5. Scarlet
5
SCARLET
I t’s the violent jolt that wakes me up. Like I’m in a car or something, and we just hit a pothole nobody bothered slowing down for. My whole body bounces hard enough to bring me out of the deep darkness I was floating in a minute ago. Why did they have to wake me up? It was better to be asleep.
No. Not asleep. The throbbing in the back of my head brings everything back all at once. I wasn’t asleep. I was unconscious. Because somebody hit me hard enough to make me that way.
Instinct tells me to keep my eyes closed and stay limp and still as I try to piece things together. Where am I? Who am I with? Why the hell can’t I move my hands or feet?
That last question I can answer easily. I might have a bump on the back of my head—I can’t reach it, but I’m guessing based on how much it hurts—but I’m not totally out of it. They tied me up. They dumped me in a van. At least that’s what I’m guessing it is since I’m stretched out full length and there’s still plenty of room around me when the van hits another bump, and I roll without meaning to. It’s an old van, by the sound of it, creaking and groaning.
It turns out I’m surprisingly sharp when my life is in danger and my head is about to explode.
Who would have a reason to knock me unconscious, tie me up, and throw me into a van? I can only come up with one answer, and it stirs nausea in my stomach. A cold, sick sweat coats the back of my neck when I understand what this is about. Who is behind it.
I guess Ren wasn’t as careful as he thought when hiding us from Rebecca once we escaped that hell on earth. I can’t believe we ever went there to begin with. Another one of River’s brilliant ideas that’s probably going to get me killed. And there I was, having no clue what was really happening. What it was all about. Ren watched his brother die at New Haven. I don’t blame him for wanting revenge. I only wish he had been in his right mind when he decided to launch an attack. Maybe he wouldn’t have launched it at all. Maybe we could have worked toward helping him move past all that trauma and pain.
Instead, these monsters are still out there, doing things like this.
“Stop pretending.” A sharp, nasty voice rings out, surprisingly close to where I’m lying. Male, raspy, like a smoker’s voice. “There’s no way you’re still out cold. Not when we’ve been on the road all this time.”
A second deep male voice adds, “Let her pretend. She won’t be able to pretend for long. Not once Rebecca gets a hold of her.”
Big surprise. They’re taking me back. Back to New Haven, back to Rebecca, back to everything I foolishly told myself we escaped. So long as the group, the compound, and the people behind it survive, there is no escape. I don’t blame the normal people who got suckered into thinking they found what they were looking for—it’s not their fault, even if they have to be blind not to see what’s really happening. I can’t blame them for not being able to leave, even if they do understand who Rebecca really is.
For all I know, plenty of them have tried to leave and are now six feet underground. I’d bet anything on it.
I very much blame people like the ones taking me back. It will be a cold day in hell before I can muster an ounce of sympathy for them. They might be trapped just like everybody else, but they don’t have to take sick joy from it.
“I wonder what Rebecca will do to her first,” one of the men muses with laughter running under his words. Nasty, brutal, barely human. “A few days without food or water should break her down a little.”
“I think she’ll go straight for corporal punishment,” the other man announces, and he’s just as gleeful as his little buddy. “I wonder how many lashes she’ll get with the whip. I hope it’s a lot.”
“She won’t be so full of herself once Rebecca is finished with her.” The two of them share a nice laugh while I do everything I can to pretend they’re not getting to me. That’s the last thing I should show them. My eyes are still closed, and my face is as blank as I can manage.
I need to get out of this, but I can’t imagine how I’ll do it. No way is Rebecca going to let me walk around free now that she’s got her hands on me. I’ll be locked away. Only Ren knows where this place is, and he’s not going to come and rescue me.
How will anybody know what happened?
What a time for me to remember fighting with Dad about that tracker being in me. I guess it doesn’t take a genius to know why that would come to mind right now, as I’m being driven further and further away from my home. Ren thought he was doing the right thing by taking it out, but I really wish he hadn’t as the van bounces down the road, and I feel every single jolt in my joints and my throbbing head. Dad is never going to be able to find me out here.
If I ever get out of this, I’ll listen to him. From now on, if he tells me to do something, I’m going to do it. Obviously, he knows better than I do, since I doubt he would ever get himself into a situation like this. Abducted, taunted, and… whatever Rebecca has in store for me.
“It always feels good when a sinner gets what’s coming to them,” the raspy voice announces, and the two of them laugh again. “I’m just glad I’m here for it. You don’t get to bring a sinner to justice every day.”
“Now, now. Remember. That’s not how we’re supposed to look at this.” There’s still a sick, twisted glee in the other man’s voice. He’s the driver, judging from the position of where the sound comes from. If I was talking to him, I might tell him to slow down a little. Maybe avoid a bump or two. “We’re bringing one of the sheep back to the flock.”
That’s too much. In the middle of all of this, it’s the hypocrisy behind that sentence which breaks my silence. “I’m not one of your sheep.”
All right, maybe I shouldn’t have said it, but what am I supposed to do? Lie here and let them make a joke out of me? At least I’m not whimpering and crying, which I will be damned if I ever do in front of them or anybody else. They haven’t broken me, and they never will. I’m Xander Rossi’s daughter, dammit. The thought stiffens my spine a little and gives me more confidence.
Confidence that dissolves when the men burst out laughing. “Like that matters,” the driver tells me with another laugh that makes me grit my teeth and wish I could snap his neck. “You strayed too close to the flock.”
Right, and they can’t have that. Nobody can know what the flock is doing. That alone makes me dangerous to them.
Although, even if every single person in that damn cult or whatever the hell it is told me this was all about keeping them safe, I would still tell them they were full of shit. This is vengeance. We got in the way of Rebecca’s plans. We complicated things. She wants revenge, and she’s going to start with me because I was stupid enough to practically hand myself over to her. No, I couldn’t have known anybody was aware of the cabin, but I should have guessed. I can’t put anything past these people. I need to be smarter.
Though if nobody finds me, I guess there’s really no point in getting smarter since I doubt they’ll let me live for long. Long enough to make me regret ever stepping foot on the compound, for sure, but then? Who’s to say?
Our progress slows, but my pulse doubles in speed. There are voices outside the van now, plenty of them. People standing around, curious about what is happening, who’s being brought in. We’ve arrived. We’re at the compound, getting closer to Rebecca all the time. This is it.
“You better hope she’s feeling merciful,” the driver warns while his friend laughs. “Though I doubt it. She doesn’t like being inconvenienced, and you have been a big inconvenience for all of us.”
What, am I supposed to apologize? I can barely bite back a remark. Why waste the energy? All they’d do is turn things around on me anyway and make a joke out of me.
It’s only when we come to a stop that true panic starts seeping into my blood. No matter how I try, I can’t help my panicky breathing—short, sharp breaths, barely enough to keep me conscious. There’s no hope of running for it, even if they untied my ankles. They’d catch me before I got more than a couple of hundred feet away. They might even make a game out of it.
I won’t give them the satisfaction of humiliating me. But what’s the alternative? Rolling over and playing dead? That’s basically what I’m doing when my captors open the door at the back of the van, so blinding floodlights illuminate the space and make me wince, squeezing my eyes shut against it.
“Don’t even think about trying any of your tricks.” Now that we’re face-to-face, I see the driver and the scar running from over his right eye down the side of his face. It’s not easy to look at, but I force myself to do it, staring at him in silence. What did he do to earn that?
“She still thinks she’s getting out of this,” his friend predicts. They’re both laughing as they drag me from the van, letting me drop onto the ground with no way of bracing myself or catching my fall. I land hard enough to knock the breath out of my lungs, and there’s one wild, terrified moment where I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe again, where I can’t suck in any air. I can only gasp while my captors laugh louder than ever. All I can make out is their shadows looming over me, black against a sky so bright it’s almost white. I hope I get to see them die. I hope I get to hear their screams before they do.
“What are you waiting for? Bring her to me, now.”
Nobody needs to tell me who that sharp voice belongs to. The air I finally manage to pull into my lungs feels icy cold now, but I do my best to be strong as I’m pulled to my feet, then dragged, thanks to the fact that my ankles are still bound. I deliberately let my body sag between the two men, making it more of a chore to move me, but that childish trick doesn’t get me very far. Before I know it, I’m deposited at the feet of none other than Rebecca herself.
“Look at you.” The toes of her leather shoes—beaten and worn—are only inches from my face before I’m pulled up to my knees by the men standing around us. It’s a good thing they moved me when they did, since I wouldn’t put it past her to kick me in the face.
“That’s right,” one of the men mutters. “You should be on your knees in front of her. In front of all of us.”
“That will be enough, Joshua.” I can’t tell if Rebecca sounds tired or bored. “There will be no need for added commentary. This is between me and our guest. I’m sure there are chores you’re behind on after your journey.”
It feels wrong, the rush of satisfaction that comes from hearing him put in his place. The way he stammers behind me is even better. “Don’t you need?—”
“I will let you know what I need, and at the moment, I need you to return to your assigned duties. Both of you,” she adds, jerking her chin. “Go ahead.”
As she speaks, she lowers herself into a crouch, only stopping when we’re face-to-face. She’s still got that whole Little House on the Prairie vibe going on with her clothes and the long braid that dangles over her shoulder.
I’m looking into the face of evil, but I can’t look away. I won’t let myself do it. The people who lived here, were abused here, and died here didn’t get the luxury of looking away. If this is the last thing I ever do, I’ll be damned if I end up crying or whimpering or begging for mercy that will never come.
All I can do is stare at her, watching as her thin lips twitch in what might look like a smile if she had a soul. It comes off as more of a grotesque parody, something rotten, chilling. “So. We meet again.” She actually manages to sound almost pleasant. “I did so hope we would see each other one last time.”
“Do you have any idea who my father is and what he is going to do to you if you put a finger on me?”
“I’m well aware of who your father is and how he tried to bring our little community down before. It is you who doesn’t understand the kind of power I hold, my dear.”
When I don’t respond except to glare at her, she stands and clears her throat. “A few lashes from the whip will loosen you up,” she decides. I barely have time to process this before two pairs of hands grab me under my arms and haul me to my feet. I don’t even know where they came from. They must have been standing guard by the door. Between the two men, I’m practically carried to one of the longhouses. It doesn’t matter that I go dead weight on them. They’re too strong and probably too eager to watch me be punished.
They can’t be talking about actual whipping. I refuse to believe it.
Turns out, it doesn’t matter what I refuse to believe. There’s no stopping them from taking me inside, where the windows are covered in cardboard and there’s hardly a trace of fresh air. It’s stale in here, but what’s worse is the underlying stench of blood and piss.
It’s when they untie my wrists and force me face-first over a bench that I finally get it. They’re not bluffing. Not when one of them wraps leather cuffs around my wrists to hold my arms in place against the bench’s underside. “No,” I grunt, fighting to get up and failing when a hand in the middle of my back shoves me down.
Then it lifts my hoody, exposing my back. Sheer terror blooms in my chest and comes out as a throaty scream. “No! Don’t do this!”
I’m talking to myself.
And once the whipping begins, once my skin splits and white-hot pain consumes my every thought, my voice finally breaks. Not that it matters.
There’s nobody around to hear me who actually cares.