Chapter 6
six
The Merciless
“What’s happening?”
I jerk my head up, but the rest of me is immobile.
I tug at my arms, but they’re secured tightly, and when I look down, I see that I’m bound inside a straitjacket and strapped to a bed.
It’s similar to a hospital bed, but the railing along the side is thicker metal, like they think someone could tear the bed apart if they wanted to free themselves badly enough.
Instead of bright overhead fluorescents like a hospital, this room is lit with a strip of warm lighting around the ceiling, more of a security light.
I’m alone in the room, but a tinted glass window takes up most of one wall, reminiscent of a hospital nursery where new parents can look through at their babies, decide whether to keep them for a few years or give them up now.
Ironic that someone would go to all this trouble for a girl whose own parents didn’t even want her. If they didn’t want me, who would? If Julian knew, maybe he’d reconsider. Maybe he’ll toss me back, consider me defective when he finds out I’ve already been passed over.
Probably not though. He’s already done the work to get me here.
I see shadows moving on the other side of the dark glass, but I can’t make out their faces.
“Let me go,” I cry, yanking at my bindings.
An intercom crackles on, startling me. “Dr. Augustine will be right there,” says a female voice.
I don’t know why it startles me, realizing there are women here too, but it does. I lay back on the thin pillow, wondering if she’s here by choice, or if she’s like me.
Stolen.
Maybe it’s Eternity, and she’ll work in secret to get me out.
Or maybe she’ll see what I’ve become, what I did to her brother and her family, and she’ll say I deserve what’s coming.
If anyone could work their way up, it would be her.
In the years since she was taken, she could have gone from one of the girls to the head of the whole operation.
The door opens with a strange whoosh, like the chamber is pressurized. I file that away for later, when I’ll try to find out if I’m underground. For now, I’m focused on the figure stepping through the doorway.
A man in a white lab coat steps through and pushes a button to close the door behind him. The hallway is lit, but I can’t make out anything useful before the door slides closed.
“It’s good to see you up and about,” the doctor says—Dr. Augustine, I assume. He looks to be in his fifties, with slightly receding light brown hair streaked with the first signs of grey and glasses perched on his nose. He’s medium height and build, with a bit of middle age spread developing.
I could definitely take him.
“Let me up,” I growl, yanking at my arms.
“Let’s just see how your vitals are today,” he says, his tone pleasant as he takes a seat on the wheeled stool beside the bed. He rolls it closer with his feet, then presses a stethoscope to my chest, then my lungs.
“Everything looks good,” he says cheerfully. “Now that you’re up, I’d like to do a more thorough exam. Then we’ll get you something to eat. How does that sound?”
“Good,” I admit, dropping my head back on the pillow. My stomach is absolutely roaring with hunger, and my struggle has already worn me out. “What is this place?”
Dr. Augustine turns to pick up a tube from a tray, dumping clear jelly along his fingers. “You’re in the infirmary right now,” he says, pulling back my blankets. “You’ll feel a little pressure here, but try to relax.”
I realize a second too late that I’m not wearing anything under the blankets.
My knees squeeze automatically, but they’re bound to the railings along the sides of the bed too.
I gasp as the doctor opens me with his cold fingers, using his other hand to turn on a little light on his head like a dentist, but he’s peering between my legs instead of my mouth. Rage and humiliation burn through me.
“Don’t touch me,” I bark.
“I assume you’re not a virgin,” he says, pushing two fingers deep inside me.
“That’s none of your business,” I hiss, my body quaking at the cold intrusion, my core tightening in protest.
He clucks his tongue and presses on my belly with his free hand, his fingers hitting something inside me that makes me yelp. “The IUD says enough,” he says, pressing his fingers in a slow circle inside me, pushing on my belly all the while.
“I don’t have an IUD,” I say, spitting the words.
“You certainly do,” he says, poking at the thing that made me yelp before.
It’s both painful and startling, and I suck in a breath through my teeth, seething.
Tears of humiliation blur my vision as he continues the thorough examination.
I have no idea when or how, but I’m sure the guys are behind that.
Angel was all worried about getting me pregnant one time, and then he never mentioned it again.
They never use protection, and yet, I haven’t gotten pregnant.
They must have somehow inserted it without my knowledge, though I can’t imagine how.
Either that, or the doctor did it before I woke up and is pretending otherwise, though I don’t know why he’d do that.
“I would remove it to show you, but you’re going to need that here,” he says. “At least for a while.”
A cold shudder of horror goes through me, and he finally drags his slimy fingers out of me and wipes them on my pubic hair.
“What the hell does that mean?” I demand. “What exactly are you doing here?
Dr. Augustine stands and goes to the sink in the corner.
“I think you’ll do very well here,” he says while he washes.
“The men generally appreciate young and tight more than beautiful, but you’ve got all three.
And a natural redhead to boot! You’ll be quite popular, especially while you’re new.
Once they break you in, we can discuss other options to attract clients.
For now, that should be enough. Let’s see…
How does three months sound for your next appointment? ”
I splutter with rage, trying to comprehend how he can be so calm, so cavalier.
How he can act as if I want to be here, as if I want clients.
As if I wasn’t kidnapped and drugged and forced to come here.
Like I’m not strapped down to a bed against my will, but chose to come here and do sex work voluntarily.
“Let me go,” I snarl, unable to come up with a clever response.
The bleak reality of my situation is only beginning to sink in, and no words can capture the stark fear and horror of the moment.
I consider threatening him, telling him that he won’t get away with it, that my guys won’t stop until they find me.
But how can they? No one knows where I am, and if they couldn’t find Eternity, why would I think they could find me?
“Please,” I whisper, my throat tight. “I just want to go home.”
“This is your home now,” he says. “Welcome to the asylum.”
When he’s gone, I let myself fall apart.
I slam my head down on the pillow over and over, and I scream.
I tear at my limbs, trying to free myself from the impossible bonds.
When I’m too weak to continue, I fall back and sob, my stomach aching with the violence of each convulsive burst, clenching on emptiness.
I’m unable to curl into a ball the way I want to, unable to hold even myself.
And I miss Raphael. I just want to hold him and cry the way I used to, in my room at Aunt Lucy’s, secret tears that wouldn’t be a burden to her.
At last, I fall into a dull sleep.
When I wake, the door is sliding open again. This time, a woman and a man pushing a wheelchair enter. She’s wearing scrubs, and he’s dressed casually.
“Time for dinner,” sings out the woman, who looks like someone’s matronly aunt in a Disney movie. “I heard you were throwing quite a tantrum down here. We won’t have any of that tonight, will we?”
“No,” I say despondently. Already I’m scheming, thinking of whether I can catch her off guard. But I know I need food first if I want to have any hope of fighting anyone again. So, when she undoes my bindings, I climb from the bed, my legs shaking so hard I can barely move.
“Oh dear,” she says. “You’re not dressed. Can’t have you parading around the mess hall in your birthday suit, can we?”
She bustles to the closet and pulls it open, revealing what must be the asylum uniform—beige pants and a matching top with a v-neck and short sleeves.
They have no pockets, an elastic waistband, and the material is thick and scratchy.
I pull it on with no complaint, then sink into the wheelchair as directed, my heart racing and my head spinning like I might faint.
As they push me out of the room, I take in everything, trying to memorize it even in my foggy, starvation state.
The first thing I note is that my window tinting is only on the inside—from out here, the room can be clearly seen.
So can all the other rooms we pass, each one empty save one.
I crane my neck, trying to see who’s in the bed, but the woman clucks her tongue.
“Nosy Nellies get no supper,” she scolds, and I quickly turn my face away.
“Please,” I blurt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t,” she says. “But we have to give people their privacy. You wouldn’t like people staring in at you like a zoo exhibit, would you?”
I remember the doctor shoving his fingers inside me, and I imagine people just walking by, able to see clearly through the glass.
“No,” I mutter. “Please don’t put me back there.”
“That’s a first infraction,” she says, walking along beside us and marking something on a small clipboard hanging around her neck. I see a name tag there too—Patricia.