Betrayals
Page 28
“Oh, enough with you,” a man said as he walked in. He raised a metal baton. At the press of a button, it jolted to life, electricity flashing. The girl pulled her legs up into the bed, her arms wrapping around them as she stared at the man, her eyes black with hate.
Two girls sat on the other beds, both also dark-haired and dressed in shifts. They kept their gazes down, defiance gone, like dogs that have been whipped often enough to know it does no good.
At the sound of dirt under boots, a young man walked in. He was maybe eighteen, light-haired and blue-eyed. He took a step toward the first girl and the man chuckled.
“Not that one, boyo. Wait until you’ve had some time in the saddle before you ride that filly.” The man waved the prod. “Take the little gal there. A good, gentle ride for a virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin,” the young man said, with a lilting accent.
The man chuckled. “Whatever you say. Just take my word for it and start with her. You can always come back for the others. It’ll cost you, though. This is your only free ride, and then you pay.” The man winked. “You’ll get the employee discount, though.”
The young man stepped toward the smallest of the girls. I’d like to say she looked fourteen, but she didn’t, and he stopped short, revulsion glimmering in his blue eyes.
“Now, now, boyo,” the man said. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why you worked so hard loading up the barge? She’s not really a child. Not even human.” The man reached out and tapped his cattle prod to the smallest girl’s bare leg and she jumped, hissing and baring her teeth.
“I know what they are,” the young man said.
“Well, you seemed to need a reminder. You don’t like seeing them chained up, but they’re like dumb animals, without the sense to stay. We give them what they need, and they don’t even have the decency to be grateful.”
“I’ll … I’ll take the young one.”
“Like I said, she’s not young. She just looks it. Which you will appreciate a lot more when you’re my age.” The man cackled and leaned back against the wall. Then he smirked. “Oh, I suppose you want some privacy.”
Before the young man could answer, his boss smacked him on the shoulder.
“I know, I know. You don’t want an audience. Just holler for me to let you out. We lock them in, just in case. And don’t be taking too long or I’ll know you’re trying for a double.”
He opened the door and turned to leave, and the young man lunged, blade in hand, driving it into his boss’s back.
The older man gasped. His mouth worked. Then he teetered and toppled face-first to the floor.
“Just because they are not human does not make them animals, you filthy whoremonger,” the young man said, bending to pull out the blade. “They are sidhe, and if you treated them proper, they would have treated you proper, too. That is how it works.” He turned to the girls. “Not that I expect anything for doing this. It is the Christian thing to do.”
The girls only stared at him. Then the oldest hissed, lips curling back.
“That’s right. You are foreign sidhe. You speak a foreign tongue.” He laid the blade on the ground and said, slowly, “I am not going to hurt you. I am going to let you go. Do you understand?”
He straightened, his hands out, the lamiae watching him carefully. Behind him, the older man rose, silently pushing up, his face contorted in pain. He held a gun.
“Prosecho!” the oldest lamiae said, pointing.
The other two both shouted warnings, but before the young man could turn, the older one fired. The bullet hit the boy square in the chest, and he went down.
“You stupid shant,” the man said, bloody froth flying from his lips. “You hoped if you let them go, you’d get all the free barney-mugging you wanted?”
“No,” the boy wheezed. “I just … It was right … Respect …” The man snorted. “Respect? Them? Dirty little whores?” He toddled to the door, barely able to stay upright. Then he patted his pocket, took out a key, and locked it from the inside. “How’s this for respect? May that be your dying thought, you dumb mug. That you just killed your poor little faeries … and they are going to take a lot longer to die than you or me.”
With that, the man crashed to the ground, and the boy’s eyes closed, and the girls started to shriek.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The vision snapped, but I still heard the girls shrieking as I spotted a fifth skeleton, that of the older man, slumped just inside the door.
“You hear them, don’t you?” a voice whispered at my ear. “Their screams.”
I turned to see the young man standing behind me as he gazed at the skeletons of the girls.
“I hope he hears them,” he said, glaring at the dead old man. “I hope he still hears them in hell.”
He turned to the door. “Others heard. They came around, hoping to buy a poke, and they found that door locked, and they heard the poor sidhe—heard them crying and wailing and begging. And they walked away. Did not want to get involved. And then, after the sidhe passed, one returned.”
My penlight faded, taking the room into darkness, and when it surged bright again, the boy was gone, and the girls lay in their beds, and—
One glimpse of them and I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for the skeletons again. Cold, expressionless skeletons. Horrifying in their way, but not nearly so much as this, the image burned on the back of my eyelids. The girls, in their beds, contorted in their last agonies of death, chunks ripped from their own arms, as if they’d tried to chew their way free. The two smaller ones with their eyes closed, the smallest’s face screwed up as if squeezing her eyes shut against the horror of her own death. The oldest had her eyes wide, hate and defiance, as if she refused to look away, refused to hide from what had happened, faced death snarling, lips curled back in a final hiss, her body pitched forward, throwing herself against her bonds with her last breath.
Two girls sat on the other beds, both also dark-haired and dressed in shifts. They kept their gazes down, defiance gone, like dogs that have been whipped often enough to know it does no good.
At the sound of dirt under boots, a young man walked in. He was maybe eighteen, light-haired and blue-eyed. He took a step toward the first girl and the man chuckled.
“Not that one, boyo. Wait until you’ve had some time in the saddle before you ride that filly.” The man waved the prod. “Take the little gal there. A good, gentle ride for a virgin.”
“I’m not a virgin,” the young man said, with a lilting accent.
The man chuckled. “Whatever you say. Just take my word for it and start with her. You can always come back for the others. It’ll cost you, though. This is your only free ride, and then you pay.” The man winked. “You’ll get the employee discount, though.”
The young man stepped toward the smallest of the girls. I’d like to say she looked fourteen, but she didn’t, and he stopped short, revulsion glimmering in his blue eyes.
“Now, now, boyo,” the man said. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Why you worked so hard loading up the barge? She’s not really a child. Not even human.” The man reached out and tapped his cattle prod to the smallest girl’s bare leg and she jumped, hissing and baring her teeth.
“I know what they are,” the young man said.
“Well, you seemed to need a reminder. You don’t like seeing them chained up, but they’re like dumb animals, without the sense to stay. We give them what they need, and they don’t even have the decency to be grateful.”
“I’ll … I’ll take the young one.”
“Like I said, she’s not young. She just looks it. Which you will appreciate a lot more when you’re my age.” The man cackled and leaned back against the wall. Then he smirked. “Oh, I suppose you want some privacy.”
Before the young man could answer, his boss smacked him on the shoulder.
“I know, I know. You don’t want an audience. Just holler for me to let you out. We lock them in, just in case. And don’t be taking too long or I’ll know you’re trying for a double.”
He opened the door and turned to leave, and the young man lunged, blade in hand, driving it into his boss’s back.
The older man gasped. His mouth worked. Then he teetered and toppled face-first to the floor.
“Just because they are not human does not make them animals, you filthy whoremonger,” the young man said, bending to pull out the blade. “They are sidhe, and if you treated them proper, they would have treated you proper, too. That is how it works.” He turned to the girls. “Not that I expect anything for doing this. It is the Christian thing to do.”
The girls only stared at him. Then the oldest hissed, lips curling back.
“That’s right. You are foreign sidhe. You speak a foreign tongue.” He laid the blade on the ground and said, slowly, “I am not going to hurt you. I am going to let you go. Do you understand?”
He straightened, his hands out, the lamiae watching him carefully. Behind him, the older man rose, silently pushing up, his face contorted in pain. He held a gun.
“Prosecho!” the oldest lamiae said, pointing.
The other two both shouted warnings, but before the young man could turn, the older one fired. The bullet hit the boy square in the chest, and he went down.
“You stupid shant,” the man said, bloody froth flying from his lips. “You hoped if you let them go, you’d get all the free barney-mugging you wanted?”
“No,” the boy wheezed. “I just … It was right … Respect …” The man snorted. “Respect? Them? Dirty little whores?” He toddled to the door, barely able to stay upright. Then he patted his pocket, took out a key, and locked it from the inside. “How’s this for respect? May that be your dying thought, you dumb mug. That you just killed your poor little faeries … and they are going to take a lot longer to die than you or me.”
With that, the man crashed to the ground, and the boy’s eyes closed, and the girls started to shriek.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The vision snapped, but I still heard the girls shrieking as I spotted a fifth skeleton, that of the older man, slumped just inside the door.
“You hear them, don’t you?” a voice whispered at my ear. “Their screams.”
I turned to see the young man standing behind me as he gazed at the skeletons of the girls.
“I hope he hears them,” he said, glaring at the dead old man. “I hope he still hears them in hell.”
He turned to the door. “Others heard. They came around, hoping to buy a poke, and they found that door locked, and they heard the poor sidhe—heard them crying and wailing and begging. And they walked away. Did not want to get involved. And then, after the sidhe passed, one returned.”
My penlight faded, taking the room into darkness, and when it surged bright again, the boy was gone, and the girls lay in their beds, and—
One glimpse of them and I squeezed my eyes shut and wished for the skeletons again. Cold, expressionless skeletons. Horrifying in their way, but not nearly so much as this, the image burned on the back of my eyelids. The girls, in their beds, contorted in their last agonies of death, chunks ripped from their own arms, as if they’d tried to chew their way free. The two smaller ones with their eyes closed, the smallest’s face screwed up as if squeezing her eyes shut against the horror of her own death. The oldest had her eyes wide, hate and defiance, as if she refused to look away, refused to hide from what had happened, faced death snarling, lips curled back in a final hiss, her body pitched forward, throwing herself against her bonds with her last breath.
