Thing One looked like his head was about to burst, his eyes wide, teeth gritted, but he said nothing. He had no time to.
Thing Two continued, manic from the coke he’d snorted not ten minutes before. He failed to see the irony. “It’s ten in the goddamn morning and you’re fuckin’ drinking whiskey like a fuckin’ alky. That’s probably why you can’t remember that your mama’s been here exactly two times in the last fifteen years and she’s on a fast track to goddamn dementia.” He scoffed, turning away from Thing Two. “I think we’ll be alright.”
Thing One glared at him, sweat beading on his brow line, the veins in his neck bulging. He quickly snatched up his much smaller counterpart by the neck, yanking him up from the shitty sofa, and snatched a pistol from a holster in his waistband, shoving the cold steel into Thing One’s temple.
Thing Two’s bravado quickly drained, his face going ashen. “What the f—”
Thing One smacked him upside the head with the barrel. “Listen to me, you meth-mouthed piece of worthless shit. You’ll keep my mother’s name out of your fuckin’ mouth, you hear me?”
“I didn’t say her name,” Thing Two whined, and he caught the end of the barrel again. He hugged himself, whimpering.
“Clean this house while I’m gone, or your brains end up as just another fuckin’ stain on that wall. If you want to live to get your next paycheck, to get your next hit, you’ll do as I say, you hear me?”
Thing Two didn’t even take a second to hesitate before he nodded his head. “Okay, okay, dude. Chill the fuck out. C’mon.”
Thing One pressed the gun just a little harder into the man’s scabby cheek, bringing out another pathetic whimper, before returning the gun to its holster. He stared coldly at Thing Two, his broad shoulders heaving up and down with each heavy breath, and then turned and walked toward the door.
He glanced back momentarily, his hand on the door handle, and he barked, “You keep away from them girls, motherfucker! I’m not kidding. The bosses wanna keep that new girl relatively clean for the members.”
“What about the other ones?” Thing Two asked, his brows high, his tone hopeful.
Thing One narrowed his eyes at the rail thin meth-head on the couch. “Don’t fuckin’ touch ’em, Terry. You got a house to clean.”
Thing Two held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine.”
Thing One stared long and hard at the man before he made his way outside, slamming the squeaky door closed behind him. He scowled at some Lululemon bitch walking her dog as he dug the keys out of his pocket. She hurried on, and then he stopped, tilted his head, and watched her tight ass walk away. He bit his bottom lip, shook his head, and continued on to the beat-up van.
Thing Two made sure to watch him leave through the cracks of the tattered blinds, and once the van pulled out of the driveway and drove off, he yelled, “Fuck you!”
He smiled wickedly, a dark change in his eyes as he turned back toward the living room, eyes finding the door that led to the basement . . . to satisfaction . . . to control.
He knew he had a few hours to play. Thing One had business with their bosses and that was never a quick ordeal. Plenty of time to have his way with a few of them.
Everyone held their breath in The Cell. The silence was jarring. Orion could hear her own pulse rattling between her ears as she watched Jaclyn standing on Shelby’s back, with a hand cupping her ear against the ceiling. Shelby, being The Cell’s newest tenant, still had innocence in her eyes. She still had her youth. And, of course, the fear. But she was bigger than Patricia had been, and much bigger than Allison was, so she made for a good base. No matter that Orion had to pretty much threaten violence if she didn’t participate.
Jaclyn’s forehead crinkled as she focused hard on the sounds, the silence. Waiting for a cue. The sound panels and concrete kept their screams in, but they still let some sounds through: heavy footsteps, doors closing . . . they even heard a crash once.
Orion’s fists were clenched at her sides, her head thumping from swallowing down fear. There was no room for fear here. Just the plan. The plan was her guide, and, live or die, she would see it through. She would not spend another second in this hell. It would work or it wouldn’t. She couldn’t let fear get in the way.
Jaclyn moved her attention from the ceiling to Orion, and she nodded.
The pounding went away, calmness settling over Orion, strange and unnatural. She’d forgotten that calm was possible for a human being. Or, at least, one like her.
Then again, she didn’t consider herself human anymore. She had felt her spirit leave long ago, fading away along with any emotion other than anger. She didn’t cry anymore, hadn’t in years. Feeling was for the foolish.
She reached up to cover the camera in the corner with her hands, the blinking red light taunting Orion as it had for the past ten years.
Jaclyn climbed down from Shelby’s back, the chain on her ankle rattling as she did so, and huffed out a breath. “Anybody else feel like they’re gonna have a heart attack?” she asked, flashing a weak grin.
Orion had become accustomed to that terrible sound over the years—the metallic jangle of the chain hitting the floor. Sometimes, it was all she could focus on, and it boiled the anger inside her. Reminded her of her captivity. It was the only constant, really.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Orion didn’t look at the empty ankle cuff laid out on the bloodstained floor beside her. What was the point in that? Mary Lou was gone, and that’s all there was to it. Sure, she could’ve fought for her, but right along with her spirit, Orion’s fight left her long before that day two months ago, when she unwittingly said goodbye to Mary Lou for the last time. Maybe, in her heart, she knew it was coming—with that cough that rattled in her chest like death ringing a doorbell—but she didn’t allow herself to think it could be true. But it spurned in her the desire to fight, once and for all, and for that she felt forever indebted to Mary Lou.
Orion dropped her hands, the joints of her shoulders groaning from the unnatural position she’d had them in. She barely noticed it. Pain didn’t mean much anymore.
“You guys ready for this?” she whispered, glancing at the women wearing little girls’ nightgowns like living ghosts. They’d retired the medical gowns for something different. It was their way of trying to make them look younger. Make them more appetizing. But they all knew their womanhood was their death sentence. If they didn’t do something, they’d be nothing more than a stain on this floor, and new girls would be wearing ankle chains and scars. It was only a matter of time before they’d meet the same fate as Mary Lou, and all the other women before her.
Jaclyn was the first to nod. Confident. Cross-legged on the ground to hide the sharpened toothbrush in her lap.
They had collected things over the years, the Things got sloppy, didn’t notice one less toothbrush to be collected. A pen gone from their shirt pockets.
Shelby nodded too, not as confident as Jaclyn, of course. She still had hope of another way, still carried a belief that one day police would come bursting in to save them. Her eyes were clouded with fear, reservations. Her grip on the small, thin piece of metal in her right hand was limp, unsure, but she held it nonetheless.