“You’ll complete these questionnaires,” a woman says.
I snap my eyes to the end of the hallway, noticing her handing clipboards out down the line. I feel a sense of betrayal when she hands me mine, but she doesn’t seem to notice how upset I am that she seems perfectly fine with helping these men traffic women. Does she have no pride in her gender? The men, I expect. Not only are men generally selfish bastards with no heart or conscience, but they’re also more prone to give in to bodily urges. Women are supposed to be compassionate and caring. They’re supposed to be humane and merciful.
This woman seems disconnected from it all, making me wonder if she arrived here the same way we did, and this is her only means of survival. Are they forcing her to work for them? Do they threaten her or hurt her if she isn’t compliant? How would I act if I were in her shoes?
My manners almost get the best of me, but I choke back the thank you when she hands me the clipboard. The paperwork looks like a basic information sheet like you’d see at a doctor’s office, from wanting to know names and addresses to sexual history.
I can’t answer honestly. I can’t tell these men where I’m from, and old guilt is renewed at thoughts of April, my little sister who I left behind when I escaped Knight Salvation over seven years ago. She was only ten at the time, and as much as I’ve blocked it out, I can’t help but think about how she turned seventeen nearly a year ago.
The plan was always to go back and get her before her eighteenth birthday that would surely end in her marrying Charles but giving these men that information could mean she will face the same thing I am right now.
Instead of the truth, I lie on the paperwork and say I was born and raised in Washington where I was abducted from instead of California. I list no siblings, claim both of my parents are dead, and I give them my father’s last name, something that has never been linked to our family. I guess I can count it as a blessing that my dad was so in and out during my early childhood that my mother refused to put his name on the birth certificate.
“Follow me,” the woman says when the brunette hands her back the clipboard. The woman hands it to Angel to look over.
“I’ll keep an eye on her,” the man who looked at me so deviously earlier says, but Angel stops him with a hand on his forearm.
“They’ll be fine.” Angel looks up from the clipboard to the brunette. “You’re not going to give her any trouble are you, Lola?”
Lola shakes her head, her throat working on a swallow as she looks from Angel to the other man.
“Go on,” Angel urges, and we all watch Lola disappear behind a door. The sight of the medical table in the gap before the door closes makes my skin crawl.
The man grumbles his distaste at being shut down, but he snaps his jaw closed when Angel glares at him.
The wait seems like forever, but I bet Lola is only in there for ten minutes tops. When she walks back out, she meets my eyes.
It’s okay, she mouths before taking her seat back on the far end.
The women cycle in and out, but even though I don’t hear screams coming from the room, I’m a nervous wreck by the time it’s my turn. The look in Angel’s eyes when I glance at him is blank as usual, and that tells me all I need to know. He has absolutely no compassion, and he won’t blink at forcing me to do what is asked.
I swallow a lump in my throat as the woman urges me to stand. She takes my clipboard and hands it to Angel. He looks over the information quickly, as he did with all the others, before nodding.
I follow the woman into the room, and even though I’ve seen the table six times now, each time a woman was escorted in and then out, I stop in my tracks and stare down at it.
I have to be in some sort of fever dream because why would these people abduct women, rape one, and then provide clean medical paper on the exam table. It makes absolutely no sense.
“Pants off and get up on the table,” the woman insists as she washes her hands in a sink like she’s a real doctor working at a clinic.
“What’s going to happen?” I ask, as I start to pull my sweat bottoms down. Whatever she’s going to do is a violation, but I’m more willing to deal with her than the three male psychos in the hallway.