CHAPTER 12
LILA
The hammering ceased, and I ran back across the room to try the door again. I heard the rattle of a key in a lock, and the door swung open. Crete stood in the doorway, his expression cold and blank.
“I don’t get you,” he said quietly.
I cringed away from him, confused, my mind quickly shaking off the veil of sleep to make sense of what was happening.
“After all I done for you, you can barely look in my direction. Can’t bother yourself to be grateful for the opportunities I give you. Then I let my brother drive you around, and you can’t keep yourself from fucking him. He thinks he’s in love, ain’t that something? Maybe you are some kinda witch, making fools outta men.”
My heart was a caged bird bent on escape. He couldn’t have known what happened between me and Carl at the homestead. Surely Carl wouldn’t have told him. I backed away and he stepped inside, closing the door. His anger vibrated like a taut wire, intensifying with each step he took toward me. My back touched the counter in the makeshift kitchen, and I couldn’t go any farther.
Crete’s hand pressed against my throat, the weight of his body driving my spine into the sharp edge of the counter, and tears blurred my vision. He ran his grizzled face along my cheek, stubble grating my skin. “Did you like fucking my brother, you little cunt? Huh?” Though I knew the countertop was bare, my hands scrabbled blindly on either side, seeking a weapon. I thought of Carl and Gabby and Ransome, the only ones who would notice if I disappeared. What would he tell them? That I had run off? Carl would be hurt, maybe, but in time he’d forget. It would be like I’d never existed.
“Let’s see who you like better,” he said, pushing up my nightshirt. I clawed at him and he wrenched my hands away viciously. I felt the heat of his mouth on my breasts, my nipples, the awful wet probing of his tongue on my breast, and then he bit down, hard, breaking the skin. I screamed and he clamped down on my windpipe. My hands were now free and pushing against him to no effect. He brought his mouth to mine, forcing a kiss, and I tasted blood. I tried to twist myself away from him, but he was too strong. His free hand worked between my thighs, snagged my underwear. There was a soft thud as his pants fell to the floor. He squeezed my throat with both hands as he entered me, and pain radiated through my body. The anger and fear began to dissolve along with my consciousness, and I drifted away from the weight of him, dissipating, like smoke into darkness.
——
I lay cocooned in my bed for unknown hours, my head buzzing, nerves jangling with the fear that Crete would burst in at any moment. I had no plan, no idea what I would do when he returned, and the harder I tried to organize my thoughts, the more they jumped around like live wires. My throat was swollen and bruised, my back raw where it had scraped against the counter. The bite on my breast pulsed, tender to the touch. Thirst finally drove me to the bathroom, where I guzzled water from the tap and used the toilet, wincing at the sting of scraped flesh. Dots of dried blood stained one side of my shirt. I dabbed at my wounds with a damp washcloth, my eye on the door the whole time, waiting.
I didn’t know how long I sat watching the door, tensed for any sound or movement. Finally, the constant stress of being on alert wore me down enough that I could think beyond the moment. I showered, changed into clean clothes, and assessed the security of my prison. The window glass smashed easily with my suitcase, but the board beyond it must have been reinforced, because it wouldn’t budge. The door was locked from the outside, and I couldn’t get through the concrete-block walls. I was trapped.
Packets of crackers and raisins and beef jerky sat on the kitchen counter, and a bottle of aspirin that I knew Crete wouldn’t have left for me. It must have been Ransome. She was in on this, partly if not completely. It hurt to know she was involved, but it gave me a flicker of hope. There was a tiny possibility I could convince her to help me—and in time, Carl would return. Crete couldn’t keep me hidden from him forever. Carl wouldn’t accept the explanations Crete would come up with. I told myself he’d come looking for me.
Two days passed. I had nothing to do but think about what Crete had done to me, my pain and soreness a constant reminder. I alternated between anger and tears, burning the lamp at all times, even while I slept, because the room was too dark without it. It was nighttime when I heard a rattle, keys turning, locks releasing, and my body tensed. My instinct was to hide, but there was nowhere to go. The door opened and closed, and Ransome stood just inside, ready to dart back out if necessary.
“No point trying nothing,” she said, resigned, apologetic. “You won’t get far.”
“I know,” I said, my voice hoarse.
She moved toward me, a bag in one arm, and I wondered if I could knock her down, make it out the door. If I could get across the field, slip away into the woods … I’d spent hours dissecting what to do when this moment came, yet somehow I couldn’t will my body off the bed. I felt weak, exhausted, not in charge of my own limbs. And I didn’t know what waited outside.
Ransome stopped a few feet in front of me and set down the bag. “You okay?”
I laughed, a dry laugh that sounded more like a sob. Her eye twitched, and she knelt down to my level, keeping her distance—wary, perhaps, that I was faking my helplessness. She pulled a square green tin from the bag. “I brought some ointment. Works on udders, thought it might work … you know.” My breast. She’d been in the room that first night as I slept. Had she noticed the blood on my shirt? Lifted it to see the wound? Maybe Crete had told her.
“Thank you.” I closed my eyes and laid my head back down.
“You know why he brung you here, don’t you?” She waited for me to open my eyes before continuing. Her lips were pressed together in a flat line, and her gaze flitted away when I looked at her. “It weren’t to pull weeds and wait tables. He had men lining up for you right away, but he wanted to ease you into it, take it slow. I saw how he took a shine to you, thought maybe he’d change his mind and let you be. But that’s all gone to hell now, and you’ll be doing what you came here for. He’s gonna start bringing customers for you. Next week.”
“Customers?” Nausea spread through me. Surely I was misunderstanding her.
“He says they’ll pay top dollar for a girl like you. I told him you needed time to heal up, but he ain’t giving you long.”
“I won’t do it.”
She looked down. “He has ways to make you.”
“You could help me,” I said. “Ransome, please, you could get me out.”
“I’m sorry, I am.” She shook her head. “I just … There ain’t much I can do. I need this job and this place, and I ain’t got nothing else.”
No wonder she hadn’t made much effort to get to know me. She’d shared her meals but kept her distance, doing her best not to get involved. Because she’d known what was coming. An exodus of built-up tears wet my face, and she pressed a handkerchief into my palm. She sat stiffly while I cried and blew my nose.
“There was another girl,” she said. “Before you. Younger, not much English. Wild as a barn cat. Couldn’t let her be seen in the restaurant, so he just kept her out here on the farm. She weren’t here long. She wouldn’t cooperate, and a man come to get her.” Ransome wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “You gotta do what he wants, show him you can behave, do what you’re told. You don’t want him to have to move you, and that’s what he’ll do. He’s already talking about it, says he’s gotta get you outta here before Carl comes back. You gotta change his mind, get him to let you stay. There’s worse places, see? The man that took her, that other girl … just, there’s worse places. This ain’t the worst.”
I tried to process everything she’d said. As she stood up to leave, her voice lowered to a whisper. “Running ain’t wise now, anyhow. He’s ready for it. You best bide your time.” I pictured traps in the woods, armed men with dogs. Who knew what he had in store for me.
I opened the bag after Ransome left. Canned SpaghettiOs. Apples. And a jar of her tea. I unscrewed the lid and drank it all. Another week trapped in this room, and then … Crete would get what he wanted from me. Ransome had hinted that I might have a better chance to run when I’d proved myself trustworthy and cooperative. Who knew how long that would take. Maybe Ransome was right, and there were worse things. But I thought of Crete’s attack, and I tried to imagine reliving that shame and fear and disgust and rage every day with other men. How much worse could it get?
I was partly in shock, understanding what was going to happen but not fully believing it. Days passed, and my bruises and scrapes were healing. Everything except the bite. I’d been slathering it with the sticky yellow balm Ransome had brought, but it was still painful and swollen and had begun to ooze pus. The garage was hot, suffocating, and I was so tired. The lightbulb had been flickering, and I couldn’t bear to watch it burn out, so I curled up on the quilts and slept.