“How long I have I been gone?” Time’s vanished in the boiler room. It doesn’t exist, just blends.
“Three days I think,” Tara mutters as she continues to wash my hair, the grime from my body. Dirty water circles the drain. “They are getting ready to sell you,” she whispers, keeping her eyes on the door. A low whimper escapes me.
I close my eyes, praying to all the gods I don’t believe in to help me, trying to send a telepathic message for Malachi to find me.
I need you now more than ever. Please.
Tara re-dresses me in white underwear set and silk gown. They clearly don't care about the bruises on my skin, that my ribs show, how hollow my cheekbones look.
Walking down a narrow hallway, back to the room we were in earlier, there's fresh soup and bread waiting for me. My final meal. I push it toward Tara. “Take it. I can’t eat.”
Her eyes widen and she breathes in the fresh tomato and basil smell. Looking around like a naughty child, she grabs she spoon before taking her sip, then moans as it touches her tongue, eyes fluttering closed. Then it dawns on me.
“Why are you here?”
Tara doesn’t look at me. Her body tenses before she raises her eyes to mine.
“They are selling me too,” she whispers, a single tear rolling down her cheek. I grab her hand, and we both become lost in our world.
When the door opens, I gasp as a woman walks in wearing white trousers and matching blouse. Her black hair is swept up in a ponytail, make up subtle but enhancing every one of her features perfectly. She is just as beautiful as when I saw her at the compound.
I hear Tara’s soft whimper, see her head bowed, whole body shaking.
I stay standing, looking at the woman. “I know you.” She smiles.
“Yes, and you’ve caused me a lot of trouble.”
I shake my head, confused. “I have never spoken to you. I saw you that one time.”
“No, but it's your entire fault! I've lost everything because of you!” she spits, slapping me across the face. Before I can blink, she attacks like a wild animal, pouncing on me. She throws a punch, catching my mouth, before grabbing my hands and tying them in cable ties.
“Time for a history lesson.” She breathes heavily as she takes a seat opposite me.
“There was a girl, named Iris whose mother loved drugs more than her. It's a sad story, a million like it, right? You know.”
I nod because I do. Ark Hill estate was filled with the same sad stories. Hell, Jack had been the same. His choice may not have been drugs, but it was an addiction all the same.
“The little girl’s stomach would hurt from not being fed, and the kids would pick on her because she smelled and wore dirty clothes. Kids can be cruel.”
I knew what it was like, to wear clothes too small for you, dirty. How the cruel words would haunt you in the night, how the children wouldn’t play with you, run away. Because even at that age they knew you were different, that you didn’t live the way they did. They didn’t know what it was, but it was enough to make you stand out.
“Laurie, the little girl next door, she had a big brother to stick up for her, to watch out for her. No one could say mean things to her because Lance would beat them up.”
Lance? Wasn’t that the guard’s name?
She smiles, nodding. “You’ve met him. That looks like his handywork. He always did love the ribs, knows which place to hurt the most. He’s always been a little messed up. He killed his sister because she tried to escape the estate.” Her smile grows with every word. She’s crazy, and not the good kind.
“Back to the story. One day, I came home, and the bitch was dead, lying in pools of her own vomit, elastic around her arm and a needle lying next to her.”
Images of Jack fly through my mind; the last time I had seen him the morgue. I can’t imagine being young and walking in to find your mother like that. No matter how much she hated her, a part would have still cared.
“Oh, don’t be sad. I was happy she was dead; no more fearing what was hiding behind her front door, what the nights would bring. If her pimp wanted another taste.”
My breath shudders at her words. I can’t help picturing her younger self living in a rundown flat, scared of the shadows that played against her walls, the creek in the floorboards, knowing the danger they brought. She was just a child.
Her brows rise as she sees something in my eyes.
“Aw, that’s cute. You are, in fact, as sweet as he thinks.” Sarcasm drips off each of her words.
“I was sent to a foster home. Too messed up, the family gave me up within the week. That was the first home I remember, the Spencers. They remembered me when I went back a few years ago. They were nice people, held each other's hands as I slit their throats.” She shrugs, as if talking about something normal, like the weather. “There were fourteen homes in total.” She taps her chin as if thinking, before nodding. “Yeah, that’s right, then I was sent to a kid’s home, what with my angry outbursts and running away. Caseworker said I was acting out, didn’t know how to accept love even though I craved it. Mum had screwed me up more than they thought.” She rolls her eyes, then a frown appears. “Did you know I was eleven when I realised the men that came in weren’t my daddies? It wasn’t until I was fifteen that I knew the same men didn’t touch everyone like they did me. I mean, who knew how real families lived, that some parents were nice?”
I can see the truth in her eyes. She still doesn’t understand that this place isn’t how you’re meant to treat women, girls. That it’s wrong on the deepest level.
She shrugs without care as she continues. “I got out of there when my brother came for me. I always knew who my dad was, so a DNA test confirmed it.”
She smiles a real smile. “He walked in, and I’ll be honest, he scared the shit out of me, so intimidating, even dressed in a suit. There was something intense about him. Powerful. It was as if the world stopped in his presence. He told them he was taking me right there and then. They said he had to go through forms and court hearings, but that night I walked out with him, and he took me home. He was the first person who never lied to me.” Her whole face changes, softness appearing, her eyes losing that hard edge. My mind is racing, trying to listen to her story while putting everything in place. Everything in me knows who she is describing.
“Malachi. He’s the one who picked you up.” I draw in a deep breath. “You’re his sister?”
She claps her hands. “You’re smarter than you look.” Then her face changes to a weird expression, conveying sadness and glee, as if she isn’t sure what she is feeling. “He will make a great dad one day. He won’t let anyone hurt them. He makes sure the monsters stay away.” I pull in a painful breath; tears sting my eyes and one falls before I can stop it.
Her lip curls. “Not with you! I don’t like you!” She sneers. “I wanted a big brother, and now I have one, only to I find out that while I had been living in hell, he was protecting someone else. You!”
She swings at me, catching my cheekbone and sending me to the floor.
“He was my big brother, not yours! It should have been me he was protecting.” Her foot lands in my stomach, making me heave.