Abby
“Hey, Sandy. Are you awake?”
“Yeah. How are you holding up? They’ve been picking on you. It can’t be easy.”
She’s not wrong, but it’s nothing compared to what Conor’s put me through in the past. I’ll take lying in this cage in the dark over anything else he could do to me.
Plus, before when I had to retreat into myself to survive, all my dreams and fantasies were just that…
fantasy. Now I know better. My wildest dreams are real, and I just have to make it long enough for Misha to come for me.
“I’m okay,” I whisper. “I’ve been through worse. I wanted to ask you, though. How many women have come through since you’ve been here?”
“Probably fifty to a hundred? I try to pay as much attention as possible when the lights are on. As much as I can without drawing attention to myself, anyway.”
The seed of an idea that formed as soon as I thought of Misha and calmed myself has blossomed into an undeniable vision that I know will be my purpose in life.
Even though I had no idea what horrors Conor was inflicting on women other than myself, guilt that I should have…
I don’t know. Figured it out? Suspected?
Called the police, although I’m sure a significant portion of the force is in his back pocket?
Done something at least, to try to expose him sooner. That guilt will stay with me forever.
“I’m sorry I didn’t try to ring any alarms sooner. I could’ve—”
“You couldn’t have done anything, Abby. He would have killed you the moment you got even a whiff of what he actually does. You did the best thing you could, which was to survive.”
The conviction in her voice is unmistakable even though she speaks softly. Hopefully, I’ll fully believe her one day, but for now, her assurances mean more than she knows.
“Do you think you remember any of their faces? I know it’s hard to see all the way to the end of the room.”
She’s quiet for a while, almost long enough that I wonder if she’s fallen asleep.
“I think I remember a lot of them. The men who bring them—it isn’t always Conor—like to taunt, so they say their names. I guess they don’t think any of us will ever be free, so who cares if we know who’s down here with us.”
“When we get out of here, we’re going to find them.” The conviction in my voice surprises me, but it’s the truth. I can feel it. This is what I’m meant to do, and I’m done being sad about what’s happened to me. I’m surviving this, and I’m doing whatever it takes to help these women.
“How?”
“The man who’s coming for me…he’s one of the good ones. He’s got a lot of resources, and I know he’ll help. It’ll be a lot of work. We’ll need to work on the IT side of things to start tracking down Conor’s customers, and build a safe place for recovery—”
“With female staff,” Sandy interjects, and I can tell she’s getting excited.
“Definitely. Plenty of group spaces, as well as private areas. We can have counselors, guided meditation classes…”
“Self-defense classes!”
“Shh!” Another woman chimes in when Sandy gets too loud, but I can tell she’s not mad. Just concerned we’ll draw unwanted attention from the guards monitoring the room.
“We can stock a big library and help with online classes.”
“Maybe we can have a pool?”
“Oh, a pool would be awesome. Water aerobics classes—”
“I was thinking more just floating and baking in the sun,” she teases.
“That, too.”
“It’ll be an expensive undertaking, especially considering the medical support a lot of women will need.”
“Don’t worry about that. It won’t be an issue. But I will need an operations manager, and it sounds like you have lots of ideas. How do you feel about moving to Florida?”
“They’re coming in thirty seconds!” Our time-keeping friend is never wrong, and as she warns us of our impending visit and meal delivery, I’m distracted by the glorious purpose running through my veins.
“I would fucking love to move to Florida,” Sandy whispers defiantly. “There’s nothing for me here. Speaking of which, we need a legal team to make sure any woman who wants a divorce or to win custody of her children has support.”
I don’t respond as the door opens, already preparing myself to dream of my women’s retreat while Conor taunts and degrades me.
He doesn’t have to force me to spread myself for him every single time he joins a meal delivery, but he revels in it.
Still, it could be worse. It has been worse.
And it’ll be worse than even I can imagine when Misha gets ahold of him.
Doctors, lawyers, chefs, personal trainers and defense classes…a haven for women. We can help them get jobs, degrees if they want…I know Ellie will want to help, and with her volunteering experience she’s probably got a million useful contacts in Thunder Bay.
The lights flip on, but they’re immediately dimmed, and I’m pulled out of my reverie by both the change in routine and a familiar voice, speaking softly as if to not startle the group.
“Ladies, my name is Mila. I have a team of women with me to get you out of here. You’re all going to be okay.”
Sobs of disbelief burst from some of the cages, with shocked silence emanating from others. Beside me, Sandy immediately turns to me.
“Do you know her? We’re really safe?”
“Oh, I know her. And we’re completely safe.”
As Mila approaches my cage with a master key and her team begins swiftly freeing the others, I see the murderous gleam in her eyes. She winks at me, and I laugh. Sandy looks at me like I’m crazy.
“We’re safe, but everyone involved in this operation is a dead man walking.”