Chapter 22 #2
Their hair is pulled into picture perfect ballet buns, every strand secured in place. The spotlights catch the shine of blonde, brunette, black, and auburn hair alike, altering them into living masterpieces.
In the back of them, an enormous painted backdrop extends from floor to ceiling.
A moonlit lake radiates below a silver sky as dark trees line the shoreline and soft mist floats across the painted water.
The scenery is breathtaking, creating the deception that the dancers are standing on the edge of a magical forest lake instead of inside a decaying theater.
The stage has been meticulously converted.
Artificial reeds frame the edges while clusters of white flowers overflow from thoughtfully placed arrangements.
Pale blue lighting washes around the floor, creating the mirage of moonlight mirroring off water, the silvery light rippling across the stage with every movement of the dancers.
Everything has been designed to the illusion of a fairy tale.
And for a moment, it almost works.
Until I look into the dancers’ eyes, utterly hollow with plastered smiles.
Then I notice the cables.
Thin lines fade into the darkness above, attached to concealed harnesses beneath their costumes. From a distance, the women seem weightless, floating beneath the light like porcelain dolls suspended on invisible strings.
The auctioneer leers at the ballerinas as they are about to begin their performance.
Bile burns in the back of my throat as I take in the ghastly spectacle.
Hooks are embedded into their arms for added control connecting to the theater’s rigging lines. With every step, every turn, the metal bites deeper. Blood trickles down their bodies onto the stage floor as they continue to dance. Their own blood soaking through their ballet slippers.
They are literal puppets dangling by cables and hooks, and I have no doubt the doctor is the one pulling the strings.
The buyers observe from their seats like kings deciding the fate of their subjects.
The auctioneer steps into the spotlight dressed entirely in black, his silence as deliberate as everything else in the room.
A leather-bound ledger rests open on a small podium beside him.
In the balconies above, each buyer holds a numbered paddle.
Not a single person speaks. No bids are called out. The only sounds are the music, the ballerina’s choreography and their quiet suffering.
Then the first paddle rises.
The auctioneer hurriedly marks something in the ledger.
No sooner does it happen, another paddle. A few moments later, another paddle follows and he adds another note.
The music swells.
My pulse kicks into overdrive.
The stage blurs at the edges.
White costumes become white walls.
The chandeliers become fluorescent lights.
And suddenly all I can see is blinding white light.
Immediately, I shield my eyes from the bright spotlights on me. A man is holding onto my arm, guiding me across this acrylic-looking stage.
“We have a rare treat for you tonight, gentlemen. This one just so happens to be a sorority sister plucked from UM. She’s a freshman, and you know what that means—a tight pussy with an even tighter body.”
My eyes adjust to the lighting, and I see little rooms with green lights on the outside of them. I can’t see inside them, though, because they are tinted. They are stacked like a stadium, and there have to be over 100 of them.
The announcer says, “Let’s give the buyers a little taste of this special purchase.
” The guard holding me, who is wearing a mask to hide his identity, pulls me to the side of him and turns me around so my backside is facing the buyers.
He steps around and kicks my legs open wide, backing up and pushing my head down so everything is on display, hence the crotchless panties.
In a stealth-like movement, he spreads me open with his fingers and dips one inside.
After one finger is in, he shoves another finger in my ass while standing on the side of me.
“As you can see with your own eyes, each hole is intact and tight,” the announcer says giddily. I black out what the announcer says next and tune in to the last part of it: “5 million. Wow, 10 million, gentlemen. 15 million. Sold.”
My mouth gapes open, and I shake my head. Is that how much they think a human life is worth?
The memory shatters.
I blink hard.
The stage swims back into focus.
The dancers are still smiling and bound by invisible handcuffs.
Fury takes root inside me, and at my shoulder Tyler is stationary.
My instincts scream at me to move, to end this now, but we can’t.
Not yet. We don’t know who is armed and who isn’t.
We’re outnumbered with our targets dispersed throughout the theater.
If we rush in, that mistake could cost innocent lives, including our own.
They’re scoring them. Ranking them. Buying them.
The ballerinas continue dancing, unaware or perhaps painfully aware that every elegant turn or extension is being scrutinized.
From their boxes, the men observe which woman they will own by the end of the night.
Another paddle rises.
The auctioneer writes again.
Tyler’s hand closes into a fist before relaxing again.
“What is he doing?” I whisper.
Tyler doesn’t take his eyes off the stage.
“Tallying the votes.”
The word lands like a stone in my chest.
The auctioneer continues marking his ledger as the performance unfolds.
By the end of the night, one of the women will be chosen as the prima ballerina.
Not because she’s the most talented, because three men selected her as their favorite.
The longer I watch, the more disturbing it becomes.
The buyers are engrossed with rapt attention.
The auctioneer’s eyes sway, hypnotized.
And all I can think is that these women are being showcased like a priceless collectible doll in a glass cabinet.
Eight women remade into marionettes.
All forced into someone else’s idea of perfection.
The music stops.
The ballerinas hold their final positions as the curtain drifts shut.
All I hear is my heart hammering.
Then the curtain unveils the stage again.
The prima ballerina is still suspended above the stage, but her costume has changed.
An exact replica of the gown she wore before, only black.
The stage lights bathe the crystals in the fabric as the music begins once more.
Her solo is conducted with remarkable control as she ensnares the entire theater.
Above us, the buyers sit mesmerized, all adorning a sinister look in their eyes.
Within arm’s reach Tyler crouches, his body apprehensive, contemplating.
I crouch next to him, my muscles primed for whatever comes next.
Something lurks just beyond the edge of the moment.
I can feel it.
The music threads through the room, winding itself around my nerves.
The hairs on my arms stand up.
My intuition is warning me that this isn’t over.
The performance was never the main event.
It was the setup, a distraction.
Something far worse lurking in the dark.
The buyers sit forward in their seats.
The prima ballerina is nearing the end of her routine.
The final act is about to commence; I can feel it.
I just don’t know what it will be, but it already feels as if it’s in motion.