Chapter 3: In the Talon's Grasp
It had taken them two weeks to get out of D.C and cross the river. The days were getting longer and hotter, and Sarah moved slowly because of her shoulder. Charon picked up the slack when it came to enemies, but that did nothing for their overall pace. They stopped frequently and she slept often. Charon hardly spoke during the trip, save when they were fighting Raiders or Mutants and Sarah was rarely in a mood to utter more than a few sentences. When she slept, he watched over her, refusing to take shifts. He was an excellent fighter, but his people skills left much to be desired.
Sarah waved to Stockholm with her good arm as she walked underneath the Megaton gates. Luckily, it was late, so she wouldn't have to answer a bunch of questions about who was with her. During the day, people swarmed around Megaton, but at night mostly people stayed home. The Wasteland was a dangerous place at night, sometimes even in a town like Megaton. Sarah knew that as soon as Stockholm was off, everyone in town would know she had brought a man home. Stockholm was a worse gossip than all the women in town put together, and nothing came into this town without him knowing. Sarah slipped through the town and into her house with Charon following.
"Welcome home, ma'am." Charon heard from behind him, and in a flash his gun was pointed at a robot.
"Whoa, whoa, that's just Wadsworth. He's cool, I promise," she assured him, resting her hand on Charon's gun. He lowered it, warily.
Charon then looked around his employer's house and noted the unique décor. It looked like something from before the war and - was that a tricycle? A well-worn rug and chairs decorated the living room, and to his left, he noted with disdain, was a coatrack. She went to all of the trouble to find one of those things? Boxes of food lined the shelves, neat and orderly. Usually his employers had been quick to assign orders, but as of yet, she had issued none. Unsure of this, he was also unsure of her behavior towards him. Their progress from Underworld had been slow. He noticed that her arm danged oddly, but she never volunteered any information and he never asked. As of yet, he was unable to assess her skills in battle.
She suddenly yelled from the kitchen. "Do you want anything? Maybe a Nuka-Cola or some Squirrel Stew?" Peeking her head around the corner she watched as Charon shook his head. "Well, I'm starving, so I'm making some food. Make yourself at home; your room is on the right up the stairs." Charon made his way upstairs and noted a jukebox and a medic unit. He unpacked his gear, sat down on his bed and began cleaning his combat shotgun. He had owned this gun longer than he could remember. Standard issue, only slight modifications had been made to the weapon. He preferred the reliability of a manufacturer's model. From downstairs he could hear her moving in the kitchen as she began to hum loudly, and sometimes off key. It sounded like something from the radio. When he had finished cleaning his weapon, he cleaned his armor, buffing out a scratch from a Mirelurk claw. Once that was done, he walked downstairs.
When he rounded the corner the smoothskin was leaning over into the fridge. She had changed into a blue dress, and for the first time Charon allowed himself to thoroughly inspect his new employer. She was short, with dark brown mussed hair that she had tied back as soon as she got home. Her arms and legs were toned and a large scar sliced its way across her calf. A large discolored bruise expanded from beneath her dress and made its way down her shoulder. That must've happened recently, he thought. Charon stood in the corner of the room watching the smoothskin until she had finished cooking. While she wasn't fat, she had the full cheeks and healthy glow of someone who ate regularly. The Wasteland hasn't stripped her bare, yet.
"Don't you want to sit with me?" she asked, cocking her head. She had sat on the couch, but Charon remained standing stiffly in the corner. Silently, he sat down. Sarah nervously bit her lip until she found the courage to speak. "Charon," she said softly. "I know that you've had a difficult life, and I can't begin to imagine what that was like for you. But I bought your contract from Ahzrukhal because I couldn't stand the thought of someone as disgusting as him practically owning another person. I don't believe in slavery. I want people to be as happy as they can be in this shithole world. I didn't buy your contract so that you would work for me. I bought it so that I could give it to you." Charon looked at her apprehensively, as if waiting for the punch line to a bad joke. Sarah just sat there, waiting for a response. She wiggled her toes absentmindedly.
"I am sorry to disappoint you Smoothskin, but that isn't how my contract works. I cannot own my contract."
Sarah slowly looked up, horrified. "You mean you have no choice? I have to own you?!" she shrieked.
"I belong to no one. You are my employer and I will serve you, but you do not own me," Charon corrected.
Sarah stammered, "Of course, I never meant… Oh, I'm sorry. There must be a way out of this. Let me read the damn thing." Sarah fished around in her bag until she found the paper. "To Whomever holds this contract holds the services of one male ghoul, identified Charon. Physical abuse is to be considered Breach of Contract. If any of these terms are breached knowledgably by employer, employee maintains the right to terminate. Once terminated, employee will seek new employment. Aforementioned employee may not take possession of his contract through any means including: killing, stealing, and/or willful receiving from the employer. If in any case this contract is destroyed employee is to immediately terminate. Contract is only valid though possession." Sarah finished reading and stared at the document, her fingers tracing over the words. "Charon, is this written in…blood?"
Charon's eyes turned dark, "Yes," he replied. "Mine." Without saying another word, he got up and went to his room, leaving Sarah to eat her meal alone.
That night Sarah got into bed, gingerly touching her shoulder. It would be healed in another week or two, but she didn't have a week. Her father was out there now. Drifting off to sleep, the pain in her shoulder waning the deeper she fell. The next thing she knew a hand was pressed down over her mouth and a man was sitting on her legs. Something pulled her hands up over her head. The sound of screaming was so muffled she knew no one would hear.
"No no no, sweetheart. There'll be none of that," the man sitting on Sarah's legs said quietly. He was big, with dark hair and eyes, his skin weathered by the sun. He traced a knife down her neck and chest, pausing at her navel. "Now, I'm sure you know who we are, don't you deary?" Sarah shook her head and the man chuckled. "Well, allow us to introduce ourselves. We are with Talon Company. We go out and people pay us to do the jobs none of the other mercenaries will do. And someone really wants you dead," the man grinned sadistically. "Now love, you're gonna die, but I see no reason that the boys and I can't have our fun. Right boys?" the man asked, looking at his comrades. The other men nodded eagerly. The man stroked the knife along her face, drawing a thin line of blood. "It's been a long time since we had someone so pretty to have fun with."
The third man, tall with a scraggly beard, picked up the dress Sarah had been wearing earlier and handed it to what she assumed was the leader. He shoved it into Sarah's mouth and began slicing her shirt, exposing her breasts to the men. She began to struggle, but a knife to her throat made her freeze. "Move again, and I'll slice off an ear," the man threatened. He continued slicing away until there was nothing left but her underwear. The man with the beard began groping her breasts, and despite her best efforts, Sarah began to cry, which only made the men laugh. The man holding her hands leaned down from above her and licked her tears away from her cheeks. His breath smelled like rotten food and Sarah gagged. The leader had cut away her underwear and was fondling her as she clenched her legs shut.
Slowly, the door creaked open but the men were so preoccupied that they didn't hear. Within seconds the three men were slumped over, a single shot to the forehead for each of them. Sarah crawled to the edge of the bed, cradling herself as she cried. Charon pushed open the door completely; in his hands was the sniper rifle that she had purchased from Tulip.
Charon picked up two of the men and threw them down the stairs. Once he had done the same with the third he came back and sat on the opposite edge of the bed. Sarah whimpered, "Thank you Charon. I-I don't know what would've happened without you."
Charon muttered, "It's in the contract…"
Sarah touched his arm, "Still, thank you." She tried to smile at him through her tears, but she didn't know if it came across. "Um, I know this is asking a lot, but will you stay in my room tonight? I don't think I can sleep alone." Charon nodded and sat down in the chair by Sarah's desk. He closed his eyes while Sarah changed into something not shredded, although he glimpsed a sight of her thigh as she got off of the bed.
'Get ahold of yourself, you haven't been that long without,' Charon thought to himself. That one night that Ahzrukhal had let him off, Greta had made him an offer that couldn't be politely refused. But that had been years ago. Ahzrukhal did not give many days off.
Once Sarah was back in bed she peeked at Charon. He was intently staring at the door, rifle in his lap. She closed her eyes, and felt safe.
Once she was asleep and her breathing was regular, Charon allowed himself to look at the smoothskin. Wisps of her dark brown hair framed a heart shaped face. Her mouth was full and her cheeks were tearstained. A cut ran along the side, a drop of dried blood in the corner. How old is this girl, Charon wondered. She can't be more than 20 years old. Sighing, he leaned forward, tracing his thumb along her cheek, stopping at the cut. Her skin was smooth, unlike his. He looked at his hand, gnarled and rough. He put his hand back on his gun, watching the door. This was easy for him, slipping into an autopilot of sorts. The hours passed quickly, although he would occasionally steal a glance to the sleeping girl beside him.