Lost Boy (8 page)

December 20th

The blue pill never took my memories of it all and it's not making this easier. I punch Stuart again. He screams out. He's screaming for show. He rarely makes a sound when hit. We're in the room next to hers. She has to be awake by now and listening.

I push away the fear she feels, or the fact that the minute she was in trouble, she messaged me. I hit him again. He winces with that one and I know I hit too hard, but I don’t apologize. I hit again. He cries out and it's genuine. I'm hurting him but I don’t stop, I hit again. He laughs almost, when he cries out loud again. The guys holding him up give me death stares. They think I'm taking it too far. They don’t know Stuart.

Jane shakes her head, "He's had enough. If you hurt him anymore than that, he's going to fight back. He'll hate himself if the rage takes him and he hurts you."

I step back, trying to push the anger down. I'm breathing heavily. Stuart shakes his head and dunks it into the sink of water. He comes back up, bleeding from below his eye. He grins at me and starts the sobs for show. The two guys drag him from the room and down the hallway past her room. I walk behind him. When they get farther down the hall, I open her door with the bright lights on in the hallway. I see her squint in the dark. I raise the tranquilizer gun and shoot her in the arm with a dart. She doesn’t move or cry out. She is just like Stuart said she would be; she is resorting back into her survival mode. The four-hour dart will make her think she's slept for days but it's been hours. The deprivation of her senses also speeds up the time. 24 hours in a cell, fearing for your life, is like a week in the real world. It will speed everything else up.

Jane's heels click on the floor as she walks up, "She's out on the camera. Get the wraps."

Two women grab my girl's sleeping body. They clean her, then wrap her in seaweed and mud, and put her in the steam room. She has an IV for fluids but only enough to survive. They need to make her weak and exhausted by dehydrating her and using the wraps and saunas to make her thinner than she is. It's all smoke and mirrors. The mud is clean but it makes her skin feel gritty and gross.

She is put back into the cell and closed in. It's been eight hours. She thinks days, no doubt.

When we close the cell again, I stay inside with her. I sit in the dark and wonder when she'll wake up. I can smell her urine in the corner. I fucking hate this cell, always have.

Her lips smack in the dark. She's thirsty. She is having a hard time swallowing. She is probably freaking out, feeling like she might die.

I don’t move or make a sound.

She slaps and rubs something on the cement. Stuart starts screaming again. He's shouting and sobbing. He is screaming at them so hard, his words are barely distinguishable. I can feel the air in the cell get tense. Her body makes noises like she's panicking.

"Please God. Please save him. Please make them stop," she whispers into the darkness. I decide this would be a great time to scare her worse. She's already freaking out.

I move a leg along the floor.

"Who's there?" she whispers.

I let a little chuckle out.

"Who are you?" her tone sounds like she's terrified.

I smile bitterly and mutter, "Emalyn Spicer. Such an interesting name. What do you know about your life before Emalyn Spicer?" She doesn’t move or speak so I continue, "I know who you are. It's all very fascinating. I know you aren’t Emalyn Spicer, are you? Fascinating indeed."

The lock on the huge cell turns fast and the door opens. The white light blinds me. I can't imagine how bad it is on her eyes. I hear them dragging Stuart back to his room.

I look in my peripheral vision and see him being dragged back to his room. His hands and face are bleeding heavily.

She gasps and covers her eyes.

I get up fast and walk toward her, making as much noise as I can. She needs to be startled. I grab her face hard, "Such a pretty girl. I'd hate for you to not be pretty anymore." I laugh and leave the room. One of the girls slides a tray into the room quickly.

I lean my back against the door, taking deep breaths.

Jane looks pissed. I scowl and walk to her, "What?"

She nods at the monitor, "She's eating like an animal. She isn't using her hands."

I scowl, "She thinks it's been days. She's in there with the pee she took earlier. She isn’t going to touch it. I wouldn’t touch it."

She gives me an evil glare, "We need her to touch it. She needs to get past this germ phobia."

She finishes eating and finds her way back into the corner. Her eyes dart around in the dark. She looks like she's thinking but then she starts laughing like a crazy person.

Jane smiles like it's music to her ears.

I don’t know what to think.

Jane walks from the room, "Knock her out again, wake her up for an hour, and do it again. The next time she wakes, put her food in a deep bowl. Let's see her get past that."

She leaves us there to take care of the mudding and dehydrating.

December 21st

Jane storms into the room, whispering harshly, "What do you mean she mixed the tea with the food and drank it all?"

I smile, "She's smarter than you, apparently, and stronger than you thought she was. She hates that tea and she still did it. She is a survivor."

Her eyes narrow, "She can't get the upper hand. Guess today is torture day." A wicked smile crosses her lips, "You know how Laura Spicer punished her?"

I shake my head, terrified it was the beatings I got for those miserable two days.

"She used a belt to whip her feet. Sarah never tried to run away because her feet were always so sore. She told me that once while she was under."

My mouth goes dry. She winks at me, "I have a paddle that's similar to your favorite one. I was thinking you could use that one."

My heart is in my throat. I shake my head, "No. I'm not going to beat her."

One of the guys with Jane, one of the people like us, gets a grin, "I'll do it."

Jane walks to the desk in the corner and opens it. She grabs a paddle that looks very familiar, from the desk and passes it to him. The big guy smacks it against his hand. I look at Jane, "Why do we have to beat her?"

Her brow furrows, "Eli, she is winning. She is adapting. She will never crack that shell if she doesn’t lose the control she maintains."

I almost get sick thinking about it, but I hold my hand out. Jane flashes a bright smile as she takes the paddle from him and puts it in my hand. It feels like I can barely lift it.

I turn to leave but Jane grabs my hand, "She needs your name today too. Tell her we have a deal to offer her; make sure she understands what Stuart has been through. If she will take the beating, she will spare Stuart. She won't take it. She is a survivor. She won't help him but we need to lay that guilt on her. When she says no and lets you beat Stuart again, you beat him and then decide she should be punished for her cowardice."

I scowl and go to the beating room. It's more like a sexual fantasy room. I'm positive Jane uses it as her private fun room.

She's fucking sick too.

I leave the paddle and go to my girl's cell.

I take a breath and open the door. She scrambles in the dark like a rat would. It's creepy. In her mind, it's been a week or more. In real life, it's been two days. She is dressed in the dirty, tattered clothes that make her feel filthier.

I speak softly in my stupid accent, "We have a deal to offer you today. One of you is going to be tortured. It’s a live feed for your friend, well, benefactor. I suppose he never was your friend. Now Stuart has had his fair share. He has volunteered every day to spare your life."

She doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are wild like an animal.

I continue, "He has been beaten, cut, flogged, whipped, burned, and endured water torture. We are offering you the opportunity to take his place?"

It's just like Jane said it would be. She stays perfectly still, just like she did in the corner. She is slowly becoming the girl from the corner. When she doesn’t answer, I turn to leave the room. I'm closing the door when she finally speaks, "I will."

I poke his head back in, "You will?" I lose my accent for a second, mostly from shock.

She nods, "I will."

I snap my fingers, "Clean her up. I want to see her skin blush when I strike it."

She looks scared but she doesn’t change her mind. The men come in, scaring her. She fights them but it's futile.

They drag her out into the hallway. She vanishes into the maze of hallways that always confuse the people that come here for this.

I shake my head and walk to the room again.

The inside of the room is large and too hot from the fireplace. It's a nice room, with rugs in the middle of several couches and chairs. I look down to the end of the room at the bed and I gulp.

The massive canopy is something from Jane's perverse games.

I sit down on the chair and pick up a book.

I don’t turn the page. I sit there, waiting and refusing to look back at the bed.

There is a knock at the door.

"Come in."

One of Jane's girls opens it. She nearly shoves my girl into the room and curtsies, leaving the room quickly.

My girl is wide-eyed and clutching the robe she is naked under.

I smile, "Go sit by the fire, warm up." I'm so nervous I forget to use my stupid accent. I can't stop staring at her legs or the way her hair is dripping down her body.

I hate that I like the fact she's nearly naked and it's our first time being in a room together in a long time. I remember why I'm here before I accidentally offer her tea, which I know she hates. I point at the fire, "Go." My tone is harsh.

She backs up, looking terrified.

"Go to the fire."

She backs up more and then around the furniture. She drops to her knees on the thick rug and sits back on her heels.

I watch her, panicking inside and trying not to just tell her who I am. I know she isn’t ready for that yet.

"Anything you want to talk about?" I ask.

She gets brave with her look, "He will come for me."

It makes me smile that she thinks I will save her. I nod, "I'm counting on it."

"Why?"

"We have business. Is it warm enough in here?" I don’t want to talk about me, the me she doesn’t know exists.

She looks like she comes to terms with that. She adjusts too easily to bad things.

"Are you from Australia?"

"No. But I didn’t want you getting your hopes up, if you recognized me. I'm good at accents." I quickly make something up. I sound like an idiot. Jane did that on purpose. I bet the stupid Australian thing never even came up in therapy, she just wanted me to look like an idiot.

"That’s why you asked me to dance in the bar?"

I shake my head, "I wanted to see if you were the mess the files said you were." That is almost true.

She looks like she knows how much of a mess she is, and still, the comment breaks her heart. She gives me a devastating smile, "Well?"

I don’t move until I remember the other thing Jane and I talked about privately, "I have a second offer."

She shivers, "No."

"You don’t want to hear it?"

She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

"I'd be willing to forgo the beating if you were nice to me."

She shakes her head harder.

"You'd rather be beaten? Am I so repulsive?" I don’t know how to feel about her hating me. "You would still rather have a beating, than have Stuart beaten?"

She nods and I die a little bit inside.

I stand and put a hand out, "Okay then."

She gives me the sweetest look I have ever seen. She bats her lashes and sticks her lip out. It melts me, but I know it's her survivor instincts. She's the best at it. That look isn’t for me, not really. "Those long lashes and pretty blue eyes won't work on me. Come here."

She hesitates, "I'm not coming with you. You're going to beat me either way."

I nod, "I am. But it will be much easier if you just come willingly."

She gets up slowly and comes to me. I don’t mean to do it, my body does it all on its own. She gets close and my hand stretches out to her.

Her eyes twitch and I know she senses something about it is familiar. She puts her hand in mine. I wrap my hand around hers and pull her slowly down to the back of the room.

She slows as we near the bed, "No. No. No. No. No. No."

I am about to grab her and drag her from the room, running with her over my shoulder to a motel where we could hide out, and I could try to explain. Instead, I turn and give her a fierce look, "It will be much worse if I have to drag you."

She lets out a sob but I push her onto the bed, "Remove the robe and scoot down to the bottom. Hang your feet down the end."

"What is your name?" she whispers, terrified.

"Does it matter?" I ask, hating that I have to give her my real name.

"Yes. I need a name to hate you properly."

My heart breaks, "Just call me Eli."

She dies inside a little as she lets the robe slip from her shoulders and climbs onto the bed.

I move her onto the bed better and strap her feet into place with the ankle boards. Her thighs are parted slightly. I attempt to avoid the view of her naked body.

She grips the bedding, trembling with nerves as I hook the toe straps in and force her feet to flex. Some people love getting their feet paddled, I don’t think she will be one of them.

I mutter, afraid of my own voice, "I don’t want to mar that skin. Not yet. I'm going to start the film now. Please feel free to be extra loud. It's better for the footage. At anytime, you can ask me to stop. Stuart will be punished then."

I grab the wooden bite and walk around to her face. I put the bite in but she spits it out right away. I lean in, whispering, "Unless you want to bite your tongue, I suggest you keep that in." She shakes her head, but I push it between her lips, "I will tie it on."

She moans and cries and I fight the fact I might accidentally enjoy this. The bite in her lips and ties on her body are making me uncomfortable, in a good way. I walk back to the end of the bed, pick up the paddle and take a breath.

Instantly, my mind is transported to a bad place. Seeing her tied and gagged and spread for me has me breathing heavily. Fuck Jane. She did this on purpose. I know she is watching to see if I let her off with a few whacks or just end up losing my self-control altogether.

I don’t.

I enjoy paddling things like feet, a lot, but I maintain my composure.

I look at those beautiful runner's feet and take my first swing. The crack of the paddle against her skin and cry that leaves her gagged mouth, make me instantly hard.

I hate myself but I hit her again and fucking love it.

She screams and cries, but I can see what it's doing to her body. Her cries become moans and her slit dampens. Her pussy lips spread slightly.

Fuck.

I hit her again. She doesn’t know she likes it. She's traumatized. I hit her again. I should be stopping, or lessening, but I can see she can take it. She tenses, expecting the next hit but I don’t deliver. She squirms slightly, still in a daze from the agony.

I wait until she is exhaling the tension and deliver the hardest one. She cries out and I orgasm.

I hate myself. I drop the paddle and leave her unconscious body on the bed, tied and exposed. I leave her, like I did to Stuart.