Twenty-One
Dee Victoria
Copyright © 2017 by D. Victoria BonAnno
All rights reserved
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without prior written permission of the publisher, except as provided by United States of America copyright law.
Visit author’s website at www.dvictoriabonanno.com
For Josh, Jo, Frank, and Anthony.
And for the Ination, my beloved darkling throng.
This book’s journey wouldn’t have gone nearly so smoothly without the generosity of friends.
Sam, thank you for helping in any way you can, from the book trailer to the launch party, so generously and enthusiastically.
Thank you to Carolyn Berg for volunteering your editing skills, and to Jim Brumbaugh for all of your vital insight into the world of self-publishing.
Thank you to the voice actors for volunteering your time and your talents to the book trailer.
Thank you to the donors of this novel’s fundraiser, including Danielle Estep, Tianna Dysert, Erik McAninch, Carlos and Sonya Ramos, Meghan Johannes, Ginny Haas, John Nelson, Tom M., Joan Litzow, Mark Krause, Sarah Gozelanczyk, Colin Cousins, Cheryl Stahl and Shelley Marsh, Ashley Neal, and Rachel Radwanski.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Epilogue
Chapter 1
January 12, 2012
“I am Twenty-One. I am a slave. I will obey. I will be used. I will not question. I will please my Master. I am Twenty-One. I am a slave.”
Chloe despised the words that tumbled out of her mouth. She could think of nothing else to murmur to herself while she waited, lying on her back in the blacked-out room that had been her prison for God knew how long. Months of meticulous training had embedded the twisted mantra into her brain. Weeks of starvation and torment in this room had beaten out any other prayer she could have hoped to recall.
Chloe took a deep breath through her nose and retched from the stench of the waste-soaked bed sheets in the stifling tropical air. The sliver of light beneath the door blurred. She focused on the light with every ounce of energy she had in her bruised body, whispering her mantra with new fervor. If she passed out again, she was done for. She knew that because Mama knew that. Chloe didn’t look for Mama, but she knew she was there, whispering along with her, fingering the scars on Mama’s withered cheek. Yes, the man who forced Chloe to call him Master had said he would come for Chloe “when the other one rots.” Mama said it was time. Chloe breathed through her mouth, whispering.
“I am Twenty-One. I am a slave…”
Footsteps echoed from a part of the house Chloe had never seen. She knew the ritual well. The door would open and the monster would amble in, lean over to see if she still breathed, and rouse her for whatever deranged games he had planned for her that day. But today, she had a weapon: a splinter of wood the width of her fist, ripped from the dilapidated bed frame. She had picked away at it until the end came to a point. She could only hope it would be sharp enough. Chloe buried her fist in the filthy sheets on which she lay, clutching the wooden shard as if it would slip away from her somehow. She feared her weapon was another hallucination from the heat, that she held nothing to save herself from her captor, but Mama’s reassuring voice in her ear gave her strength. She continued to whisper the words that had bound her body and soul for so long, whispered every vow that she was about to break.
“I will be used. I will not question. I will please my Master.”
The door opened and closed. Chloe barely opened her eyes, catching sight of a figure coming toward her. The fetid bed sank with his weight as the figure leaned over her, coming close to her face, checking her breathing.
Mama’s voice rang in her bones. Now. Now.
With a raw, guttural cry, Chloe sprung.
Chapter 2
September 23, 2011
Mariane’s lips brushed Chloe’s ear as she spoke, but Chloe still had to strain to hear her above the pounding music.
“I said, if you don’t put your phone away, I’m going to throw it on the dance floor and goth stomp it to death.”
Chloe dodged Mariane’s reaching fingers with a laugh, holding her phone out of reach.
“Just give me two seconds. I’m saying good night to my dad.”
Mariane rolled her blue eyes and propped her elbows on the polished black bar, the only thing at the Oryx night club that looked sleek and new. The rest of the décor, from the worn leather couches in the lounge areas to the billiard tables, looked as if they had been plucked out of a junkyard. But that was the theme, Chloe supposed. Mariane had mentioned an apocalyptic vibe when she had been dressing Chloe up to go out. That seemed accurate, but as Chloe stared at the strips of corroded metal and frosted glass mosaics decorating the rust-coloured walls, she didn’t understand the appeal. Why make a nice place look like a wasteland?
“Come on, sweets,” said Mariane, tossing her long white-blonde hair over her shoulder. “Daddy will keep ‘til morning. How do you say, go to bed, dad in French?”
Chloe stole a glance at her father’s text message – Bon nuit, ma bichette. Miss you! –before wedging her phone into the long black boots she had borrowed from her friend.
“It’s the first time he’s been alone in twenty five years,” she said. “Cut me some slack.”
Mariane shook her head, “Way to make me feel like an asshole.” But she broke into a grin when Chloe tried to apologize. “Relax, Chloe. We’re out tonight to let loose, right? So no more phone. Time to experience something new.”
She turned to flag down the bartender, leaving Chloe to people watch. The more she studied the Oryx crowd, clad in everything from leather to Victorian lace, the more out of place she felt. Mariane had dressed her for the theme, her ever-present cigarette hanging from her heart-shaped lips as she dug through her own closet to find the perfect outfit for Chloe’s first time at the mysterious club. She had caked Chloe’s hazel eyes in black eye shadow and stuffed her into a too-small black bra and a cropped shirt made entirely out of tight, ripped black fishnet. A black and white petal skirt just barely covered her upper thighs. Chloe had never shown so much skin in public. She had been anxious until they had gotten to the Oryx and found that exposed flesh was
commonplace. Even Mariane bared herself in an under-bust corset of blue leather with nothing but two black strips of electrical tape crossed over each nipple in an X-shape. Still, Chloe felt uncomfortable, as if she were in disguise and everybody could sense it. She watched dancers move like hazy apparitions, distorted by the wall of thick tarnished glass separating the bar from the dance floor. She had long been curious about the Oryx and its dark, eccentric crowd, a novelty in an otherwise unexceptional rural college town of Hollington, Ohio. It was bizarre to be within its walls after passing its long black doors every day on her way to campus.
“Snap out of it, Chloe.” Mariane put a thick double shot glass in her hand. “No zoning out. Just drinking.”
“Sorry,” said Chloe. “It’s just so weird in here. I’m not used to everybody around me looking like you.”
Mariane grinned. “Hey, in here, you’re the weird one.” She reached over and clinked glasses with Chloe. “This is the bar’s specialty. Drink up.”
Chloe studied her glass. It looked as eerie as the club itself, with a bottom layer of green licking like flames into murky red at the top of the glass.
“What the hell is it?”
“A Wolf Bite,” said Mariane with a wink. “Cheers.”
Mariane tilted her long white neck and swallowed the shot. Chloe hesitated before following suit. She wasn’t a complete stranger to bars, but her mother’s long illness had kept her clear of the hard partying so common of the college lifestyle. The shot went down more smoothly than she had anticipated, leaving behind a lingering taste of sweet anise and some sort of fruit. She licked her lips. As strange as the Oryx was, Chloe was glad she had finally given in to Mariane and gone out. It had been over a month since her mother’s suffering had ended, and returning to Hollington University so soon afterward had been agony. She couldn’t stop worrying about her father, alone in her childhood home, which seemed so empty without her mother’s laughter filling every room.
Mariane ran her fingers through Chloe’s short brown hair.
“Come on, daydreamer,” said Mariane, hopping off her barstool. “Let’s dance.”
Chloe’s remaining trepidations dissolved the moment she stepped onto the dance floor, swallowed by the vivacious energy of the crowd. She lost her heartbeat to the bass that vibrated from the massive speakers. The music was palpable; she let it move her hips, bring her hands to her hair. The floor was in nearly complete darkness, shattered by a multitude of neon lights cutting through the darkness in brief flashes. Chloe became a part of the crowd around her, moving as a collective unit. There was a comfort in losing herself in a mass of dancers, becoming one of many. She cheered mindlessly with the rest at every command emanating from the cavernous DJ booth, which stood elevated on the back wall of the dance floor. Chloe noticed a figure just underneath the booth, a female form wrapped in black gauze, stone still amidst the writhing bodies. Another glance around the dance floor yielded a half dozen of these bandaged mannequins standing on elevated stages along the walls. Dancers on the platform ran their hands along them, caressing their curves, and they did not move.
“Mariane!” Chloe shouted over the music, pointing at one of the figures. “What are those mannequins?”
Mariane’s smile seemed to fade, or maybe the lights hit her strangely, Chloe couldn’t tell.
“They’re not mannequins,” she replied. “Those are the dolls. They’re people. They don’t move, though. They’re not allowed.”
Chloe frowned, watching person after person caress the dolls, stroking their faces and every inch of their bodies.
“Why?” she asked. “What are they for?”
Mariane tossed her narrow shoulders, grabbed Chloe’s hips, and forced them to dance. Chloe laughed.
“They’re just a thing here,” she said. “The Oryx is a theatrical place, hun. Don’t worry about the dolls. Just dance!”
Chloe obeyed, letting her curiosity ebb into the beat of the thrashing music. She knew she would never understand the Oryx, but for tonight, it was the perfect place for her to let go of her troubles. She and Mariane danced until their breath ran shallow. Mariane brought her fingers to her lips, mimicking a cigarette, and led Chloe off the dance floor toward the back patio of the club.
The late September air that had chilled Chloe before now steeped her skin in delicious gooseflesh and cooled the sweat that clung to her from the dance floor. She took a deep breath and found the air tinged with the smoke of a dozen cigarettes despite the back patio being open to the night sky. Beside her, Mariane blew a cloud of her own smoke from her pursed pink lips.
“So, what do you think?” she asked. “Is the Oryx the mouth of hell you were so scared of?”
Chloe smiled and shook her head. She looked into the crowd on the patio, a sea of pierced flesh and tattoos, of coloured hair and combat boots. It was by far the most exotic crowd she’d experienced. A pink-haired woman in a shiny PVC skirt caught her gaze and flashed her a smile.
“Everyone’s so friendly. I wasn’t expecting that from a goth crowd. It’s goth, right?”
Mariane chuckled and plopped down onto a wood patio chair, remarkably plain compared to the décor inside.
“Good to know you thought we were all antisocial twats,” she said with a wink. “Goth, industrial, rivet head, cyber, I wouldn’t get into semantics. Half the time we don’t even know what the fucking differences between us are.”
“I didn’t understand half of what you said.”
“Exactly,” Mariane said with a wink. “Just dress up and dance, sweets. We’re a great crowd, whatever we call ourselves. Beautiful freaks.” She took a long drag of her cigarette. “By the way, something fun happens at midnight around here to club virgins like you, and you’re doing it. No arguments.”
Chloe frowned. “What?”
“Hey, I’m in charge tonight,” said Mariane with a sly smile. “I said no arguments. It’ll be fun, trust me.”
Chloe sighed, reaching out of habit for a strand of her honey brown hair to twirl between her fingers before remembering she had just cut it short. She fiddled with the choppy layers so close to her ears. Mariane’s words tied her stomach in knots. She imagined being thrown onto one of the podiums on the dance floor, forced to do something embarrassing like dance in front of everyone, fingers pointing at her.
“You’re not going to single me out, are you?” she asked. “Isn’t it enough that I let you put me in this outfit? I thought I was supposed to blend into the crowd.”
“Calm down, princess,” said Mariane. “It’ll be fun. Nothing you’ll need to take a Xanax for.”
Chloe threw Mariane a theatrical pout. “I like new experiences, not surprises.”
Mariane laughed again and patted Chloe’s bare knee. The heat from dancing had worn off and the cold invaded her exposed skin. Chloe folded her arms over her barely concealed chest to keep warm and tried to keep herself from obsessing over whatever she would be subjected to at midnight. She looked into the crowd again, at the plumes of fragrant smoke hovering over their heads and curling up to the stars. Everyone was so at ease. She had gone out tonight to feel the same way, to let loose, to have a new experience. She didn’t want her silly social anxiety to ruin things for her. The summer had been so draining; months of sitting in her mother’s dark bedroom, holding her hand, talking with hospice nurses and keeping her father as happy as he could muster in those final weeks. Her mother’s death had been long expected, but grief had still hung like a heavy shroud over the house. Chloe would never admit it aloud that she was relieved to move back to Hollington for fall semester and be free, albeit temporarily, from that empty house.
She people-watched as Mariane finished smoking, catching sight of a small crowd that had accumulated at the back corner of the patio. The group surrounded three people that caught Chloe’s attention immediately. Two beautiful women, dark-eyed twins, stood arm in arm, blowing smoke over their naked shoulders. Their pale, willowy forms were identical but for their short pigtai
led hair, one dyed bright purple, the other peacock green. The man between them stopped Chloe’s breath. He was taller than the twins, dressed in combat boots and faded black jeans with buckling straps, attire not unlike other men in the crowd. He was shirtless despite the young autumn chill. A mask concealed him from the bridge of his nose down, made of worn black leather and studded with a thin row of spikes down its center. Long black hair fell loose over his shoulder, undercut on both sides, as if he had let a mohawk grow all the way down to his chest.
Chloe drank in the stranger, at the contrast of his pallid face and the black mask, at the lean, slender muscle of his bare torso. Something about him raised the hair on her arms. She was so distracted by his appearance that she didn’t realize he had noticed her. Her face flushed when she finally saw him staring back at her. She wanted to look away, as was polite when caught gawking at a stranger, but she couldn’t. His gaze paralyzed her as it crept down her body and made her feel more naked than she had all night. They locked eyes again, and Chloe’s throat went dry. There was something about him, something that beckoned to her, tempted her to come to him, like a magnetic force pulling at her limbs, calling her closer. The thought of meeting new people normally made Chloe anxious. Even Mariane, whose appearance had roused her curiosity in their art history class two years ago, had to be the one to strike up a conversation in order for them to meet. Chloe had never felt the urge to approach a complete stranger in her life.
Mariane tapped Chloe’s arm, dragging her back to reality.
“I said, do you want to go in?” she asked. “What the hell are you thinking about so-”
Mariane broke off as her gaze drifted to the man who had so captured Chloe’s eye, who had returned to his conversation with the group surrounding him.
“Let’s go in,” said Mariane, her voice flat. “I’m getting cold now.”
She spun on her heel and headed inside so quickly that Chloe struggled to keep up with her as they weaved through the crowd.
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