Penance_An Imp World Novel

by Debra Dunbar

  After a few more lewd comments, Catcalls left, and we sat on our cots, trying to smear cream cheese on bagels with our fingers, and sipping from little containers of yogurt drink. “Think you can run for it later today?” I asked Tasha. After what happened to me last night, I was more determined than ever to get us out of here. We only had two more days until the sale. Better to go now than wait for a better opportunity that might never come.

  Tasha touched her breasts gingerly and nodded. “Yes. They are not so bad today.”

  Pistol turned and said something to Baa, waiting for the girl’s reply. “I think we can do it. I was worried about Baa since she’s the one who got her butt lifted and enhanced, but she says she’s ready whenever we are.”

  I looked over at the Guatemalan girl, who was most definitely still moving gingerly. She set her mouth in a grim line and gave me a thumbs-up sign. I hadn’t paid much attention to the two women who didn’t speak English, but now I did. Baa looked determined, ready to take on anything. Lacy’s eyes darted to each of us, her body tense and aware. I felt the most sorry for her. The other at least had Pillow to translate. How horribly alone and afraid Lacy must feel, not knowing a word of what we were saying, worried that if we made a move she’d be unprepared, or even left behind. I walked over to her and made a circular motion with my finger. Then I pointed to the door, and pantomimed a fight, then jogged in pace.

  She nodded. The girl might not know the details of what we were about to do, but she was watching carefully, and I knew she’d take her cues from us when the time came. One thing was very clear from her anxious, alert gaze—Lacy did not want to risk being left behind.

  The door opened again and Catcalls entered. They’d initially always come in pairs, one with a gun at the ready, but with Onions dead, Catcalls would probably come alone from now on. I got the feeling it was beneath Pockmarks to be delivering us food. It would work to our advantage. Disable whoever brought us lunch, and we’d only have the other to deal with if we got caught sneaking out.

  Unless it was the demon woman who caught us trying to escape. I remembered her words from last night. Although she seemed to have some general sympathy for our plight, it was clear that she’d look out for her own interests first—and those interests included bringing us to auction. She wouldn’t help us escape. And if she caught us trying, she’d bring us back in. We couldn’t rely on her. As much as I wanted to think of her as a sympathetic character, she was just as much our enemy as these two men.

  Although Catcalls didn’t appear all that menacing right now. Instead of the usual broom handle, this time he carried a plastic shopping bag.

  “Here.” Catcalls pulled a box out of the bag and tossed it to me. Hair dye. With everything that happened last night, I’d forgotten about my red hair. This dye was a dark brown which I was pretty sure would look hideous with my complexion. I secretly hoped I had the same results with this one as the one before.

  Another box flew through the air, and Tasha caught it just before it hit her in the face. She stared wide-eyed at the blonde model on the cover and looked up at the guard in confusion. “Me? I am to dye my hair?”

  “That’s the plan.” He left and Tasha and I exchanged resigned glances.

  Pockmarks had said he wanted four blondes, and since it was quite obvious that my hair wasn’t going to cooperate with that demand, Tasha was about to become blonde. She could always dye it back once we got out of here. If we got out of here.

  No, once we got out of here. We were going to do it. I wasn’t going to give up until these girls were free. Maybe then I’d be able to forgive myself for whatever haunted me from my past. Maybe I’d die, but I’d die knowing I attempted to wash those sins away. But in the meantime, we had hair to color and an escape to plan.

  “Come on.” I put an arm around Tasha’s shoulder and led her into the bathroom. We slathered the stuff on our hair, then sat and talked as Pillow, Pistol, and I had done yesterday. It gave me a weird feeling, a strange sense of camaraderie, like we were two sisters having a makeover party.

  “We are not sure you were to come back last night,” Tasha confessed as we sat on the floor next to each other. “I know they sell us, and they want the money, but they said there was an extra? They had an extra, and were not so worried if one of us die.” She reached out to touch my shoulder. “I am worried you were the extra, the one who would not come back.”

  I hadn’t really believed I was going to die in that room. It had been a horrible, degrading, and painful experience, but I hadn’t thought Onions would actually kill me. “I think they want the money more than they want to beat one of us to death,” I told her. “Rough sex. Bruises and minor cuts. That’s as far as I think they’ll go.”

  She shivered. “I don’t know. The one who brings food, he likes to hurt women, I think. He looks at me and I think he would like to hit me with that pole. I think he would like to hit that demon woman with the pole also.”

  “She said she’s forbidden from hurting them,” I told Tasha. “Otherwise I’m pretty sure all three of those guys would have been eviscerated before we even got off the truck. Catcalls might want to hit her with the pole, but he won’t. He’s scared of her. They both are scared of her. I think the only one who isn’t scared of her is this boss they talk about.”

  Tasha laughed. “I am scared of her as well. She is beautiful and deadly like a snake. I think she could make slave of us all, wrap around and squeeze the breathing from us as we smile. She is a bad woman who takes and gives nothing. She will leave us empty.”

  The demon woman scared me too. Or was it more respect than fear I felt toward her? I was well aware of her charm, of her powers to enchant others. And I had no doubt she could be absolutely deadly. But unlike Tasha, I saw the demon woman as a caged animal, pacing the bars, unable to reach her captors, or those who stood watching outside our cage.

  What would happen if she were free? Pockmarks, Catcalls, and no doubt this boss would be dead—of that much I was sure. But what about us? Would a deadly serpent see us as prey? As lesser beings worthy of sympathy? Would she spare her hand and walk away, leaving us alive, or would the police arrive to find our bodies alongside those of the two men? I honestly wasn’t sure.

  “Art history,” Tasha suddenly announced with a smile and a laugh.

  “Art history?” Had I misheard her? Her English was pretty good, but with her thick accent, she might have actually said something else.

  “Art history. That is what I like at home in school. I hope to get summer job at museum, but how can I say no for chance to work in America? I waitress. I spend my no-work time on beach or talk to cute American boys. My English gets better. My mother tells me I am only a young girl once, and to do it. So I do it. They kiss me goodbye at airport and wave, happy for my chance.”

  And she ended up here. “What’s it like back home? Your family, I mean.”

  “We are like others. My mother works in office. My father works in office. I have little brother and little sister.” Her eyes suddenly glistened with tears. “These things do not happen to people. You understand? We think we are safe because we have mother and father who work in office, and little brother and sister. We think we are safe because we all eat at table every night, and are warm, and have school, and summer trip to beach, and car. You understand?”

  I did understand. Things like this happened to runaways, kids from the projects, addicts, and prostitutes. They didn’t happen to nice middle-class girls with a loving nuclear family. Tasha had thought she was coming over on a work-abroad visa, and like Pistol, she’d gotten snagged in this horrible net. Unlike Pistol, her parents were in another country, not likely to have the kind of clout to find her in time. And unlike Pistol, she was a foreigner in this country without any of her identification. I thought once more about Baa and Lacy and how lucky it was that Tasha at least spoke English well enough to ask for help if she got out of here.

  “You’ll see them again,” I promised—a promise I wasn’
t sure I could keep. “You’ll see them again, study art history, eat dinner with your family. We’re going to get out of here.”

  The girl’s smile held an ocean of doubt. “Yes. We will get out of here,” she agreed, both of us committing to the lie, as if somehow voicing it, giving it substance, would make it true.

  Tasha’s hair turned out more of a light golden brown than blonde, but it would have to do. I wiped a strand of mine off and grimaced to see the bright red under the dye. I’d probably end up bald, but I was going to leave it on another twenty minutes or so, just to try to make this color stick. The alternative was a whole lot of pain at the demon woman’s hands, and after seeing what the others had gone through, I really didn’t want to face that.

  Tasha headed out with the others while I sat inside the bathroom by myself, savoring some time alone. Then I counted, rinsing my hair when I figured I’d reached another twenty minutes. It was still red, absolutely unchanged from before.

  The bathroom door swung open. Mess peeked in. “It’s almost lunch time by my reckoning. Are we good to go?”

  “Yeah. Here.” I handed her the lid to one of the toilet tanks. The thing felt like it weighed thirty pounds. Not easy to swing, but definitely a decent weapon. Mess’s muscles in her arms stood out as she took it and I realized the woman was stronger than I’d thought. She hefted it, testing its weight, then looked up at me, caught sight of my hair, and laughed.

  “Did you even try to dye it, or are you just flushing that stuff down the toilet?”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Make sure you’re off to the side with the lid so the guard doesn’t see you. I’ll be out in a minute.”

  That was our plan. Whack Catcalls in the head with the toilet lid, then make a run for it and hope we could get out of the warehouse before Pockmarks or the demon woman caught us. We were armed with broken plastic cups, screws, a few sharpened wires, and a thin chain from the toilet tank that might serve as a garrote. Other than that, we were weaponless. Our biggest problem was going to be reach. If we had a confrontation with Pockmarks, he’d be able to hit us with his broom pole before we could get close enough to do anything with our makeshift weapons. And we’d be totally screwed against the demon, of that I was sure.

  Escape. Run for it. And each of us had instructions not to wait for any of the others. If a chance presented itself, get the heck out, get to safety, and send help back for the rest of us. If just one of us could get out, today would be a success.

  “Got it. Pray for us, Red. We’ll need that guardian angel of yours.” Mess was just turning to leave when we both heard voices. This wasn’t the normal, quiet conversation of the other women, one was clearly a man’s voice. Were they bringing lunch in early? Mess could hardly walk out of the bathroom and across the space between this door and the guard carrying a toilet tank lid and hope to go undetected. She looked over at me, and I could see she’d come to the same conclusion. With a quick motion she propped the toilet lid against the wall and cracked the door open to listen.

  One guard and the soft clear voice of the demon woman. I hesitated, not liking my options one bit. My best case scenario had been us sneaking out of here without ever encountering the demon woman. I hadn’t wanted to think about fighting her, about her fighting us. But here she was, throwing a big wrench in the middle of our escape plans.

  It didn’t matter how I felt. What mattered was that eight women relied on me to do what I needed to do to get out of here. The demon woman had picked her side.

  Strange, elusive memories hung just out of reach. Choosing between those I loved. I just need time to convince them they’re wrong, I had argued. It’s too late for that, he’d replied. They’ve made their choice, and now you must make yours.

  I’d made the wrong one, because I’d thought there was all the time in the world to change someone’s mind. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “He’s leaving,” Mess said softly. “She’s still here. What do we do? He’ll probably come back with the lunch, but what if she doesn’t leave?”

  “You go out there,” I whispered. “If she doesn’t leave in a few minutes, then send her in here. Tell her she needs to check on my hair or something. When she comes in, I’ll take care of her, bring the toilet lid out to you, then come back in to make sure she doesn’t come around and screw everything up. Then when the guard delivers lunch, you can take him down.”

  “Then we get out of here.” There was a hint of a question in Mess’s statement.

  “Yeah,” I told her with far more confidence than I felt. “Then we get out of here.”

  Chapter 10

  Mess slid through the doorway. I picked up the toilet lid and stepped to where I wouldn’t be seen by anyone entering the bathroom, yet not be hit by the swinging door. And then I waited, feeling sick to my stomach over what I was about to do.

  Go away, I thought. If she would go out with the guard, get in her car and leave, or fly away on her broomstick, or whatever mode of transportation demon women favored, we could still keep to our escape plan. It was one thing to whack a guard across the head with the lid from a toilet tank, another entirely to hit her. Yeah, she was a demon. Yeah, she’d told me straight up she wouldn’t help us, that she’d bring us back if we tried to escape. She was the enemy. The enemy. Just as much of an enemy as those guards. And maybe if I kept repeating it to myself, I’d believe it.

  I’m not your salvation, she’d said. But she’d untied me when I’d asked. She hadn’t punished me when I’d slapped her. She was just as trapped here as we were, but she was standing in the way of my girls and their freedom. It was her or them. I needed to make a choice, and that choice was clear.

  Didn’t make it any easier to do this. I’d slapped her, but this seemed so…excessive. I was about to hit her as hard as I could in the head with a heavy chunk of ceramic. I needed to knock her out—make sure she was really knocked out so we’d have time to escape before she came to. Which meant what I was about to do might kill her. She was a demon and I didn’t know how much force to use, so I was going to give it everything I had. I couldn’t risk her just being stunned. I couldn’t risk her stopping us.

  Could someone kill a demon with a toilet tank lid? I was probably about to find out.

  I heard the high-heeled footsteps across the floor. Darn it all, why hadn’t she just left? Why hadn’t she just checked Tasha’s hair and walked away?

  The door opened, and I didn’t think any more, I just swung. The demon woman wasn’t very tall, so I made sure to put an upward arc into the toilet tank lid trajectory. It hit with a sickening thunk, and the woman flew backward, slamming against the wall. Everything slowed. There was a spray of red. It painted the floor and the heavy lid, hit my face in warm droplets and splatters. As she slid down the wall I saw another streak of red. I think I killed her. Oh my God, I killed her.

  She lay crumpled in front of me, her beautiful face unrecognizable—a mess of crushed bone and torn flesh. Blood seeped onto her clothing, oozing from the back of her head and along the long black tresses. I remembered how her hair had felt in my hand, how silky and smooth it had been, how incredibly gorgeous she’d been, how sultry.

  “I’m not your salvation.” Bile burned in my throat. I hadn’t wanted this. I hadn’t wanted this at all. I’d been forced to make a choice. If I’d just had more time, I could have convinced her to change her mind, to be on our side. If I’d just had more time.

  But I didn’t have time. The last time had resulted in the death of those I loved. This time… I hoped that this time I’d made the right choice.

  I’d killed her. I was pretty sure she was either dead now or soon would be. I stood there in shock, staring at the crushed, bloody face. Then I took a breath, got a better grip on the toilet tank lid, and went out into the main warehouse room to find the other women staring anxiously at me.

  I killed her. I killed her. What if I could have changed her mind, talked her into helping us? What if I could have saved her?
/>   What if she could have saved me?

  Kitten gasped, and clasped a hand over her mouth.

  “I did it. I did it. We just have to take down the guard, and get out of here and you’ll all be safe.” The words were flat and emotionless. My hands were shaking. I was covered in blood that reminded me in a darkly humorous way of the color of my hair.

  “Damn, girl,” Sugar said. I wasn’t sure if that weird note in her voice was admiration or apprehension.

  “Are you okay?” Pillow asked taking a step toward me. She raised a hand to touch my shoulder, only to lower it with a grimace.

  I killed her. Maybe I could have convinced her to help us, to come with us. Why did my decisions always end in death? Why?

  I nodded at Pillow. “We need to get ready. Get ready for the guard. When he comes…then we’ll leave and you’ll all be safe. I need to make sure you’re safe.”

  They slowly surrounded me. Mess reached out a hand for the toilet tank lid. “I got this.”

  “No. I got this.” I took a step back, clutching the lid to my chest. “Me. I got it. I’ll…I’ll do it.”

  “No, you won’t.” Her voice was soft, kind. Her image blurred. I started to shake so hard I nearly dropped the lid. “We agreed that I’d do it. And you’re in no condition to be hitting someone else upside the head right now.”

  “I killed her. Her face…her head. I killed her and I don’t want you to have to do that. I’ve already got blood on my hands.”

  I had more than blood on my hands. So many had died. They’d died. Let me be the one who sins and leave them clean. Let it all rest on my soul, so they can be safe and free.

  “No.” Mess reached out and took the lid from my hands. “It’s my turn, Red. It’s my turn to be strong. That’s how we do it. Sometimes you’re the strong one. Sometimes it’s me. Right now, it’s me.”

  I nodded, looking down at my hands. Blood. Her blood. I rubbed my palms down my sweat pants, trying to get it off.