering, Ethan was kind enough to position it to capture your entire body. I'll be able to see every reaction you had to me and I'm excited to have such a remarkable trophy. It's not often I get to revisit the dead."

  My heart sputtered again. Maybe it was a good thing I drank the drugged alcohol. I wouldn't have wanted to suffer this end sober. At least I was outside myself, so numb that I could barely feel where my body pressed down against the bed.

  Standing up, James removed his clothes, the entire time watching me to gauge my reaction. His body and face were blurry mostly, only coming into focus in quick bursts as he crawled up the bed to settle between my legs. The weight of his growing erection was heavy against my stomach, his face clearer when he held it close. "It's fortunate for you I don't want rough sex tonight, I'd prefer this experience be as slow as possible. The only instruction you have to remember is to keep your eyes open so I can see how you react to dying. Do you understand?"