Crimson (12 page)

Somebody pulls off the cloth bag covering my head. Light floods back into my world; a not-so-subtle reminder that reality won’t stand for escapees. I’m surrounded by guards with guns pointed at me. Directly in front of me is a door to the next room.

The shower is switched off. Allison is dragged out of the door, a guard tightly holding each of her arms. She flashes me a look of defiance. All I’m able to do is look directly back at her and meet her eyes. And I so desperately want to smile at her and tell her I understand. I hope she can tell through this tape.

My eyes wander over her. The gown put on her hides nothing. She has the kind of body that makes me instantly jealous; athletic and strong. My face flushes, hot. Yet she also carries a set of scars that hold a story that’s begging to be told. I find myself staring at her, unabashed. She’s sat in the chair next to me, completely composed. She gives me a subtle nod, a tilt of her chin to show she isn’t broken. Her defiant beauty lifts me. If she remains strong then perhaps all is not lost.

Then it’s my turn. A guard steps forward and lifts me out of the chair. Another joins him and together they drag me into the other room.

A woman stands in front of me and with a hand on each cheek starts pressing around my nose, poking and prodding without any semblance of gentleness. The pain makes my eyes water.

“Lucky you, it’s not broken,” She says indifferently.

If she presses any damn harder, I suspect it will break just to make her stop, out of sympathy for me. She picks at the corner of the tape over my mouth. Then to cement how little sensitivity she has for me, tears it off with one quick pull. I flinch in pain. She just gives an unsympathetic grunt and pushes me into an area of tiled floor.

“Sit down,” she orders me.

The guards waiting behind her raise their guns to ensure I know I have no say in the matter. The floor is wet and freezing cold. Then water hits me. I try to crawl away from the frigid water that batters me. But with my arms locked behind my back there’s no avoiding it. In seconds I’m shivering. Somebody squirts some sort of liquid soap haphazardly over me. All I can do is curl up as they painfully scrub me. They drag the brushes over my face, leaving me coughing and spluttering; the water bitter.

At some point the brushes stop and I’m left on the freezing tiles. I try hard to keep thinking of Allison’s defiance; to stay composed in the face of apparent helplessness. I fail, miserably. I feel each icy drop of water hit me. Each steals a little more of the warmth that Cara, Allison and everyone else had shown me in the past few days.

I’m lost in the forest near our house. Mum and Dad were distracted. They wouldn’t pay attention to me.

A memory from before my parent’s death; a memory of a day I had long forgotten. That day something important happened, though the significance I can’t seem to recall. I remember the jealousy, the rage; at least as much jealousy and rage as my little five-year-old self could muster. It seems so petty to me now, but back then it meant so much. I ran away. It never occurred to me, so young, what I was going to do after I ran away. I just ran. We’d never been allowed to play in this forest. It was too dangerous, Dad said. Too easy to get lost. So my little five-year-old self found out.

Under the cover of the trees it starts to get dark quickly. The sun struggles to filter through the heavy foliage. The trees begin close in around me like the claws of the demons from my nightmares. Behind every tree lies a hungry animal waiting to eat me. Every noise becomes the growl of an evil beast waiting to kill me. I curl up under a tree and start crying.

Somewhere under all the water pouring over me, all that’s left the lost little girl, crying. How much more will they throw at me? How much more before I’m lost forever?

The water shuts off. I’m completely numb. I can’t feel anything beyond tears. I don’t understand how Allison can be so defiant. This seems hopeless to me.

They drag me away from the shower and leave me lying in the middle of the cold tile floor whilst they rub towels roughly over me. I’m not sure if it’s a poor attempt to dry me, or just further abuse they want me to endure. The rough towels make poor work of it. Eventually it stops and I’m lifted to my feet again.

A guard slices off the cuffs around my wrists. I can feel their hesitation as they do it; were it not for the fact that it would be impossible to get this thin hospital gown on me I’m sure they would have left me cuffed. It sticks to my still damp skin, which compounds the difficulty getting it on. In the end they just pull on it harder, roughly tying it off once they finally get it on.

My arms are quickly twisted behind me so that they can click the cuffs back on. I’m not sure what their concern is. I couldn’t fight back even if I really did feel like getting myself killed.

Levia tapes my mouth up again. She then slaps me, hard, across the face. I’m so numb I don’t even feel it. That seems to upset her.

“Bah, take her back into the other room, bag her and bring one of the twins in.” She says angrily.

A guard gives me a hard shove from behind, sending me scrambling through the door. Without the bag over my head I’m finally able to get a look at Cara, to see if she’s ok. She sits slumped in the dark blue plastic chair with another of the black cotton bags over her head.

Of her porcelain-white skin, it makes an austere counter to the deep colour of her seat; her pale and faultless complexion enhanced only by her deep rose nipples centred bold on the rest of her petit breasts. My eyes roam lower, finding the only other blemish to her pale skin. It occurs to me how easily I’m abusing her dignity.

Her sister sits beside her with a lot more confidence; legs spread and feet firmly anchored on the ground. Sharing Cara’s unblemished skin, Caitlin differs only by virtue of a pair of colourful tattoos adorning each shoulder and in the fact that her current posture leaves little to the imagination.

Another guard takes the bag off covering Cara’s head. Her face is red and slick with tears; her left cheek bruising. My curiosity towards her nakedness turns quickly to horror at my own thoughts as I think about what Cara went through only moments ago. I silently castigate myself for the hypocrisy of my focus. It’s in that moment that I get what Allison was trying to instil in me. Cara needs to know that all is not lost. Trying my best to hide my own fears, I look her in the eyes. I can see her searching me for answers as she looks straight back at me. This tape makes it impossible to see me smile, but maybe it’s enough. Not that I’m able to read her face to see if I’m convincing. I hold her eyes as I take my seat without fuss. I don’t want to give them a chance to force a show of weakness while she’s watching. For the next few minutes, she’s going to need all the strength she can get. Then my world turns dark again as the black bag is replaced over my head.

It’s an anxious wait as I hear them walk her into the other room and shut the door, the sound of the shower muted as the door clicks shut.

Time crawls, until the shower eventually stops and Cara is dragged back into the room. Does she see me? I hear her drop heavily into her seat. What does that mean? Is she ok? Not being able to see her is driving me crazy.

“Hurry up! This is taking too long.” Levia says.

A chair scatters across the room followed by a struggle of desperate feet scraping the floor. Don’t struggle Caitlin. A loud thud cuts the struggling short. All that follows is another uneasy wait.

Mum picks up Claire again. I look out from my hiding spot under the bed. I was being quiet just like Mum wants. I watch her desperately try to convince Claire to hide, but she didn’t seem to understand why she couldn’t help. Maybe she thought it was just a game. I didn’t understand what was going on either at the time. I just knew that I had to follow what Mum said and be quiet.

I could be quiet for her.

She tells Claire to hide under the bed. She begs her. Her voice sounds so much more desperate, remembering it now.

“No mummy, I have to protect them,” Claire says, shaking her head.

There’s a loud bang as the bedroom door explodes inward.

Two hands pull me out of my memory, gripping me too firmly under each arm to lift me to my feet. A voice tells me succinctly to walk. More pushing and shoving gets me heading in the direction they want.

 “Take them to the main entrance for processing. Keep the hoods on them until you get there. Given all the trouble this one caused last time she was here, they’ll be going to the high security area so that they can be better guarded and away from the other residents here.”

 “Always with the hoods, always with those damn hoods,” a new voice says. “Let me guess, they’re taped up too?”

“You know it’s the security protocol when moving captives about,” the woman says.

“And beating them is also part of that protocol?”

Nothing is said in response. The hood is pulled off. I’m standing in a hall filled with tables and benches. The man who spoke stands in front of us; older than us but not by much, a sharp face with black hair slicked back. He wears his uniform without the air of formality the guards behind him have.

 “Here, let me get that off you,” the man says as he tries to gently peel the tape off my mouth. There’s no gentle way to do it, but it’s a relief at least. He un-cuffs me, then repeats the process with the others.

He steps back to address us. “Right, I’m the warden of this facility. As you well know, you’re here at the mercy of the Templars. As you by now can tell, they are not interested in playing nice. Some are still chaffing from the last time you were a guest of the Templars and are eager for retribution. At all times follow the directions the guards give you. Needless to say, if you try anything or if you attempt to escape they’ll shoot you.

“You’ll each be assigned a room off the main courtyard and be allocated separate times for use of the exercise yard. Otherwise, you’ll be in solitary rooms. Take in your friend’s faces, because it’ll be the last time you see them for a while. Please don’t find out the consequences of attempting otherwise. Know that you will be monitored.

“Anyone found without their bracelets or any other device that they are required to wear will be assumed dangerous and summarily shot. No questions asked. If you cooperate with us I will do what I can to make your stay here short and reasonably comfortable. Avoid making it unnecessarily shorter by attracting the guard’s attention. 

“Now, if you’ll all follow me to your cells, in them you’ll find clothing you will need to wear.”

He opens the doors of the hall and leads us out to a rectangular courtyard. Surrounding the courtyard is the concrete facility with what appear to be cells on every side. A covered walkway wraps around the outside of the courtyard, but the yard itself is open to the air, a large grassy park complete with trees and even a bird fountain. It’s such beautiful sanctuary, so incompatible with the bleak surrounds.

We stop in front of the first room. He twists the handle on the half a foot steel door. It slides open.

“This is you,” he says pointing to me. “It’s all automatic. Twist the handle and it has an assisted opening that does the work for you. And when you close it, you just need to get it started and it’ll slide itself closed. It’s locked and unlocked during the day on a timer. You’ll hear a five minute warning alarm each shift change. If you’re caught outside when the doors lock and a guard has to let you in, there will be consequences.

“Next to the main hall is the library if you’re looking for something to do. You can take books from there to your room.”

He turns from me. “Now let’s get the rest of you to your rooms.”

The door slides shut behind me once I step into the room, cutting me off from the world.

The room is just a long narrow corridor. Against the left wall is a bed, beside which is barely enough space to pass.

Beyond the bed is a desk with a couple of books piled on it and a plastic chair tucked underneath. After another metre or so of empty space, the far left corner of the room is sectioned off behind a small wall. The wall itself is covered in polished stainless steel, acting as a poor mirror. It’s a little too claustrophobic for my liking. I’ve slept in worse places though.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” I say out loud. The walls don’t answer.

A stack of clothes is arranged neatly on the bed; a familiar looking pair of utilitarian navy pants and matching long-sleeved button-up shirt. At least they’re better than this useless gown. I strip off and stand naked in front of the steel mirror. I close my eyes as my hands slide down my body; I imagine it’s her for a moment, caressing me gently, touching me. But when I open my eyes the girl in the mirror is fuzzy and distorted. Tired and battered. A sigh as I put on the briefs that lay tucked at the bottom of the clothing pile. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Next is a poor excuse for a bra. Or maybe it’s just a short tank top? I can’t tell. It’s not like I have anything in the way of curves to fill it anyway. Why would she settle for something this broken? At least the pants fit.

A buzzer goes off as I finish buttoning the navy shirt. The cell door slides open with a loud click. This must be my little piece of scheduled freedom. Grabbing a book from the small pile on the cell desk, I put on the slip-on shoes that wait next to the bed and tentatively step out of the cell. It turns out that freedom for somebody as tired as me isn’t much different than confinement, there’s just more sun involved. Still, I find a comfortable spot under a tree to start reading.  The bark of the tree I’m leaning against is worn smooth, the grass underneath surprisingly soft; this comfortable spot is, I’m guessing, a popular place for others to spend their time. This would be a nice place to relax were it not for the cold surroundings of this concrete jail.

The book struggles to hold my attention. The lead heroine is well developed, but the plot, right from the start, is contrived. As I read further, I develop the feeling that the lead character deserves a better story than the one this author has given her. I mostly skim through the book, bored, but with nothing else I can do. The sun is a warm blanket wrapped around me.