"Ruby!" Emma's voice was carried across the dimly lit hallway of the brothel, riding on top of waves over waves of tired mumbling and thrilled shouting. She was wearing half of her costume for the night, a white mens blouse from which all of the buttons have been torn off, leaving her breasts nearly exposed, but instead of the tight leather trousers that usually completed the outfit, she wore a brown pair of rough, loose pants that were left in her room one night, when her customer's wife barged into her chamber mid-act, never to be retrieved by their rightful owner, whom she only saw again shamefully glancing at her across the street every now and then.
"Ruby! Have you seen Red?" Emma urgently asked one of the newer recruits, who had only arrived two shipments ago. Less than a year on the job and already tough as a nut. She shook her head indifferently and coughed, not bothering to cover her mouth with her dirty hand. It was winter; everyone was about to get sick sooner or later. "If you see her, tell her I'm looking for her." The girl shrugged. She looked about nineteen, the same age Emma was when she had Henry. During the first couple of years, this kind of detail would have made her feel so much compassion for the younger girls that came with each slave shipment. But the time had passed, and she could only take so many lost souls under her protection while trying to fend for herself and remain one of the madam's favorites. And besides, as the open wound of the separation from her child was turning into an ugly scar, she was slowly adopting quite the cynical perspective on things.
Finally she found her, sitting alone in the dark space under the stairs. "Happy birthday," she smirked at her best friend, who accepted the teasing gesture with a raise of an eyebrow and half a bitter smile.
"Pirates are coming today, you excited?" She ironically remarked, obviously referring to Emma's first few years working as a prostitute, when every arrival of a pirate ship at the port town's dock marked the birth of a new naive hope to see Henry again, destined to meet a disappointing reality of drunk sea men desprate to eat, drink and fuck something different than whatever it was they had on their ship for so many months. Emma waved her hand dismissively.
"Nah, we're probably dealing with the same crew that was here last month. After the way we treated them it was obvious they wouldn't last long at sea, by the end of the night they were done for." She crudely joked, though she did feel a throb of bitterness plunging through a numb spot in the back of her hardened heart. After nearly six years in the brothel, two attempts to escape that resulted poorly and countless pirate ships that have come and gone, Emma wasn't even sure she would have recognized her child if she saw him. if he even survived. The thought used to agonize her, but she had mulled it over in her mind so many times that even the very core of her personal tragedy began losing its edge. "How are you planning to celebrate?" She revisited the original topic of the conversation with a half-cruel, half-loving ironic tone.
Ruby laughed with her whole heart. She was one of the only women in the brothel who still, peculiarly, had the ability to do that. "I don't know, maybe some romantic candle-lit love making with the best looking pirate the Jolly Roger has to offer. I actually do remember the captain as…" Ruby's voice drifted off as she noticed the look on Emma's face. "What is it?" She asked, even though she was almost sure of the answer.
"Are you sure? The Jolly Roger?" Emma's lip trembled slightly, the only sign of a tremendous storm that was beginning to form inside of her.
"So I've heard," Ruby answered cautiously, not wanting to trigger a response too powerful. "Is that the ship,"
"Yes," Emma cut her mid-sentence, not waiting for her to say the exact words, fearing what they may awaken inside her. Ruby examined her friend, uneasy.
"Emma, I hate to say this to you, I really do," Ruby gulped hard, struggling with the next words she was about to let out of her mouth, yet knowing she had to be the one who says them. "But you shouldn't get your hopes up. Six years is a very long time. You can't know what,"
Emma's eyes drilled holes into Ruby's. "But I can ask him. The pirate. And then I'll at least know,"
"And then what? If he tells you exactly where he got rid of Henry all those years ago, what will you do then, Emma?" Ruby's voice turned surprisingly aggressive. "You'll just ask Ursula nicely if you could please leave here to go find him? Don't be stupid, Emma, not even you can pull that off with her. And you know what happens when we try to leave on our own account," She added, subtle sadness lacing into her visible anger. Her hand began to travel up Emma's arm and over her shoulder, nearing the gruesome scar she knew was lying there on her skin, under the blouse. The scar from the wound she herself had mended on the night of Emma's first escape. Emma flicked Ruby's hand away.
"This is my son, Ruby."
Ruby rubbed her left eye with the palm of her hand, suddenly looking exhausted from the conversation. "Yeah, Emma, I know. And I wish I was in your place, knowing that my son may be out there somewhere, alive." She looked as if there was another part to her gloomy sentence, yet she chose not to continue, but to get up and start walking down the hallway, towards their rooms. "Don't do this to yourself, Emma." She shouted over her shoulder, leaving her alone by the moldy staircase.
Ruby's son, Emma knew, was thrown off the deck of the slave ship mid-journey. He cried for her from his cage, being only two years old, and it irritated the pirates. Ruby was even younger than she was.
She rejected the thought of her friend's horrific loss from her mind, along with her warning. Breathing heavily, she hurried back to the dressing room. She had to prepare herself.
-xxx-
Later that night she came into the main parlor on wobbly knees, which she was expertly trying to hide with slow, seductive steps. Scattering looks around the room, throwing a flirtatious smile every now and then, she wasn't completely sure what she was looking for. She knew she looked her absolute best - she didn't exactly know how she should look, but she felt like this was a special occasion - and she also knew that it was only a matter of time before someone unexpected would snatch her away and prevent her from searching any further. She intended to get some information before that would happen. Something both old and new fueled her heart with determination.
Pirates were in fact starting to pour through the decorated wooden doors, and Madam Ursula greeted every newcomer with a welcoming smile from her regular spot from behind the railing, just where the two staircases merged to become one long, murky hallway. She was a frightening woman, evidently old and not well maintained, yet there was still something sensually luring about her slim figure and her experienced movement, as if spending so many years in that place had slowly made her a part of it, just like the faded velvet curtains and the crumbling decorative stone arches on the walls, all of them holding a distant memory of once being of great beauty and appeal.
Emma walked between the alcoves, trying hard to locate a familiar face, voice or tattoo. The night was still young, she told herself in moments of despair. It is not impossible that some of the pirates were still planning to arrive later that night. She just had to stay around long enough to make sure she didn't miss an opportunity.
She continued to stride across the room, avoiding eye contact with Ruby until she was finally taken up the stairs by a dirty looking bearded man, who at least didn't look so old. Before they disappeared into the hallway on the second floor, Emma could see them laughing together and him opening the door for her. Maybe she was up for a nice birthday celebration after all, Emma thought, both hopeful and sarcastic. And then again, the personal chemistry with the customers was Ruby's most significant forte, and also her way of making each night a little more bearable. So Emma couldn't tell whether it was genuine.
She got so caught up in thought, she didn't hear Madam Ursula approaching her from behind until it was too late. "Ah, there she is!" the older woman exclaimed, causing Emma to flinch. She turned around to the familiar set of smiling yellow teeth and cunning, small eyes. The madam's hand was resting on the arm of a middle-aged man, who was also smiling, exposing two rows of rotting teeth. "She is one of the finest whores I have to offer, maybe even one of the best in the enchanted forest! I guarantee you, you will not be disappointed with Goldilocks." She cheerily said while passing his beefy hand along to Emma, and stabbing her with a firm look that could only mean; 'He better not be disappointed'.
Emma was overwhelmed beyond functioning. One moment of distraction and her only chance of getting information about Henry had gone to waste. She could barely feel him leading her up the stairs, barely hear him talking to her. She was lost.
-xxx-
Much later that night, after her unwanted companion was already asleep in his drunken, satisfied state, Emma finally found the strength to come back downstairs, hoping to find Ruby and silently share the remainder of the night in their privacy, wordlessly confessing that she was right to discourage her from her ultimately self-destructive ambitions.
The lounge was dark and silent. Ruby wasn't there. She lightly sighed and began walking away when a slight metallic gleam from one of the nooks in the distant corner of the room caught her eye. She stood completely still, hoping she didn't just fall prey to a late night visitor who likes to slash whores' faces with a knife, and simultaneously excited for a reason she did not yet understand. Either way, adrenaline was rushing through her veins. She noticed a movement in the shadows, and a tall man's figure began revealing itself to the dim light of the one oil lamp that was still burning. "I was beginning to think I wasn't going to get any service around here, love." His voice pierced the silence. Her heart pounded heavily. She knew that voice.
"It was a busy night." Emma heard herself replying flirtatiously, out of habit. "You should have gotten here earlier." The man stood up, his chair sliding with a soft creak over the wooden floor. His eyes now reflected the light, and she could clearly see the curved hook that replaced his hand. She couldn't believe her luck, and was terrified of him at the same time, just imagining what this hook could do to her if she pushes the limit too far.
"Well, I'm here now, and so are you, it seems."
Emma knew he hadn't recognized her yet, perhaps due to the late hour, the alcohol or the misleading low light. She only had one chance. She reached out a long, inviting arm towards him, lightly shuffling her weight to one side. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, refused her offered hand and wrapped his healthy arm loosely around her waist instead. "Lead the way," he murmured into her ear. She hoped he felt her shiver, even though it wasn't for the reason he thought it was. It was him, she was sure. Captain Jones of the Jolly Roger, the last man who had Henry, for as far as she knew.
As they were climbing up the stairs she suddenly became self-aware - not expecting another sexual encounter for the night, she was only wearing her simple, rough white nightgown. This was not the best way to dominate the situation she was about to create, but it would have to do, and besides, she could already feel his hungry looks sliding down her legs and chest. He didn't even know it yet, but she already had the upper hand.
As they entered the narrow hallway, his features almost disappeared from her eyes in the thick shadows. She stopped in front of a room she knew was empty and turned to face him. His response was immediate, as he placed his lips on hers before she could blurt any banal tease to spark his temper. The kiss was forceful, but not unpleasant. His hand quickly found its way to one of her breasts, and he began massaging it confidently, his fingers lingering for a bit over her nipple with every movement.
Much to her dismay, Emma started to feel involved in the situation in ways she hadn't been expecting. She opened the door behind them, collapsing backwards into the dark room, both of them breathing heavily. All of the candles had burnt out, and she pulled away from him to light them up, slowly, one by one. Treacherous thoughts began invading her mind - perhaps she could lay with him first and only then demand the information she was looking for. She heard a click and then the low thud of metal meeting a wooden surface. He took off the hook for her, whispered a voice in her head which craved the tenderness promised in that gesture, and she felt a hard pull in her lower stomach. It had been a very long time since she felt excitement of that kind towards a client, or towards a man in general.
As she was slowly making up her mind, she suddenly felt him pressing against her back, his warmth pleasant, his stub wrapping around her rib cage below the breasts while the other hand traveled down her front, and his hard bulge settled on her lower back, just above her bottom. She gasped uncontrollably, giving in. He turned her around, and she saw his face in the light for the first time, the reflection of the small flames dancing in his blue eyes. For a moment she only saw desire, but then there was something else; at first it was surprise, then suspicion, then recognition. The desire vanished as if it had never been there, and Emma felt a mild tinge of disappointment at that.
Her mind was quickly clearing, she felt as if they were in a race over controlling the situation, over who would come to their senses first. When he spoke, his voice revealed no emotion.
"I know you." He said.