I’m pulled to my feet and dragged away. I can’t see anything past the hood over my head and can hardly breathe. My legs won’t work and yet, despite everything, I feel numb. Completely and utterly numb. I let them move me like a ragdoll and listen to their muffled voices as they throw me into the back of a van. I’m chained to the floor by my wrists and driven away. After that, I hear nothing but the roar of an old diesel engine and the screeching of tyres as they take sharp corners and slam on the brakes. That, and Jensen’s words which are echoing in my head.
Gabriel’s dead, Lilly! Okay? He’s fucking dead and has been for the past six months!
I don’t know how long we drive for. Hours, I think. We stop for a while and more people are shoved in with me, screaming and yelling muffled cries. Chains rattle as we’re all thrown about.
I say nothing. I don’t struggle. I feel trapped inside my own body. Nothing wants to work. My limbs won’t move and my voice doesn’t cry out at the pain I feel, both inside and out.
Then, we stop.
The doors are opened wide and the chill of the night air hits us all, blasting away the stink of old oil, sweat and the faint aroma of piss. I still can’t see anything beyond the hood over my head.
‘Ahhh, more stock for the slaughter?’ a male voice taunts, laughing heartily as he stomps around the large cab. ‘Ready, Joe?’
‘Ready and raring, Mike!’ Joe replies, sounding just as jaunty. ‘Let’s get them in their cages and get outta here for a drink. I’m gasping.’
They unlock the chains and pull me out. I stumble over my feet and land in the arms of a man stinking of stale cigarette smoke.
‘I think that one likes ya,’ Joe jokes.
With a laugh, I’m shoved again. I fall and land face down in the mud.
‘UP!’ they yell, gripping my arm and hauling me to my feet. ‘Move, vermin! If you fall again, we’ll skin ya alive where ya lay!’
Several men laugh and I know that there are at least five of the bastards close by. Dogs bark viciously all around us, growling and snapping their jaws.
Occasionally, I’ll get a push in the back or a shove on my shoulder as I’m led to wherever these people want me to go. The soft ground becomes stone. Outside becomes inside and everything begins to echo. After several moments, I’m made to stop, my cuffs removed, and my hood is pulled off. With a final push, I land face down on a cold stone floor. Quickly, I spin around, looking back as a door made of dark grey steel bars slams shut behind me. I rush forwards, hoping to get out before they lock it but no such luck. The man on the other side turns the key and steps away as I grab the bars. He looks at me for a second, a glimpse of confusion on his face before he strokes his stubbled jaw and points at me.
‘You look kinda familiar. Got a name, rat?’
I reply, but forget that the gag is still in my mouth.
‘Missed that. What ya say?’
I pull down the gag.
‘I said, get fucked.’
His brow wrinkles and he scoffs at me. He’s then joined by another who swirls a set of large, clunky keys in his hands.
‘Ready, Mike?’ he asks. Noticing the expression on his friends face, he turns to me and the same look of uncertainty overcomes him. ‘I think I know that chick,’ he says, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes. ‘We met?’
‘Where’s Jensen?’ I demand. Of course I look bloody familiar. They’ve had my face on fucking posters for over a year, and been burning effigies of me all over the country!
‘What’d she say?’ Mike asks his mate, nudging him with his elbow.
‘I dunno,’ he sighs, no longer interested. ‘I can’t understand what half these inbred fuckers say most the time. Maybe she’s an idiot.’
‘Maybe she’s foreign!’ Mike replies, looking me up and down. ‘I like a foreign girl.’
‘That ain’t a girl. C’mon. We’re done for the night. Let’s get a drink and get some sleep.’
I watch them leave, the eyes of the one who apparently likes a “foreign girl” never leave me. Mike. I don’t like the look of him. There’s something in his eyes. Something I’ve seen before in Ryan and Grayson both. They walk through a heavy wooden door and lock it behind them.
I’m in a cell. The wall behind me has a small window carved high up in the stone. It’s barred and lets in a cold gust of wind. Opposite me is another empty cell. I can’t fail to notice the bloodstains in that cell and in mine. There’s a single light bulb in the ceiling which hums loudly, reminding me of the bulb that illuminated my cellar-prison back at Harry’s. I head to the window and take hold of the bars with my hands. It’s high and I have to pull myself up to see out. I find a small divet in the stone wall and get a semi-decent footing.
Outside is a large courtyard enclosed in high stone walls, reminiscent of a castle. Figures in long black coats pace the top of the wall. Each has an automatic weapon thrown over their shoulder and their casual chatter drifts through the air. Ferocious dogs pull on their chains, barking incessantly. On the ground, straight ahead and in the very centre of the courtyard is a large wooden stage.
No.
Not a stage.
Gallows!
There are nooses. Four of them, elevated high above, ensuring the spectators standing below will get a good view of the ones about to die.
I swallow dryly.
A white face mask appears from the other side of the bars.
‘BOO!’
I scream and lose my footing, falling hard on my back as the person on the other side walks off, laughing to himself.
‘Oh, shit…’ I whisper. ‘Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit!’ I scramble back to my feet and cautiously peer up through the window once more. I notice quickly that most of those walking around are wearing masks. But what’s missing are the novelty weapons and the silly costumes. Those walking back and forth out in the courtyard are all in the same black coats with the same model of rifle thrown over their shoulders.
‘They’ve got me. Hunters have got me.’ I struggle to stop myself from screaming because somewhere out there, they also have my dad.
The Grey-Cloak, the most ruthless witch-killer the world has ever seen, who… killed… Gabriel… he has my dad.
∞∞∞
As I sit in the furthest corner of my cell, with my knees pulled up to my chest and eyes that daren’t blink, I go over and over every word Jensen said to me since coming back. How he kept leaving off Gabriel’s name when he spoke of the others. How he hesitated, again and again, each time I questioned him about where Gabriel was or how he is. How Jessica looked at me like I was crazy when I said I was looking for him.
It’s too much to comprehend. Gabriel… dead. My memories… gone. My Bloodstone…lost. The journal… who knows! The next stone, the last spell… a pipe dream. My Dad and me… prisoners.
And my baby…
My Broken-self has never been more active, clawing at my soul and cackling like a lunatic, so sure that any second she’ll win back control.
Gabriel got caught the night of the second spell. He got caught because I traded him to Theo for my own safety. He should never have been there. Theo should never have been able to get that close.
If it weren’t for me, Gabriel would still be alive.
I leap to my feet when I hear the sound of footsteps heading this way, and press my back against the wall, watching as the wooden door is unlocked and opened.
Two people walk in, both with their damned white masks covering their faces so I can’t tell if they’re men or women. One of them has a dark grey smock made of thick cotton draped over their shoulder.
‘Hello again.’
It’s the same Hunter that brought me here. The one who likes “foreign girls”.
Mike.
He places the grey smock between the bars of my cell, hanging it on the crossbar before leaning there, watching me.
The second Hunter joins him and they both lift their masks.
‘She ain’t that pretty, Mike. Sorry. I don’t see it.’ The second Hunter scoffs.
‘Yeah but look at those eyes,’ Mike replies darkly. ‘I ain’t ever seen eyes like that before. She’s a looker. Ain’t very often we get a looker through here.’
‘Ain’t very often we get one that doesn’t piss or shit themselves either. Nothing turns me off quicker than a girl that can’t control her functions.’
Mike shrugs as his lip curls. I get the distinct impression Mike doesn’t really care what a girl does, voluntarily or involuntarily. He taps the smock hanging between the bars.
‘You gotta change. All prisoners need to be in uniform.’
I look at the smock and then back at him as I press myself even closer to the wall.
‘Look. You got two choices. You either get changed and we leave you be. Or I’ll come in there and undress you myself. Personally, I’d be more than happy to come in there and give you a… hand.’
His friend chuckles and nods, rubbing his hands together at the idea.
‘Your call, pretty eyes,’ Mike says simply.
‘Where’s the man you took?’ I ask, wrapping my arms around my middle.
‘What she say?’ Mike’s friend asks him.
‘No idea. Like I said. I think she’s foreign.’ He nods at me. ‘Strip!’ He gestures to his own clothes and flaps his coat, signalling his command. When I don’t move, he slams his hands on his hip. ‘You go to the count of three, pretty eyes. Or my friend and I will come in there and help you get changed.’
‘I don’t think she understands you.’
‘Fine by me,’ he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out some keys. ‘What do you want? Her pussy? Her mouth? Or her ass?’
‘We got a few hours till next shift comes in,’ he says with a sigh, sliding off his coat. ‘Ain’t got nothing better to do. Let’s take our time.’
‘WAIT!’ I yell, holding up my hands. Both men halt and watch. ‘Okay. Alright, I’ll change, okay? I’ll…’ I swallow the urge to vomit. ‘I’ll change.’
For some reason, they fail to understand my words and look at each other.
I unzip my hoody and take it off, throwing it at them, hoping to make my compliance clear.
Mike removes the key from the lock and returns it to his pocket, readying himself for a show.
I kick off my shoes and grip the hem of my tank top. Unfortunately for me, there was a distinct lack of underwear in the clothing bin, and Jensen didn’t have any when I woke up, so beneath these jeans and this top I’m entirely naked. I hear the jingle of his keys and he slides them into the lock in reaction to my hesitation. I swiftly remove my top before I let myself really think about it. I cross my arms over my breasts and look at the large smock still between the bars. Mike nods his head to my trousers.
‘Give me that first. Then I’ll take my trousers off,’ I insist.
‘I think she wants the smock,’ Mike’s friend mutters. ‘Trousers-off-first!’ he says, slowly saying each word as if I’m deaf or an idiot. ‘Then-kick-over!’ His words are accompanied by dramatic gestures.
I have little choice. I slide my leggings down my legs and step out of them, draping my hair over my exposed breasts and covering my intimate area with my hands as quickly as possible. With a swift kick, I slide my clothing across to them.
Mike’s left eye twitches.
‘She’s got some scars on her,’ he admires. ‘Bet she’s one of them Nomads that were based with the Kendryk fuckers. They can hold their own. She’s definitely a fighter.’
I hold out my hands for the grey smock he wants me to wear. He picks it up and holds it out to me. We hold eye contact. He has no intention of throwing it to me.
‘C’mon,’ he teases, giving the shirt a shake. ‘Come and get it.’
‘Slide it over,’ I say, a little weaker than I would have liked.
He continues to shake it, his head resting lazily against the bars as he watches me keenly.
I shuffle closer. My legs are rigid and uncooperative and my skin is crawling.
A voice pops into my head. One I wished never to hear again, but there he is.
‘Do you know what they do to pretty little witches? The Hunters? I hear they like to fuck them with red hot pokers.’
I don’t know what makes me feel sicker. The words themselves or the man’s voice that spoke them all those years ago.
Harry Ryan Junior. He’s still lurking there, deep in my subconscious. Every time I feel vulnerable. Every time I feel afraid. There he is.
I stop a few feet away from Mike’s outstretched hand and again, he gives the smock a slight shake, encouraging me to reach out and take it.
‘Just take it,’ he says calmly. ‘It will keep you warm.’
I reach out, my fingers an inch from his. In a quick move, I grasp the fabric and yank, but he’s fast and tugs. I stumble forwards, and as soon as I’m in his reach, he wraps his fingers in my hair and slams my face between the bars. I scream out, thrashing violently against his hold and clawing at his hand.
‘Nah-uh!’ he says. ‘Now now. Let’s not get nasty.’
‘GET THE FUCK OFF ME!’ I yell, fighting against his hold. Some of my hair gets pulled from its root, but I don’t care in the slightest. I’ll gladly go bald if it means getting away from him.
His friend laughs loudly and claps his hands together.
‘She is fucking feisty!’ he cheers.
‘Oh yeah,’ Mike replies, chewing down on his lip. ‘I like ’em feisty.’ He pulls back my head and then slams it hard into the metal bars, causing my vision to spin and my legs to sway. ‘But I love bringing them to heel even more.’ He pulls down on my hair, lowering my head. When I refuse to lower myself, I feel the sharp tip of a knife rest between my legs. ‘You go down on your knees, or this goes in,’ he warns.
‘She can’t understand you, Mike. Fuck knows what language she’s been speaking.’
‘Ahh, I think I’m pretty fucking clear, Joe. She knows what I want, don’t you, pretty eyes?’
He smirks and flicks his eyes to the floor. I stare defiantly into his evil face and feel the tip of his blade press harder between my legs.
Shaking, I start to lower myself. As I do, he drags the knife along my skin, trailing it menacingly along my stomach, between my breasts, and when I land on my knees, he presses it into my neck. I keep my eyes upwards, watching him closely.
Still holding the knife, he slides down the zip on his trousers, letting his manhood free. He leaves it there, less than an inch from my face, hard and waiting. I seal my lips closed and look away.
‘Open wide,’ he whispers. ‘Or I’ll slit your dainty little throat.’ To drive his point home, the tip of his knife draws a bead of blood from my neck.
If I don’t do this, he’ll kill me right here. Chances are I’ll be dead by morning anyway but I can at least try and survive as long as I can. I don’t know why they can’t understand me and I don’t know if Jensen is dead or alive. All I know is that my little girl may still be out there somewhere and I will do anything I must to get back to her. To make sure she is safe and protected. And I’ll be damned if I die here on my knees. I grip the bars tightly and close my eyes, taking deep breath after deep breath through my nose. I feel myself break out in a cold sweat.
‘Get on with it!’ he snarls, slicing the blade in a sudden and quick swipe down my collar bone, cutting me.
When I let out a yell, he takes his chance and thrusts himself into my mouth. The tip of his cock hits the back of my throat and I gag.
The heavy wooden door opens and I’m quickly let go, left to fall back and heave.
‘What the hell is going on in here?!’ A shrill voice calls. A tall woman stands in the doorway, her sleek blonde hair tied back in a perfect ponytail. Her long black coat is adorned with various medals and her appearance has the two men standing bolt upright with their hand up by their head in salute. ‘For god’s sake, man,’ she sneers. ‘Put yourself away.’
Without looking away from her, Mike makes himself decent and returns to his salute.
‘So?’ she barks. ‘Explain! What the hell did I just walk in on?’
‘Nothing, Commander,’ Mike replies swiftly. ‘Just ensuring the prisoner is in uniform.’
‘Looked to me like you had your pathetic excuse of a dick forced into her mouth!’ she snaps back, her tone brimming with total authority over the two men.
‘It wasn’t what it looked like. I was just-’
‘I know exactly what you were doing and it’s bloody disgusting!’ She nods at me, not even bothering to look at me still hunched over as I try to stop my stomach from constricting. ‘She’s vermin, soldier. Would you put your dick in a rat?’
‘No, commander.’
‘Have some pride, man. Jesus. She’s a repulsive creature.’
‘Yes, commander. Sorry, Commander.’
She steps aside and gestures to the door.
As they pass her, she adds, ‘Take her clothes.’
She doesn’t even look at me once, but Mike does. He scoops up my clothes with a stomach-turning smile that holds a dark promise.
‘Till next time,’ he whispers.
The door slams shut and the lock turns.
With trembling hands, I reach out and take hold of the grey smock and slide it on my cold and shuddering body. It’s long and reaches past my knees so I’m covered. But I don’t feel any better. I crawl to the furthest corner of the room, curl up and let myself cry like a desperate child.
