Penance_An Imp World Novel

by Debra Dunbar

  “What about you?” I turned in surprise at Pistol’s question.

  “I don’t remember anything. Not my name, or where I’m from, or anything about my family.” I closed my eyes and fought through the instant headache. “There are snatches of memories, but they’re wispy and brief, and they don’t make sense. Some of them feel like they belong to someone else—like I borrowed them.”

  I popped open my eyes and saw the two girls watching me expectantly. “Those memories…they’re crumbling and fading—the ones of me shooting up, of living on the streets. Other memories are growing stronger, but those are the ones that don’t make sense. I think…I think I did something bad. I think I hurt someone I loved—several people I loved.”

  Pillow’s eyes were huge. “Did you shoot them?”

  It was a valid question. I shut my eyes again and probed the recesses of my mind further. “No, I…I turned my back on them. I had a chance to help them, but I was a coward and too weak to stand up for what I knew was right. I walked away from them and I’ll never see them again.”

  I felt a hand grip mine. “If we get out of here, I’m going back to Cleveland to see my dad. I’ll find a way to make things work in foster care. I’ll wait for him to get out of jail, and we’ll make a life together. Maybe you can go back to your family, too. Go back and tell them you’re sorry.”

  Tears spilled down my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes tight. “I think it’s too late.”

  “Families are more forgiving than you think,” Pistol told me. “Tell them you regret what happened, that you want a chance to make it right. Even if they don’t accept you back, at least you’ve made an attempt. That’s the first step toward healing—making the attempt to bridge a rift and right old wrongs.”

  “They’re dead.” The words were torn ragged from my depths. “It was my fault. I turned away from them, and they died. I need to suffer for that, to pay for not being brave enough to stand for what I knew was right. I will never be forgiven and I’ll spend the rest of my life in penance for my sins.”

  Arms came around me and I felt both girls hug me close. “Killing yourself with heroin isn’t going to make any of that right,” Pistol said.

  I wasn’t trying to kill myself with heroin. I wasn’t trying to do anything with heroin. That drug addict was someone else, not me. Although maybe the girl who had been shooting up, the girl whose memories were like old tattered albums in the attic, was me after all. We both had made terrible choices in our past. We’d both lost people we loved. The only difference was she’d wanted to numb herself, to push the agony away, and shed life itself. I didn’t want to be numb. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to feel the pain, to let it suffuse every pore, to hold it in my heart. There was a peace to be had through suffering. I knew this, I just didn’t know how. There wasn’t a light at the end of the tunnel, but I believed that that there was a light somewhere, and if I suffered enough I’d find it.

  “God will forgive you,” Pillow whispered. “The souls of your family will forgive you. Confession and penance isn’t about suffering, it’s about knowing that you were weak and making the right choice the next time. It’s about redemption through action, not misery.”

  Maybe. But right now, that light of redemption seemed forever hidden to me. I took a deep breath and forced back the tears, trying to bring us back to what I faced right now, in the present. We all carried pain. Mine wasn’t any worse than these other girls’. What mattered was that I get us all out of here, bring these girls to safety. My suffering, my penance, would need to wait for that.

  Chapter 5

  “Is it time to rinse this off?” Pillow asked Pistol. We got up and went into the shower area, each of us peeking at the others to see how the whole process had turned out. Pillow’s hair was a bit on the brassy side, but it was within the realm of dark golden-blonde. It was pretty and flattered her skin tone and coffee-colored eyes. Pistol’s hair had turned a pale blue that, although very pretty, was probably not what the demon woman had wanted. I rinsed the conditioner from my hair while the other two stared. Pistol snorted, causing me to drag a strand forward to see what was so funny.

  It was red—cardinal’s wing red. “Was something wrong with that stuff?”

  “Did you follow the directions?” Pistol asked with a laugh. “Maybe you forgot to squeeze the tube of developer into the bottle? You know, the stuff with a big number ‘two’ on it?”

  “I followed the directions.” Padding across the floor, I picked up the empty box and stared at the picture. I should have reddish-gold hair like the model, or at the very least goldish-red hair. It was as if the dye had washed right off without the slightest effect.

  The door opened and the demon woman breezed in, all business until she caught sight of my still-red hair.

  “What…you were supposed to dye it.” There was a hint of anger behind the astonishment.

  I held up the box. “I did. Must have been some kind of manufacturer defect or something. Do you have another box? I’ll do it again.” And again, and again because I got the feeling I didn’t want this woman pissed at me.

  She stared at the box then slowly walked forward to take it from my hands and give it a closer look.

  “I guess they put something else in the developer bottle by mistake?” Anything to keep her from thinking I’d done something wrong here.

  “That’s…strange.” She tossed the box into the garbage can and reached out to rub a lock of my hair between her fingers. “It doesn’t seem damaged. We will try another box and hopefully it won’t fry the hair right off your head.”

  She left and I thought about how much money I’d bring at an auction bald until she returned with another box. This was the super, ultra pre-bleach stuff that she’d given Pistol, and I winced thinking that it probably was going to fry the hair right off my head.

  “Use this. Her blue is light enough that we won’t need a second round.” Then she turned to Pistol and tossed her another box, this one featuring a smiling model with light ash-blonde hair. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll go with a slightly darker color.”

  “Not worried about frying the hair right off my head, are you?” Pistol’s voice was sardonic and bold, but she didn’t quite meet the demon woman’s eyes, and cringed slightly after the question.

  The woman’s dark eyes were cold and impersonal, but in their depths I saw a flicker of humor. “No, not particularly. I’m going to have to grow it out anyway. Creating a whole head of hair from scratch won’t be any more difficult.”

  She went over to examine Pillow’s hair while Pistol and I got to work. By the time we’d piled newly dyed hair on top of our heads, the demon woman and Pillow were out with the others, leaving Pistol and me to count, and hope that we hadn’t messed up putting the second round of dye on still-damp hair.

  “It’s going to hurt,” Pistol told me. “She’s going to do something to me to make my hair longer and boobs bigger and it’s going to hurt. You heard the screams.”

  “Push-up bras and make-up. And extensions,” I assured her. Although at this point, I was beginning to doubt that was true.

  “No. And you know that as well as I do. There’s something weird about that woman. I’m not one-hundred-percent buying that she’s a demon or anything, but I think there’s something a whole lot more painful going on out there than push-up bras and make-up.”

  I gave up trying to convince her, or myself. “Probably. I can’t imagine what, though.”

  “I didn’t want to frighten Pillow any more than she already was, but I’m scared. My nose hurts from where they hit me. I’ve got a line of bruises across my ribs from that stupid broom pole. I don’t know what she’s going to do to me, but I’m thinking it’s going to hurt far more than getting beat up by those guys. I’m scared.”

  The girl was on the edge of panic, so I did what anyone would do and tried to talk her down. “From what they said, there have been other groups of girls through here. She’s done this before. It’s probably jus
t a quick pain, then it’s over. Whatever she’s doing.”

  “And then we’ll be sold at an auction and sent where the pain will be anything but quick. We’ll be raped over and over again. You heard Mess and Sugar, most girls in these sex rings have to service twenty to forty guys a day. A day. I haven’t been with that many guys in my entire life. I haven’t been with half that many guys. And then we’ll die. And we’ll probably spend weeks or months wishing we’d hurry up and die. My parents won’t find me in time. The police won’t find us in time. We’re all going to die. And before that, we’re going to suffer so much pain and degradation that we’ll wish they would just kill us.”

  “Well, that hasn’t happened yet,” I told her, trying to be as confident as I could. “We need to keep our hopes up, and not sit around waiting for your parents or the police to find us. Let’s instead think about how we might be able to get out of here.”

  She laughed. “Nine of us, naked, half-starved women, two of whom don’t speak any English, against a bunch of guys and a woman so terrible they call her a demon. I want to escape. I’m determined to escape no matter what, but hope and optimism isn’t going to improve our odds.”

  “Nine of us,” I emphasized. “We’ve got numbers on our side, and that woman isn’t here all the time. The guards don’t have guns that I can see. If we act fast, before we’re any weaker from lack of food, and before they move us to wherever this auction is going to be, we can overpower them and escape.”

  “I want to escape. I’m totally with you on this. I want to get out of here as much as you do, but we need to be smart about it. We’re wearing towels, in case you haven’t noticed. What do we do when we get out of here, run through the streets like we’ve all escaped from a sauna at the gym?”

  I was glad to see Pistol hadn’t lost her quick wit, even though nine women running through the streets of wherever dressed only in towels wasn’t our most pressing problem. “Let’s work on getting out of here first. There has got to be something around we can use to defend ourselves. We can see if anything is loose on the beds that we can unscrew and use as a weapon, and I’ll bet the parts inside the toilet tank are metal.”

  “What are you, MacGyver?” she teased. “I’m voting for picking the lock and sneaking out instead. You can’t seriously think we’d be able to take down three guards with metal screws and parts to a toilet, all while wearing towels?”

  “Yes, I do. We’ll surprise them.”

  “And get the crap beat out of us with a broom handle,” she replied. “And what are we going to do if we do manage to get one over on these guards? Wander around what I suspect is a deserted industrial complex in the middle of the night until they come after us? We don’t know where we are. We’ll have more time to get our bearings if we sneak out when they’re asleep.”

  “Sneak out or knock them out and make a run for it. We’ll figure it out. Maybe if we steal one of their cell phones, we can call for help.” I threw my hands up. “I don’t know. I just want to do something rather than sit here, while everyone gets weaker and weaker from hunger, waiting for this sale.”

  Pistol slumped back against the wall. “You’re right. Once this woman is gone, let’s talk to the group. At the very least, let’s see if we can come up with some sort of weapons—something we can use to defend ourselves if the guards get too handsy, or start beating on us again.”

  “And we need to think about timing,” I added. “Do we try to get out now, or when they move us? Because when they get us to that sale, we’re going to be out of options.” We’d be sold, and I truly believed our best chances of getting out of this alive were as a group. One woman alone, captive in some guy’s fallout shelter or cabin in the woods didn’t have the advantages of nine working together to escape.

  “Agreed.” Pistol stood. “I’m going to wash this stuff off and hopefully not see all my hair go down the drain. You ready?”

  We went through the shower ritual once more and I saw that Pistol’s hair had stayed in her head and was actually a really attractive color for her. She took one look at me and burst out laughing.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t… I mean, that woman is probably going to be pissed, but it’s so funny. I don’t know what hair color you used Red, but if we ever get out of here, you need to tell me the brand.”

  My heart sank as I pulled a strand forward. Red. The exact same red as it had been before. I could see one defective box of hair color, but couldn’t imagine there being two, especially when it seemed to work on the other girls. My dismay was immediately followed by a shiver of fear.

  “Guess you’re not the only one who’s going to get the special demon spa treatment.” My voice shook a little and I tried for a cocky grin to counteract it. “My hair color and your extensions.”

  “Don’t forget the boob job,” Pistol said with a grimace. “You probably won’t need one. You’ve got an amazing rack.”

  I looked down, feeling somewhat ambivalent about the boobs, about my entire body. Sometimes it felt like a shell, strange and alien.

  The door swung open and the both of us jumped. It was the woman again. I swallowed hard, knowing what was to come.

  She stopped, her jaw dropping as she stared at me. “What is going on with your hair?” she hissed.

  “I saw her dye it,” Pistol spoke up in my defense.

  I flinched as a hand reached out and grabbed my arm. She wasn’t gentle as she yanked me over, pawing through the locks to examine my scalp and the ends. “I will get some more dye tomorrow and make one of the others a blonde. Maybe if we go dark instead of trying to strip this red out, it will work.”

  I exhaled, realizing that I’d been holding my breath. She wasn’t going to use whatever special skills she had to change my hair color? I was grateful, but knew Pistol wouldn’t get such a reprieve. I slid a worried glance her way and saw the girl braced and ready.

  The woman left me and examined Pistol’s hair, making approving noises. Digging her hands into the short locks, she yanked. There was a silvery light and the hair grew as the demon woman pulled, like one of those gimmicky dolls. Pistol screamed.

  It wasn’t a clip-in extension. By all that was holy, the woman was using some sort of magic to grow Pistol’s hair. It wasn’t extensions and push-up bras and make-up, it was magic—demon magic. And whatever it was, it was clearly excruciating for the recipient.

  My breath came fast and hard. I’m ashamed to admit that I retreated, not stopping until my bare back hit the cold tile of the wall. And there I shook, terrified and fighting the urge to vomit as Pistol’s screams went on and on. When the demon woman let go, Pistol’s hair was to her shoulders, a silvery ash-blonde. Her nose was straight, the cut on her head gone along with her bruises. The girl trembled and begged in between sobs for the other woman to stop, to not do anything else to her.

  I now knew why they called her demon woman, and it wasn’t just that she’d grown ten inches of hair from someone’s head. Her eyes were cold and hard. She didn’t revel in Pistol’s pain and fear; she just didn’t care. No, that wasn’t right. She was irritated. Annoyed. I got the impression she wanted to slap the girl.

  Or maybe it was someone else she wanted to slap.

  “I don’t understand why they want your breasts bigger.” The woman reached out and took one in her hand as Pistol flinched. “They look fine to me. Why do men want such huge breasts on women? They should go have sex with cows if they want big udders.”

  “Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t,” Pistol chanted.

  I worked up my courage to take a few steps forward. “Just leave her alone. Don’t hurt her anymore. Leave her alone.”

  The demon woman hesitated, shooting me a quick puzzled glance. “I’ve got my orders. Blondes. Bigger breasts. Firmer buttocks. Then in a few weeks a new batch of girls will come through here and I’ll do it all again.”

  There was a kind of tired regret in her voice, and I seized on it. “Her breasts aren’t much smaller than mine. I’ll
bet those idiot guards can’t tell the difference anyway. Let her be, and lie to them. Just lie to them.”

  “Lie?” Something sparked up in the woman, and for a second I thought she would be on our side, be an ally we could rely on. Then whatever it was vanished, and all that was left was that flat, cold, resignation.

  The silvery light came from her hands again and Pistol screamed.

  Before I realized what I was doing I was across the room, grabbing a fistful of the demon woman’s long black hair. Twisting it, I yanked her head around. Then with my other hand I slapped her across the face as hard as I could. “I said, leave her alone!” I shouted.

  I was stronger than I’d thought because my slap sent the demon woman sprawling across the floor. Her hair had pulled free of my hand, leaving a few of the silky strands behind. I moved to stand in front of Pistol and wait for whatever violent punishment was coming my way.

  The demon woman raised a hand to the side of her face and stared at me in amazement. “You hit me!”

  “Stop hurting her. Leave us all alone,” I commanded. “Do not harm mine…my friends.”

  I’d actually meant to say “mine,” which was a weird thing to say about a bunch of girls I’d known only a few days. They weren’t mine. I didn’t own them. They weren’t my possessions. Yet somehow they were mine. An odd sensation bloomed up inside of me with the word, shoving out through my skin like a shockwave.

  The demon woman recoiled, as if I’d hit her again, then the surprise of what I’d done must have dissipated because her eyes grew cold and hard once more. She stood, brushing herself off, and tried to stare me down. I held her gaze, wondering how long I could fight her off before she got the best of me.

  Pistol put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t. There’s no sense in getting yourself beat up on my behalf. We’ll just both end up hurt that way.”