I sigh, forcing a sob back into my chest. How am I supposed to fight a congressman as powerful as Prescott? He’s beyond connected — it’s hopeless. There’s no way I’m the first woman in this place to dream about revenge on these assholes — and they’re still here.
The woman across the cell from me yawns, stretching her arms, then opens her eyes. Her breath hitches when she sees me, but then she seems to relax, her body loosening. Throwing off her blanket reveals she’s slept in the nude; I should look away immediately, but I don’t, stunned by the sight. Tattoos decorate her arms and abdomen: playing cards with burnt corners; coiling snakes baring hooked fangs; a woman on her knees, weeping, her back bloody — beside her, on the ground, a pair of severed angel wings.
Good lord.
The imagery on her front, however, can’t compare to what I see when she turns around. Dozens of ugly scars mar her milky skin, rising all the way up her spine. Below them all, across her lower back, a message in an elegant script font reads, “You did this.”
Whippings, I realize.Bad ones. Lots of them.
Even in the murky morning light sneaking through the narrow cell windows, I can see the bumps and discolorations. I cringe, imagining how they must look up close.
“The fuck you staring at?” she growls, her empty expression contorting angrily.
“Sorry,” I mumble, finally turning to give her some privacy. “I’m Quinn.”
I hear the rustling of her dressing, but she doesn’t reply. After a minute, I start to wonder if maybe that’s for the best. Considering Byron promised to punish the first girl to speak to me, I’m surprised she said anything at all. Maybe she doesn’t care about a little punishment, but what if the security cameras don’t pick up audio? That would be good to know.
For a while I try to fall back asleep, but there’s too many questions floating through my head. A few times I look back to my neighbor, but she’s staring through her window. Outside, the skies are still gray, and scatterings of raindrops dot the glass.
“Wake up!” one of the guards calls before too long, rousing the rest of the inmates. Pressing my face against the bars of my cell I can get enough of an angle to see across to more of my neighbors; I catch a few glimpses of them as they get ready. The tattooed woman stands at the center of her cell, arms crossed behind her back, until the doors slide open.
As I watch, the girls all exit, marching down the hall single-file.
“Move,” one the guards says, banging a baton against the bars of my cell. Heavyset, with a short, scraggly beard, his scalp shines through the greasy remnants of his hair.
I don’t argue, quickly scampering to catch up to the line. Many of the girls in it are dressed, but some are not — naked, they hold onto their uniforms instead of wearing them. Thankfully, I don’t have to wonder about this for very long, as we emerge into a large, communal bathroom and shower. Once we reach it, the other women start undressing before forming a line in the shower area.
Considering what I went through yesterday — the abduction, being bound in the stocks and whipped — the idea of a hot shower appeals too much to turn it down, so I get in line.
Metal wrist cuffs hang from the ceiling by long, dark chains. However, I don’t see any spigot above me, or a stall where each of us can take a turn. Once the line finishes forming, I get what’s about to happen with a sickening hollowness in my chest: three guards have drawn hoses out and are aiming them at us. I hear a hiss, and then the water sprays out, soaking us with frigid streams.
“Holy fuck!” I shout, trying to cover myself, immediately quaking in icy shock.
The guards laugh, training all three of the hoses on me, then the ugly one shouts something.
“What?” I shriek, acting on pure, animal instinct.
The hoses go dry for a merciful second, and the guard repeats, “Hands on your head!”
Seeing the other girls with their hands pressed flat over their hair, I comply, and then the washing resumes. With my eyes pulled shut, I try not to cry as they spray us all down. My teeth chatter harder than I’ve ever experienced and my heart races from the sudden shock.
“Turn around!”
As one, the girls obey, so I do too, letting the men wash our backs. All I can think about is my neighbor, and her tattoos, telling myself that this can’t be as bad as what she’s been through.
Just wait, I bet she’d say.You’ve barely been here a day.
By the time they’re finished, I feel colder than I ever have in my life — being clean brings little consolation. The guards toss us towels, but only give us a few minutes to dry off. Then we put our uniforms back on and file out.
Throughout all of this, none of the other girls utter a word. I often catch them glancing over at me, likely curious about the new arrival, but they flinch when I look back. How afraid are these girls? What has been done to them? Was my ordeal in the stocks yesterday just the tip of the iceberg? I can’t imagine it won’t get worse than that, considering their skittishness.
I’m not going to dwell on that prospect.
After the shower, the girls once again form a single-file line and march into the next room: a cafeteria where we’re each given a bowl of plain bran cereal, a plastic spoon and a paper cup of water. We eat in silence, unsurprisingly. When I sit down next to a few of the girls, they don’t get up to leave, but they keep their heads down, focusing on eating. I’d like to think they’re just hungry, but I know better.
My nose wrinkles at the aroma of coffee, eggs and toast, but I don’t see any; perhaps the guards had them earlier. I would kill for some bacon and orange juice right now — I’ve not had cereal since high school — but I’m hungry, so I shovel down the soggy lumps. At first I can’t imagine having an appetite at a time like this, but my body takes over, needing the nourishment. I don’t fight it.
Finally, once we’ve finished, we march down a long, dull corridor. Filing through a door at the end of the hall, we enter a long room with several tables and desks, many of them featuring some kind of machinery. Each girl splits off from the line and takes a seat, some running to take a specific place but others just sitting at the first available.