The guard crosses his large arms, and shifts from one foot to the other. “You will be taken to your rooms, now. There are clothes laid out. You will dress in these after taking a shower, and then you will begin your duties. There is a guard assigned to each group, and if you disobey him, you will be punished.”
He clicks his fingers, and three guards enter the room. They pair off, one of them to each group. I stare at the guard who has been assigned to us. He’s middle aged, with light brown hair, and hard brown eyes. He doesn’t look at us; he pretends we don’t exist as he re-chains us and tugs us towards the door. Right before we make it over, one of the girls from group one begins screaming, shaking her head from side to side.
“No, please, don’t make me go. I want to go home.”
Her guard takes hold of her arm, and yanks her towards him, snarling something into her ear. She screams, and kicks out, sending him reeling backwards. Her face crumples. She knows her attempts are futile. That’s the beauty of the human spirit. It can bend a lot before it’s broken. And a lot of these girls are already broken. Which makes me wonder if they were already damaged before they arrived.
The other guards quickly join the first, circling around the girl. My lips tremble as they force her to the ground. The lead guard turns to the rest of us. “You’re about to see what happens to those who behave like this.”
The guard takes hold of the belt around his waist, pulling it off ande tg it of pressing it into his hands. The other guards hold the girl on the ground, and one reaches down, lifting her shirt. I look away, unable to see what they’re about to do. My entire chest is aching so much it feels like I’ve got a ten-ton truck sitting on it. I blink back my tears as I hear the first crack of a belt against her skin, followed by her broken scream.
They give her ten of those.
By the tenth one, she’s stopped begging. I slowly turn, staring at her. My eyes burn as I take in her back. Red welts appear on her skin, swelling angrily. The guards haul her up, and she’s sobbing quietly, her hair falling over her face. My heart aches for her, and I want to go over and comfort her but I know I can’t.
“Unless you want that,” our guard hisses, “then you’ll do as you’re told.”
He tugs us towards the door, and leads us out and away from the sounds of the sobbing girl.
But it’s not a sound I’ll be able to push out of my mind easily.
CHAPTER THREE
WILLIAM
“They’re in their rooms, sir.”
I lift my head and stare at George, my main guard, standing at the door. He’s got his broad arms crossed and he’s standing at full alert. I see a certain level of authority in his grey gaze, and I know I made the right decision choosing him for the job. He’s loyal, and trusting, and he obeys each and every one of my commands.
“Very good, George,” I say, my voice low.
I lift my eyes to the cameras, and zero in on the screens where the girls are all staring at their new rooms, experiencing their new lives for the first time. They’re frightened now, but they won’t be soon. They’ll learn why they’re here. They’ll see why I picked them. They’ll find out why they’re special.
Soon, they’ll all understand.
“Which girl do you require first?”
I keep my gaze locked on the screen, and I focus on the tiny blond girl, the one who seemed just that touch different to the rest. Fear doesn’t leak from her pores like it does from the others; she’s strong and steady.
It figures.
She doesn’t remember. I’ve made sure of that.
I turn my face to George. “Number Thirteen.”
The room our group is given is massive. It’s beyond what I’d imagined in my mind. I pictured a dark space with no windows, no fresh air, and ratty beds. This room is open, and quite breezy. It’s very plain, though, with no paintings or pictures on the cream walls. The carpet is a pale blue, in perfect condition. The beds are all plain, with white linens and light-blue blankets folded at the end. Everything in the room is nice, but simple and logical. I’m sure there’s a reason for it; I’m just not sure what that reason is yet. The guard shoves our group into the space and blocks the door. I walk in further, feeling my feet sink into the plush carpet. I cast my eyes over to the windows right away, out of instinct, but I see they’re fully barred. A pang of pain rips through my chest, and I feel some of my hope slipping, even though logic says of course the windows would provide no escape. I step in further, and stare into the large bathroom at the far left-hagiscand corner of the room. It’s got a large tub, a large glass shower, and a double vanity. I let my eyes settle on the mirror, and the sudden urge to go and look at myself is overwhelming. I need to know who I am. I need to remember. “You will each pick a bed,” the guard says, and I turn to face him. “You are allowed to shower only once a day, unless you’re instructed to have more. You are not permitted to use the bath without permission. You have only basic soaps to wash with. The only time you’ll be given nice things, such as shampoo or conditioner, is if you earn them.”
He pauses for effect. “Your clothes are in the drawers; you wear only one pair a day. There is to be no noise after eight p.m., and those who disobey will find themselves sleeping in the dark, stuffy basement.” I stare at the guard, trying to take in all these rules. They don’t quite make sense to me. We’re slaves, yet they’re giving us basic things that are comfortable and nice enough to keep us feeling calm and content. We’re being told if we’re good, we will be rewarded with nice things, and if we’re bad, we won’t. None of it seems to be making a great deal of sense to me, and the more I hear, the more difficult it is for my fuzzy mind to process it. I see another guard approach ours. He’s younger than our guard, with long red hair that’s tied at the nape of his neck. He’s a big man, and he’s got eyes as green as emeralds. He looks a little kinder, but he still doesn’t give us so much as a look as he leans down, whispering something to our guard. They nod, and murmur between each other, and I try hard to hear what they’re saying but I can’t make it out. The other guard walks off, and ours turns to us with a hard expression. “Number Thirteen, you’re showering first. The master requests your presence.”