The door slid open with a soft thud. Evan startled, moving toward the side of his cage closest to Noelle’s. The same man, dressed all in black and wearing red shoes, who had taken Noelle out of this room now accompanied her back in. Evan’s eyes were glued to her as she was walked to her cage and roughly pushed inside. The man locked the door and left without a word.
His breath emerged in a gusty tremor. He’d sat there alone for what felt like a hundred years, wondering if they’d bring her back at all. She’d been rented, and though he was pretty sure he could figure out what that meant, he couldn’t be positive.
I’m a virgin, she’d said, telling him her assumption about what was about to happen to her was the same as his.
He’d sat there, stretching his fingers wide and then curling them into a fist, wondering what she’d paid for the fact that he currently possessed each one of them. He wouldn’t disrespect her with a thank-you. God, she’d hate him even more if he did.
Noelle slumped down on the opposite side of her container, facing him. Her expression had been blank when she reentered the room, but now it crumpled into a grimace.
He didn’t know what to say. Are you okay? hung on his lips, but he could see she was not. “What did they do to you, Noelle?” he asked softly. He had to know. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.
Her eyes opened, jarring him. The pain he saw there was raw. Palpable. “He . . . some man, whoever he was . . . raped me. He wore a mask. I couldn’t see his face.”
Fuck. While I just sat here, she was . . . He pressed his forehead on the bars, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She was clearly distressed, but he was grateful that she’d been straightforward. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I should have—”
“No,” she said. “Don’t.” Her voice was raspy, and it made him wonder if she’d screamed, which made him want to do the same. He felt it rising in his chest like a tidal wave, and he swallowed it back with effort. He would not make this about him. He watched her. That fire he’d seen in her eyes the day before hadn’t returned, but he saw a spark. Tiny but there. Flickering. For just a moment. “I survived it. I’m here. And now, I need you to turn around and make some noise so I can clean myself up.”
Noise. She wanted noise for privacy. Maybe to disguise the sound of whatever she was doing to clean herself, maybe so she could cry. He turned, looking for something to create noise with, but his cage contained nothing. Okay, his voice, then. What did he know by heart that he could recite? His heart beat swiftly. She had asked for something simple, and he was quickly failing. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of the lyrics to one song, which was interesting considering he liked music and always had something playing in his car. But in that moment of stress, the only songs that crowded his mind were the children’s songs his mother had once sung to him, still imprinted on his brain all these long years later. What a strange thing, considering his mom had lost interest in him years ago.
“If all the little raindrops were lemon drops and lollipops,” he sang. Behind him he heard her doing something, but he couldn’t tell what over the sound of his own voice. But she’d started moving, he knew that. “Oh, if all the little raindrops were lemon drops and lollipops. Oh, what a rain that would be.” He tapped his foot to the tune to provide her more cover. “Standing outside with my mouth open wide, singing la la la la, la la la, la la la, la la la, la la la la, la la la, la la la, la.”
Finally, after several stanzas, he sensed her lack of movement, and his voice quieted. “Decent?” he asked, and when he got no answer, he turned slowly. She was curled up on the floor of her cage, eyes closed. He released a sigh, lying down in his own crate and staring at her as a tear rolled slowly down her face. His chest tightened, and he turned his hand, sliding it through the bars and reaching for her. At the sound, her eyes came open, and she stared at his open palm. For a moment he was sure she wouldn’t reach back. Why should she? She hated him. But then she brought her hand from beneath her head and fit it between the bars. They weren’t close enough to hold hands comfortably but close enough that he could wrap his index and middle fingers around hers, forming a link. She tightened her grip, joining him in the silent statement he’d made by offering his hand: We need each other now. Nothing else matters.
Noelle sighed, closing her eyes, her tears ceasing. The room went dark as the lights switched off. The vision of their linked fingers still burned in his mind. She’d saved those fingers of his; he’d never forget that. But she’d paid dearly for it.
The lights came on what seemed like mere moments later, but he knew it’d been longer than that. His fingers were still linked with Noelle’s, but his muscles ached from being held in the same position over time. And he’d dreamed, even if he could only remember fragments and pieces. Nothing he recalled made sense, his brain obviously in anxiety-ridden free fall, latching on to anything and everything in a desperate attempt to retain some sanity.
Or at least, that’s what it felt like to Evan.
Noelle groaned softly, her fingers slipping free of his as she rolled onto her back, stretching and opening her eyes. Her expression barely changed, but he swore he could see the moment reality set in, even though his only view was of her profile. It was like he’d witnessed a slap to her soul, some form of deflating that he sensed as much as saw. Would there be a “morning” they’d wake here when it wouldn’t be a traumatic shock? And should he wish for that? He didn’t think so.
She ran her fingers through her hair, sitting up slowly. “So that’s it then,” she said after a moment. Her voice was bland, listless.
He frowned, running his hand through his own hair. “What?”
“The motive. The one we were trying to figure out. We’re being rented out to sickos and perverts. It’s as simple as that.”
He rolled the words over in his mind. She was right. As far as motives went, it was a simple one. They’d been trafficked. And now they were being bought and sold. How much? he wondered. What was their going rate?
“Did he hurt you?” he asked softly.
He felt suddenly zapped of any and all energy, and maybe she did, too, because she lay down again, facing him, and he lay down as well so they were looking at each other through their bars.
“Of course he hurt me.”
He closed his eyes, blew out a breath. I’m a virgin. “I mean—”
“Was it more than sex? No.”
He felt a smidgeon of relief, not much, but something. She’d been raped, but she hadn’t been brutalized. In a turbulent sea of horrible, it was a small life raft. Something to hold on to. Of course, that experience might have been an outlier. Who knew what was in store for them? Who knew what type of monster might rent one of them next?
He was here too. And he wondered if they were up on some dark marketplace. The very thought made him want to fall willingly into the abyss of madness.
“The items on that counter, the ones behind the ice pick?” she said.
“Yes?” He asked the word hesitantly. He almost didn’t want to know.
“They’re power tools. Smaller ones.”
Power tools. An ice pick. Fear coagulated in his throat. He wouldn’t think about them. He wouldn’t.
He couldn’t help it, though.
Come with me or we’ll take his fingers.
He knew very well what the tools were for.
They turned in unison when they heard the dumbwaiters on the wall slide open, both crawling toward their deliveries.
He reached, pulling the corner of the tray toward himself and gazing down at it. Bread and water, their current staples, were there, but so was a handful of peanuts. Oh, hot damn.
Protein.
He picked a singular peanut up gingerly and placed it on his tongue, crushing it on the roof of his mouth and moving it from side to side to extract the small amount of oil. Oh, that’s good. Oil. Salt. He’d never known how much pleasure could be contained in one peanut.
“What did you get?” Noelle asked.
“Peanuts,” he answered. “What about you?”
She plucked something from her tray and held it up. “A chocolate-covered strawberry.” She glanced down. “On a bed of artificial rose petals.”