The Devil's Pit

by Naomi Martin

  “Leave me alone,” I warn, my voice low.

  “Or what?”

  “Or I’ll kill you, that’s what.”

  He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard in his life. I keep searching but only see the one door in the room—the door he’s standing in front of. Sherman takes a step toward me, licking his lips in a disgustingly suggestive way. I back up and eventually hit the shelves on the wall behind me. I’m trapped.

  Sherman presses up against me and I can feel his stiff cock against my belly, touching off waves of disgust. I slap him as hard as I can, trying to pummel him with both hands, but I only managed to smack him in the chest. He laughs and leans down, trying to kiss me. I thrash my head side to side, fending him off.

  He runs his tongue down my neck and I scream as loud as I can. That scream, though, is abruptly cut off when he slams his fist into my belly, driving the air out of my body. I sputter and gasp, desperately trying to suck in a breath, but I feel like I might suffocate.

  “I told ya we could do this the easy way. But you insist on doin’ shit the hard way,” he says. “This is gonna happen whether you like it or not, so you might as well just relax and enjoy it.”

  I open my mouth to scream but the only thing that comes out is a ragged, breathless gasp. I try to draw my power into me, but as if realizing that’s what I’m doing, Sherman delivers another vicious shot to my midsection and I feel like I can’t breathe at all. My legs turn to rubber and I fall to my knees, my head spinning and my vision blurred.

  “That’ll do for now, I guess,” he chuckles.

  I hear the sound of a zipper and then feel him grab me by the hair, pulling it tight. I give my head a shake, trying to clear out some of the fog that’s filling it. I come back to myself enough to see that his pants are down to the middle of his thighs and he’s pulling his boxers down with his other hand. That done, he pulls my head forward.

  “I swear to God, you bite me, and I’ll break your goddamn jaw,” he growls. “Now, open your damn mouth.”

  Like a child who doesn’t want to eat, I press my lips together tightly and turn my head, trying to pull away from Sherman’s grip. But he’s strong and pulls me forward, trying to force himself into my mouth. Tears of rage and fear roll down my face, and he laughs at my muffled cries.

  “Stop fightin’ me, girl,” he growls, “or I will knock you the hell out and fuck your limp body. Test me and see if I don’t.”

  I lean back as far as I can, trying to keep his cock away from me, when the idea hits me. It might be foolish, but at this point I’m willing to do anything to stop this from happening. And if I can’t, I hope he really does knock me out. I’d rather not be conscious if I can’t stop him.

  Reaching up, I grab hold of his cock, sinking my nails into his shaft. He howls in agony as I twist it awkwardly and, at the same time, drive my other fist upward with all of my strength. He lets out a noise choked, half-strangled “oomph” sound as my fist connects with his balls.

  Sherman lets go of my hair and doubles over. I’m on my feet in a flash and heading for the door as he cups his injured balls, howling in rage and pain. I turn back to see that he remains bent over, his big, pale ass still bared to me. I draw my foot back as far as I can and deliver a firm kick between his legs that I hope drives his balls up into his throat.

  The cry that comes from him is barely human and he topples forward, hands wrapped around his balls, sputtering and choking. I open the door and dash out into the hall, confused and disoriented, tears streaming down my face. Knowing that going left will lead me back to the prison, I turn right and find myself at a junction and can’t decide which way to go. Sherman’s shout of rage coming from the room rattles me and forces me to make a decision. I turn right.

  Running as fast as I can, the sound of my shoes slapping against the floor echoing loudly around me, I turn left at the next junction and find myself in another long hallway. A blue sign with white lettering on the wall to my right indicates that I’m headed in the direction of the administrative offices, locker rooms, and the cafeteria.

  “Whatever,” I mutter.

  The sound of Sherman screaming my name, echoing all around me, startles me and I jump. It’s all the motivation I need to run. I take off, pumping my arms and legs, running for all I’m worth.

  “Get back here, you little bitch!”

  I follow the hallways, turning left and right with no direction, with no purpose, my only goal is to stay ahead of Sherman. His bellowed calls and shouts of outrage are drawing closer and an electric sense of terror lights me up inside, pushing me to my personal limits and beyond. My lungs are burning as badly as my legs, which are threatening to cramp up, but knowing that Sherman is back there and is closing the distance spurs me on.

  I push my way through a pair of doors and come to a sudden, sliding stop. A hundred pairs of eyes turn my way and I see men in black tactical gear as well as the prison guard’s uniforms getting to their feet. Other people in white lab coats stare at me, startled.

  The loud buzz of conversation that filled my ears when I busted in vanishes in an instant, leaving the cavernous room in silence. I hear the tinkling sound of silverware being dropped on plates and the cafeteria is filled with a hundred different aromas that all smell wonderful. Clearly, the majority of the prison’s food budget is spent on the personnel instead of the prisoners.

  “Shit,” I mutter to myself.

  I’m just about to turn around and run when the doors behind me burst open. They catch me flush in the back and send me sprawling forward. I hit the ground on my belly and my teeth click together as the breath is driven from my lungs with an audible “oomph.”

  Then, Sherman is gripping my hair tightly. He yanks my neck back awkwardly, painfully, and I cry out. He drags me to my feet and shoves his face into mine, his expression twisted in rage and his eyes burning with hate.

  “You are gonna pay for that, you little bitch,” he hisses.

  “Captain Sherman.” A woman’s voice cuts through the noise. “Let go of that girl right now, if you please.”

  Sherman winces as if he’s been struck and his face pales, but he lets go of my hair and takes a step back. I turn and see a tall woman with hair that’s iron gray and hangs to her chin in a short, precise bob. She’s lean, with pale skin, green eyes, and a very bookish look about her. She wears thick, dark-rimmed glasses and a white lab coat. I cut a glance at the ID badge hanging on her lab coat and clock her the name—Dr. Carol Fry.

  “Shit,” I mutter again. I’ve jumped out of the frying pan only to leap straight into the fire.

  Fry turns and looks at all of the soldiers, guards, and other employees assembled in the cafeteria who are gawking at us. A look of irritation flashes across her face.

  “The situation is well in hand,” she calls out, her voice smoky and rich. “You may return to what you were doing.”

  Slowly, everybody sits back down and carries on with their meals—although, I can’t help but see some of them cutting furtive glances our way. It’s interesting that all of the staff obeyed her, though, and shows me that Dr. Fry is the power in this place. She finally turns back to us and looks at me with an expression of distaste on her face. If I’d hoped to find an ally in this woman, that hope is dashed instantly. Better than carrying around false hopes, I suppose.

  “What is the meaning of this, Captain?” Fry asks.

  “She escaped, ma’am,” he stammers. “I had to chase her down and—”

  “What is wrong with your pants, Captain?” Fry presses. “Your shirt is untucked, and you look as if you had to hastily zip up.”

  Sherman blanches and quickly tucks his shirt in, doing his best to get himself sorted. The look of disgust on Fry’s face deepens. He clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back. Fry glares at him.

  “You have been warned before—”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he cuts her off, not wanting her to say the rest out loud. “It’s not what it looks lik
e, though. I swear it.”

  Picking up on the vibe between them, I pile on, trying to exploit the moment.

  “He tried to rape me,” I say quickly. “In a supply closet, he tried to—”

  I hear the sharp crack and feel the sting in my cheek before I register the fact that he backhanded me. As if moving in slow motion, my head is rocked to the side and I fall, landing hard on my hip.

  “Captain, that is quite enough of that!” Fry snaps.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor Fry,” he stammers. “But she’s lyin’—”

  “That will be all, Captain,” Fry states.

  I slowly get to my feet, my mouth filled with the coppery taste of my blood. Sherman glares at me, the fire in his eyes promising retribution. But he turns and storms away, slamming through the doors that lead him out of the cafeteria. I can feel the people still staring at me but that doesn’t intimidate me nearly as much as the way Fry scrutinizes me. She walks around me, taking me in from every angle, then stands in front of me, that look of disdain on her face.

  “Do I need to summon the guards?” she asks. “Or will you come along peacefully?”

  “I’ll come,” I say.

  “Good. Then follow me.”

  She turns and I follow her out of the cafeteria and through a warren of corridors. We finally arrive at a door, where she swipes her ID badge and places her hand on a digital scanner. A high-pitched beep sounds and the door slides open. She stands to the side and looks at me.

  “Well?” she asks.

  I step into the room and she follows, closing and sealing the door shut behind us. I find that I’m surprised that it looks more or less like a normal doctor’s examination room. The only thing that bothers me is the large chair sitting in the middle of the room. It looks a lot like a dentist’s chair—if dentist chairs were equipped with wrist and ankle shackles.

  “In the chair,” Fry orders.

  I hesitate as a shudder rolls through me, sending goosebumps marching across my skin. Fry sighs loudly and looks at me through eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Get in the chair. Or I will ask Captain Sherman to come back in here and put you in the chair for me,” she hisses. “And, after that, I may go have a cup of coffee and let him do as he wills with you.”

  Her words churn my stomach. “You know he tried to rape me—”

  “Frankly, I wouldn’t care what happened to you people if I didn’t require your presence for testing,” she says evenly. “But so long as I do require you, I will not let brutish men like Captain Sherman abuse you.”

  My mouth falls open and I stare at her with wide eyes. I’ve always known that prejudice against people with abilities exists. I wouldn’t be where I am if it didn’t. But I’ve never had somebody say something so bigoted and so hateful to my face before. That she would let Sherman rape me and thinks I somehow deserve it because I’m different than her is unconscionable.

  “Are you going to get into the chair now?” Fry presses. “Or should I call the captain?”

  Fear and rage warring within me, I stand where I am and glare at the doctor. I try drawing my power into me—and don’t feel anything. An electric bolt of panic shoots through me as I realize I can’t feel anything. It’s like I’ve somehow been cut off from the source of my power that lay within me. My eyes widen and I try harder to reach it but still feel… nothing.

  “We call it boxing,” Fry says, sounding amused.

  I look up at her. “What?”

  “Boxing. It’s called boxing,” she says, gesturing to the room around her. “We had it warded specifically to prevent people like you from being able to access your powers. It’s like we’re able to put a box around it.”

  “Charming,” I say.

  “Chair,” she orders. “Now.”

  Still trying to draw on my power, I reluctantly climb into the chair. Fry is there in the blink of an eye, locking the shackles around my wrists and ankles. My anxiety is through the roof and the feeling of vulnerability is overwhelming. I swallow hard, trying to absorb my fear and let my anger take over.

  “What are you going to do to me?” I ask.

  “Right now, just a routine exam.”

  “Then why the shackles?” I ask. “If your room is perfectly boxed and all.”

  “One can never be too prepared, now can one?”

  “If you say so.”

  Once she has me secured in place, she gives me a pretty standard examination: blood pressure, heart rate, temperature—the usual. Then, she draws half a dozen vials of blood and is none too gentle about it. As she’s jotting some notes down on a chart, the door chimes and opens and a man strides in, a scowl on his face. He’s bald with blue eyes, and looks to be in good shape—he’s lean and trim. He seems to take care of himself. And although he looks at me with the same sort of disdain that Fry does, his eyes hold a hint of interest, as well. I cut a glance at his ID badge and see that this is the other half of the power couple the boys warned me about: Dr. Keene.

  “So?” he addresses Fry.

  She turns to him with a small shrug. “She seems normal in every way.”

  “And yet we know she’s not,” he says, sounding as if he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.

  “She’s right here,” I point out.

  “Her vitals are all in line with the others?”

  “I would have told you of any anomalies. Instead, I said she seems normal in every way,” she says, her voice hard. “Or did you forget already? I know how difficult early onset dementia can be.”

  “No need to be a bitch, Carol.”

  “No need to be an asshole, Vincent,” she replies.

  The tension between them is as obvious as the nose on my face. These two do not like each other much at all. I would try to work that to my advantage, but they seem pretty unified in their hatred of people like me.

  Vincent walks over and looms over me. He scrutinizes me closely, making me shrink back as I try to keep some distance between the two of us.

  He grunts, then puts the palm of his hand on my forehead, pushing my head back hard against the chair. He leans closer, studying the collar around my neck, and I see his face light up in surprise, a smile pulling the corners of his mouth upward.

  “Carol, did you see this?”

  “I haven’t done anything but the physical exam yet,” she replies. “It’s amazing how you always seem to show up once the tedious work is done.”

  “We all have our talents.”

  Fry comes over and leans down, looking closely at the collar and trying to see what Keene is pointing at. And then, just as his did, her face lights up in surprise.

  “Remarkable,” Fry says.

  Keene nods and the two of them seem to share a moment of excitement and camaraderie. Which can’t be good for me.

  “She burned through the protective runes,” Keene says, almost in a whisper. “We’ve never seen this before.”

  “I didn’t think it could be done.”

  They both straighten up and step back, then exchange a look. Keene frowns and looks around the room.

  “Relax, Vincent, she tried to tap her power before and couldn’t,” Fry says. “The boxing is holding just fine. She’s no threat to us.”

  Keene turns cold, reptilian eyes on me, as if seeing me for the first time. He looks at me, his eyes moving up and down my body, but not in the way Sherman did. Keen looks at me in a detached manner. It’s more clinical. Which actually creeps me out a lot more.

  “How did you do it?” he asks. “The incident in the yard. How did you tap your powers?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. It just happened.”

  “What was the inciting event?” Fry questions.

  Zane’s voice echoes through my mind, and I hear him telling me to give them nothing. To tell them nothing. To do nothing they ask. Then my mind flips to images of mass graves and bodies being stuffed into incinerators, and I feel my resolve weakening. But as I look into their predatory eyes, see the cont
empt they have for me just because I’m different than they are, the rage that usually sustains me flares inside of me once more.

  “I asked you a question,” Fry presses.

  “And why should I answer you?” I ask.

  “Because you know what will happen if you don’t,” she replies.

  Keene gives her a curious look and I can tell that he doesn’t know what happened. Maybe he doesn’t even know what Sherman is doing to the girls who are locked up in here. And, maybe, that’s the wedge I can use to get between them.

  “She’s threatening to let Captain Sherman rape me,” I say quickly. “He already tried once.”

  Keene shoots a glance at Fry and then back at me, a look of surprise and disgust on his face. At least one of these two cretins has some semblance of decency.

  “Is this true, Carol?” he asks.

  She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t there, so I don’t know what happened between them,” she says. “You know that Captain Sherman has quite a… following, among the girls.”

  “Yes, and it’s something I’ve tried to discourage,” he says. “I think it’s highly improper.”

  “They’re all of age, Vincent. Stop acting like such a prude,” she replies. “We know you’re not.”

  “I will not tolerate these young women being raped in our prison. Especially not by our guards,” he growls. “If I catch wind of this happening again—and that you knew about it—there will be consequences, Carol. I promise you that.”

  “Don’t make threats like that,” she fires back. “Not when you have as much to lose as I do.”

  He runs a hand over his smooth pate and lets out a long breath, an expression of anger crossing his face. He looks at me and frowns, then turns to Fry and his frown deepens.

  “We’re done for today,” he finally says.

  “I’m not—”

  “Yes, you are, Carol,” he snarls. “And you will only have access to this one under my direct supervision. Am I clear?”

  “Vincent—”

  “Am I clear?” he roars.

  Fry straightens up to her full height, lifting her chin in defiance, and adopts an expression of pure disdain. If looks could kill, Keene would be dead ten times over. It’s interesting to me, though, to see that there is a division of power here.