His mind was still fogged with sleep and disorientation. Just being in a place that wasn't dark and dingy felt surreal.
Elena strode toward him, wrapped in a long, purple towel. Her eyes glittered as she reached out for him.
He backed away. Beside him were the dressing rooms with their wooden doors, familiar from last time he'd been in the sauna. Ahead were the vague outlines of wooden benches.
He shuddered to think what she expected of him. Memories of last time he was here, during the party, rolled over him in nauseating waves.
Her touches, ignoring his protests… his vulnerable position…
He tried to gather his senses. Shake the fogginess from his mind so he could react….
The plan… get close to her… compromise her without compromising myself….
That was as far as he got before she was gliding her damp finger over his arm. "I missed you."
"I can't say the same." If I were ruthless and conscienceless, I'd use her obvious vulnerability, but I can't risk hurting the innocent life inside her.
And so it's my vulnerability instead….
He stepped away and disappointment shot through her eyes. But not enough to dull the unnatural light in them, the haunted longing. Deeper somehow than before….
"I couldn't stop thinking of you. I have Elliot, of course, but he's no substitute. That's why I have to have you."
He turned away. "Did you hurt him."
"The guards had to rough him up a bit. But otherwise he's fine." Impatience colored her voice. "I just—wanted to see you." She reached for him, her movements slow and graceful. "I can help you forget your pain."
"I'm fine."
"I'll erase the scars… it'll be as if they've never been…."
"I don't think that's possible. Even if it were, you couldn't do it. Connie can't even…" His throat caught, hating the fact he'd brought her name into this place.
"You have no idea what I can do. Just lean into my touch and you'll see…."
He turned back toward her. "You're the one that caused all this pain."
"I own your pleasure, your pain, your mind, your soul…." She pressed her palm to his chest over his heart. "The one thing I don't own yet is this. But it's only a matter of time." She turned from him before he could pull away and sauntered back into the mist then sat down on the bench, legs crossed. Spread out one arm gracefully. "Please, join me."
He refused.
A shock shot down his spine. He gasped, more from surprise than pain.
"A warning shot," she said. "Please, join me."
I'm here to get close… He sighed. He sauntered toward her.
"Please undress first. There's a towel for you in the stall."
He didn't want a repeat of last time.
But she can't do more than a few touches….
Even that's too much.
I'll set limits… boundaries…. Hopefully she won't pressure me past them….
He headed into the stall, shoulders sagging with the relief of being alone.
A yellow towel was neatly folded on the bench like the discarded skin of a snake. He hated the idea of exchanging his clothes for it, as tired as he was of the coarse material rubbing against his scars. But she had the autoshock.
Slowly, he unbuttoned the prison shirt; the cloying air hit his skin, taking his breath away as if it had sunk into his lungs. His entire being protested against undressing; his fingers were numb as they moved mechanically. Tears nearly fell as he picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist; it was like clamping the bonds of slavery around himself. His face flushed as he stood before the door, dreading emerging from the brief refuge.
There has to be some kind of leverage I can use….
He headed out into the fog, so thick now he could barely see Elena. He liked the idea that she had faded completely and he wouldn't have to deal with her.
But after a few moments, she appeared, her blue eyes scanning him.
"Ah, that's much better, isn't it?" she said, swiping a stand of her blond hair back. "Too hot in that dreadful uniform."
"You're the one who gave it to me."
She patted the bench beside her. "Please, sit."
The pretense of politeness rubbed him the wrong way. "You might as well not pretend I have a choice."
She tilted her head. "It's true, perhaps we should push past the curtain of pretense. It is fun to play around, but… we're about to take our relationship to the next level."
"What do you mean by that."
She gave a slow smile that spread almost unnaturally broadly, her cheeks dimpling. "This is our first date."
"It's nothing of the sort."
She laughed. "You have no say in it."
"That's why this isn't a real relationship."
"I don't know if you've noticed, but this isn't a normal world. I make the rules. Here—if I say it's our first date, it is. Now sit down." Her words had a firm command in them, and he found himself obeying before he had the chance to decide if it was the right move. That alarmed him…. But he would have sat down soon anyway, so he ignored it.
"Besides, you'll find that once you start following my rules, it will go much more smoothly for you. Not that I expect that right away." Her hand jerked to her stomach. "Oh! He's kicking." She looked at him, surprised joy in her eyes, tainted with a flicker of fear. He realized the complications had rattled her more than he'd suspected; she'd lost some of her composure. Perhaps a good thing….
She grabbed his wrist and planted his hand against her stomach. Sure enough, the little taps drummed against his palm.
"He's strong, isn't he?"
He nodded.
"I think I have a name for him."
"Really?"
"If he lives up to his potential. He's got a lot to make up for."
"It's not his fault. You are getting older. Maybe—"
"This is just an anomaly."
"Are you sure about that? Maybe you shouldn't keep getting pregnant. Maybe this is punishment for all the men you've raped—"
He half-expected for lightning to blaze down his spine, but when he looked at her again, her face was nearly serene. One eyebrow arched. "I can't expect you to understand. I nearly have it right this time… but I'm going to keep having children as long as I want. Perhaps a surrogate eventually—I don't want my figure to be completely ruined." She slid closer to him. Laid her hand on his arm. "In fact, if all goes well, my next baby will be ours."
Everything whited out for a moment, as if the fog had consumed him.
Her hand slid up over his shoulder and one finger lightly caressed it. Teasingly tracing to the back of his neck to linger there, rubbing delicately up and down.
A not-unpleasant tingle shivered through him—
He held back a gasp and slowly slid out from under her touch.
Her smile was wry in the mist like a disembodied grin.
She stepped closer to him, regal, ghostlike. As if an unclean spirit had attached itself to him and wouldn't let go.
Mist clouded his lungs, rippled through his vision.
He spun away from her; she vanished. He sat back in a corner, huddled up, chilled despite the heat.
Slowly, he became aware of a presence beside him.
A hand appeared in front of him, a small pile of iridescent glitter sparkling in its palm.
"Go ahead, take it," said Elena.
"What is it?"
"Zyx."
Sickness crawled inside of him. He shook his head.
"Suit yourself." She leaned over and lapped it up.
"Elena—your baby—"
"He'll be alright. We have no evidence it has side effects on pregnancy."
"Have you done studies?"
"No, but it's remarkably devoid of most side effects, so I'll take my chances. Besides, I'm not letting him take any other pleasures from me. Can't even risk drinking." She laid her hand on his thigh. It was such a natural-seeming gesture he was caught off-guard. He didn't move for a moment; she took that as assent perhaps and snaked her hand inward.
He grasped her wrist and gently but firmly pushed her away.
Her eyes danced, as if this were all a game. "He even comes between us." She rubbed her stomach. "Maybe I should just throw caution to the wind and have him taken out."
"What."
"This pregnancy has gotten tedious. You have no idea how awful I felt in the hospital."
"Your baby deserves your care—he deserves a mother." Probably too much to ask… but if this close call could pull her toward decency…. "He was in danger too."
"You're right; I have to make myself wait just a little longer…. There is one thing good about all this. It's drawn us closer." She dragged her fingers down his arm.
"No, it hasn't."
"I know you. Better than you know yourself."
"That's not possible."
"I'm a psychologist, remember. You're a mass of repressed feelings and desires… you deny the truth to yourself constantly."
"You're the one that's deluded."
"After we're engaged—"
"What!"
"That's the normal progression, isn't it? Dating…engagement…marriage…."
"I'm already married."
"It's true that this won't be a marriage per se. There will be a ceremony. Then you'll be bonded to me forever."
"Nothing could do that."
"You haven't tasted a drop of my true power. I might as well be magic for how irresistible I am."
"You overestimate yourself. You're nothing but a spoiled brat who breaks things when she doesn't get her way. You're arrogant—and that'll be your downfall."
"I have this place and my system secure, at the verge of worldwide success. Nothing can stop it now."
"Or maybe it's a house of cards, and if I pull just one of them out—"
"Which one?" she scoffed. "You are the one who's failed. You thought you had found a crack in the foundation… but it was just a trap that I'd set. I control everything here; you might as well accept that."
"You'll never own my soul. You'll never take my heart. Nothing in you is worth looking at, nothing in you is worth giving myself to. That's why I'm not even tempted by this." He grasped her wrist, pressing hard, backing her into the corner.
She shrank from him, cradling her stomach.
Pierced with guilt, he let go.
How fragile she was.
Just like Connie, when—
No.
Nothing like her.
Still…. I can't do anything to hurt Elena. Not yet….
Elena adjusted her towel a little, smoothed back her hair. The fear fell from her like a mask. "Good thing the monitor settings are beyond that distress level, or you'd have gotten a shock. I still could order one… but I think you understand what can and can't be done. I know I can count on your chivalry, Jason."
He turned from her. Longing to be able to tear his way out of this place.
A touch on his shoulder. He flinched; it was near one of the deeper whip scars.
"Your skin is a unique work of art. I'm privileged to own it." Desire burned deep in her eyes.
"There's nothing beautiful about the scars—they come from pain." Bitterness seized his voice. He hated how she tried to give his scars her own meaning. They were deeply personal. She had no idea how much agony they'd wrung from him.
"But you've transformed them into something beautiful." She kissed his shoulder. Pressed her hand to his chest.
I'll stay near her to learn any clues… but I'm not tolerating these possessive touches. Not letting her think she owns me in any way. She doesn't own my pain, my past, my future… nothing.
"Why don't you let me wash away all memories of your pain?"
"You'd only add more."
"I want to give you something good… you'll begin to see how wonderful our life can be together."
"I'll never give in, no matter what you do to me."
She chuckled. "I've heard men say that before…. The last one to do so was Elliot." She rubbed her stomach over the purple towel.
"You tortured him."
"I didn't need to. No man can resist me for long." Carefully, she crept up onto the bench, kneeling, facing him. "What a gorgeous creature you are… so beautiful in your defiance."
She grasped the back of his neck. Before he fully realized what was happening, she was kissing him.
He tried to pull away, but it was as if he was trapped in his own body. Vivid flashes of Zar in the cave, Zar in the Gold Room, flickered through his mind, almost too fast to see, but enough to bind him there, slice icy needles into his flesh.
He only half-registered the kiss; part of him was in the past, and part was still frozen in the moment he had tried to pull away.
Her kisses became more insistent, creeping further into his consciousness, breaking into his numbness somewhat.
The hot pressure of her lips. Her fingernails digging into the skin on the back of his neck. The brush of stray wisps of golden hair against his cheek.
She caressed his unshaven jaw. A smile flitted across her lips.
I can't be this helpless.
Just because it happened before—now my body just has to let it keep happening?
He pleaded with God to help him, and his muscles unlocked. Relief flooded him. He grasped her arms, pushed her gently away.
Tried to.
She only cuddled closer to him, wrapping her arm around his shoulder, pressing against the stab wound.
He gasped in pain, hissing through clenched teeth.
"Ooh!" she said. "I'm sorry, dear. Let me fix it."
She stepped over to his left side, then kissed his shoulder.
His pain threatened to pin him there again.
Kneeling on the bench facing him, she caressed his chest gently, fingertips gliding over his scars.
She did know him to that extent. How much his scars affected him. They trapped him partly in the past, so he was inadequate to react to the present.
A psychologist intimately familiar with PTSD… who had studied it firsthand in many victims… and focused on studying him…
Despair wrung his heart. Perhaps there was no future. Perhaps he would eventually give in, because nothing else existed for him anymore…
Her fingers traced his hairline, then swirling around inside of his ear, brushing his earlobe.
A twinge akin to a thrill struck through him—
Her hands traced his neck, sliding downward over his collarbone, pressing lightly yet firmly, as if she knew exactly where her final destination was—
Nausea gnawed at him.
Be with Elena. But don't let her—
Do what she's already done.
Too late.
No—if I think that, I'm already lost.
He grasped Elena's wrist, pushed her away. She wouldn't budge.
He reached for her waist, but she didn't exactly have a waist at the moment. There wasn't much he could push against.
So he ripped himself away, with the satisfying pain of tearing off a parasite.
He headed off into the mist, forging toward the door.
Somehow he found it; before, he'd just been unduly confused.
He pressed his hand to its smooth surface, but it wouldn't open.
So he dove into the nearest dressing room. Locked the door. Thankfully it had an old-fashioned physical lock.
He sat back, breathing hard.
Wishing he had his clothes back.
Reveling in the blessed peace, the absence of roaming hands, of the fervent kisses that meant nothing but possession, slavery.
She needs to be taught that she doesn't control everything…
She already knows what will control me. I can't let her. Can't let trauma overtake me again…
How can you do that when you're immersed in constant trauma?
Time stretched out. Gray mist filled the corners of his mind. His thoughts were almost formless and he welcomed the space to breathe.
Dreams were drifting through his mind when a knock on the door lashed him to consciousness.
"Time to go," said Elena.
"Where?"
A warning zap at the back of his neck. With a sigh, he crept to his feet and followed her wearily out of the sauna.
Still in her towel, not giving him clothes either, she led him down past the utilitarian doors, past Med, to the more elaborate doors, and stopped at her suite.
Inside it was dim. A welcome change from the relentless white light. He longed to sleep. But he hated the idea of having to do it here.
A horrifying scream tore his heart. Then, the flutter of wings. It was the lyrebird, Rhapsody, flying around the room. Screaming in Elliot's voice.
"I'd rather go back down," he said, staying near the door.
"Don't be silly. You need a shower. Besides, wouldn't you rather stay in luxury?"
No. Even the dungeon was preferable to this.
She stepped over to her bedroom. Pushed open the door a little. Then she turned, narrowed her eyes. "I will Activate your monitor if I have to."
Fear razored his spine. He hated that she was already training him.
"Those awful showers downstairs don't suit you. Come to mine. Or take a bath if you like." She stepped into the shadows of her bedroom.
Perhaps I should just…stop obeying no matter what she does.
But I need to find out things….
Make myself resist if she thinks of touching me like that again. But don't risk unnecessary pain…
Dread filling him at what she might have in mind, he stepped into the bed room.
His heart stopped.
Elliot was lying in her bed.
He'd know he was here, but seeing him caught him off-guard.
It looked like he was sleeping at least. He had that refuge still…
Jason treaded lightly across the carpet, not wanting to wake Elliot, and stepped into the bathroom. Elena stood just outside the door. She waved one hand. "I'd join you, but I'm really tired…." She hugged her stomach. "Probably this little guy…." She gave a wistful smile and turned away.
Jason shut the door, careful not to slam it so he wouldn't wake Elliot up.
He was reluctant to lose the shield the towel provided in case Elena changed her mind and came back in.
But he did want to wash the trails of her touch from his skin….
As long as he was alone, this was better than the showers downstairs. Part of him dreaded taking a shower, but he also hated the vulnerability of taking a bath—out in the open rather than the thin shield of the shower stall. Baths also reminded him of his recovery at Ali's when he'd barely been able to move…. Remnants of glitter floating in the water…
He shed the towel and stepped into the shower. Turned on the water as hot as he could stand it. Let the heat scald his skin, erase the memory of Elena's touches, erase the guilt and shame along with them.
Eventually the heat began to get to him, an ache throbbing against his temples, and he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a clean towel.
He looked around the room for anything resembling clothes, but couldn't find any, so he wrapped the blue towel snugly around his waist then cautiously opened the door.
Elena was lying in bed on her side, one arm flung across Elliot's chest.
Her breaths rising and falling evenly.
Thank you, he prayed.
Elliot's eyes followed him. A glint of happiness skating over the depths of sorrow and desperation. Jason wanted to greet him, but didn't want to wake up Elena, and knew Elliot didn't want that either, so he sent him a glance of empathy, and crept out the door.
If only the baby was born, I could look for a cord or strip of fabric to strangle her…
He was too exhausted to manage any sort of guilt for those violent thoughts.
Knowing the door wouldn't open for him, he walked to the room furthest from the bedroom and grabbed the blanket from the couch in front of the television. Then he made sure it was wrapped securely around him, and gradually convinced his mind to calm down enough to fall asleep.
Screams woke him.
He scrambled off of the couch, heart punching his chest. His breaths racing to panic.
But it was only the bird, who, startled by his movements, had fluttered over to the fountain of flowers and sat on the rim of it. Rhapsody eyed him, head tilted slightly. Behind him were a profusion of tulips—red, yellow, orange, and black. Their light, fresh smell lingered in the air.
Jason stood still, listening; he'd closed the door, so he couldn't tell what was going on beyond it.
The only sound he could hear was his heart beating feverishly.
He sat on the back of the couch, closing his eyes, forcing his breaths into a strict structure. His chest hurt with the effort.
When he opened his eyes again, the bird was sitting on the fireplace. It sang another scream.
Jason turned his back to him and walked to the other side of the room, nearly tripping on the blanket. He stood in front of the "window"—a waterfall cascaded into a misty glade, scattered with flowers of all the colors of the rainbow. Despite the fact it was an illusion, a part of this place, he let himself imagine it really was the glade he'd shared with Connie.…
He and Connie lay in the soft grass. He covered her in kisses, reveling in the perfection of her body. Her vibrant green eyes, twinkling with delight. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her chin. Planted a kiss over her heart. He could feel its thump-thump against his lips. Then he kissed down over her silken stomach…. Then—brought her to heights of ecstasy, glorying in how amazing she was in every way, how he was able to please such a glorious being….
She pressed close to him, kissing his neck, his jaw, his temple… then his lips—there was a faint shadow that descended on his mind—but her kiss deepened and the shadow vanished…
They embraced, and any distance between them melted away, and they were entwined together, melded in perfect harmony—
But
The edges of it were not quite real, and gradually the room re-materialized around him, and he was leaning on the back of the maroon divan, longing aching through him…. The beauty faded, leaving only a flat image, its vibrance dulled… just the echoes of passion blazing across his skin.
He turned from the picture and lay down on the couch, only to see Elena's portrait gazing at him, her eyes following him with a mocking gleam.
Bitterly, he turned from it, trying to shut everything out, but reality slammed down onto him all the harder, and he stood, pacing, hating the fact he only had the blanket to wear.
He walked over to the flowers, touched them; at least they were real, though just a pale reflection of the Outside. He walked over to the TV screen and turned it on.
Recommendations of movies and shows flickered in front of him; there were different categories in clusters rather than the linear layout of the streaming services he was used to. He flipped through some. There were movies he was familiar with; others unfamiliar. Normal movies; others—similar to what Elena had showed him last time. And more explicit ones. Quickly he turned to one of the more innocuous-seeming movies. And kept the volume down.
It distracted him for a little while; it was a rather lighthearted action movie. But then his mind drifted.
I can't just sit here.
I have to be prepared.
Elena could come in at any moment.
I have to have a strategy.
First of all—I can't let her get to me. No matter what my PTSD tries to make me do. I have to push past it. I was getting there—and then I was recaptured. I have to fully get back what I had, and further. I have to get back to training—get my reflexes in working order—and not fall into despondency if I fail at first. I have to get my mind at optimum—as much as I can anyway, considering what they could do to me at any moment. I have to resist anything they throw at me. I have to go on the offensive.
Like it or not, I have to use my proximity to her. Without letting her—do what she did last night.
That's what she's going to want to do. How can I stop her if she has autoshocks?
Somehow convince her not to use them… while being close enough to get information from her….
Drug her.
It could make her lose control… perhaps what was going on last night…. Or maybe that was her intention. I did glimpse a sort of—desperation… If she lost control, she could shock me or force herself on me…. If that's even possible… Would she risk shocking me too much? Even if she lost control, would she go that far and hurt me permanently?
That would be one way to escape…
Or I could give her an overdose. Decapitate the regime.
Delight shot through him, but then he realized that it might be better to have her open doors for him. Like he'd expected with Zar. Elena could open any door. But could she be compromised to that extent?
First I have to wring as much information as I can out of her.
Could drug her, or convince her to take drugs, like I did with Ali…
Look how that turned out.
And she doesn't have the scruples that Ali does. It might backfire…
Do I have any control at all, or is it a complete illusion? Am I powerless—or is there some way I can trickster my way out of this….
Elena's a formidable opponent. Made all the worse because it's so hard to be in her presence, knowing what she expects, knowing how she considers me her property….
I also have to do something that's not only… this sort of soft power of trying to manipulate the manipulator… I have to do something straightforward, something actiony, in order to stay sane…. In order to feel like I'm doing something, even if it is an illusion and they have all the actual power….
In any case, I won't be able to drug her until after the baby's born. A month. In the meantime, I have to try other methods… be near her while keeping her at arm's length… Keep some semblance of my own strength….
A shadow fell across him.
He scrambled to his feet, backing toward the wall; he hadn't heard anything because the movie was crescendoing.
It was Elliot.
He took a deep breath of relief.
"Hey, Jason," said Elliot, apology in his eyes, along with a tinge of shame. He wore blue silk pajamas emblazoned with a golden E over his heart. "Sorry I startled you." His voice was hoarse with empathy.
"That's okay. I'm just happy it's not—her. Are you alright?"
"More or less. I… couldn't go back to sleep. Not with her like that. I can only sleep when she's gone. Or if I'm totally exhausted…."
The camaraderie of both being Elena's victims hung heavy in the air.
"What are you watching?"
"Oh, just some movie. I haven't been paying attention." He paused it, not caring to finish it.
Elliot stepped around the couch; Jason realized he held something in his hand. "I—brought you some clothes." He held them out. "I figured she might not have given you any."
He took them gratefully. "Is she still…."
"She's totally out. She sleeps a long time after she's taken zyx." Elliot caught his eyes guardedly. "Are you alright?"
Jason nodded. "Just…" He took a deep breath, looking down, the shame of the night before washing over him. "She… went further than I…." His voice trailed off.
"I know how that is." He looked at Jason, anguish hinted in his indigo eyes.
"I'd rather pretend it didn't happen…. Hard to do that when I'm here…"
"Hopefully she will send you back down soon."
"What about you? Has she hinted she'll…let you go?"
He shook his head. "She wants to keep me. Maybe she'll get tired of me again. At least now she can't…." He looked away bitterly. "This gives me enough space to resist. Or at least, pretend I can." His eyes were pained, but there was a strength to them. "I can't go back to how it was. Not after…tasting freedom. It's embedded—here." He pressed his hand to his heart. "Maybe this strength will go away… if she shocks me to oblivion, or—after my baby's born…" He took a sharp breath. "I have to keep holding onto this strength as long as I can—keep feeling like myself… even if there's no way out. If I'm dying here, I'm not dying a slave."
Jason's throat tightened. "I'm not dying here if I can help it."
"So—" Elliot whispered.
"The plan is still on," whispered Jason in code. "Just… adjusted a little."
Elliot headed back into the other room, and Jason hurriedly dressed. The clothes were soft felt, nondescript navy blue. It felt good to have something surrounding his skin again, not something he had to keep from falling off every second.
Elliot returned with two bowls of cereal with fruit. "I hope you don't mind. I couldn't risk cooking anything."
"Anything would be good right now."
Elliot set the bowls down on the coffee table and Jason picked up one of them. It was hearty granola with blueberries, strawberries, and peaches. He savored the first tastes, then devoured the rest and gulped the milk.
"So…" said Elliot. "They…haven't been feeding you?"
"It's that obvious?" He laughed. "Random energy bars… sometimes normal food… just enough to keep me alive."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't you dare feel guilty for having all you want to eat up here."
"She can be a bit petulant and bad-tempered now. Since she almost lost the baby."
"I noticed that too."
"Hopefully she'll go back to 'normal' after…" He frowned. "Not that I want that either… but if she has no limits even on herself…."
"That'd be bad for us. But maybe it'd… spill over into other things…"
"Maybe. We can't count on that…." His eyes glimmered with guarded hope. "It's not good that she's brought you up here… but maybe… we can work together…."
"We have to figure out how exactly…. The good thing is that I don't think they've cracked our code. That's one of the things they asked about." Jason made sure to speak in as subtle a version of the code as he could.
"They didn't… torture you…?"
"At first. Not for like five days. I don't know. I've lost track of time."
"It's Wednesday, September 22nd."
"Oh! Thanks." It was astonishing how much relief it gave him to know what day it was.
"The one good thing about being up here is that she tells me some things, and lets me have the run of the place."
"Anything interesting?"
"I'm not sure."
"Maybe she'll let something important slip…"
"Maybe." He narrowed his eyes, head tilted a little. "I'll keep my ears open."
"We can both," said Jason, "when we have to be with her…."
"It's good to have some purpose in all of this. Even if I wasn't giving in, I didn't see a way out." He leaned forward. "Even if there ends up not being a way out, we have to try."
"We have to work carefully…. Not let her know anything. I think…this time… we'd better leave the others out of this."
"Just us?"
"It was too sprawling before."
"You're right. We can't risk…." He glanced toward the closed door. "It'll be more possible to rescue everyone if we keep it as secure as we can." He smiled. "Just these words…. Speaking like an agent…. That's the feeling I need to hold onto. The only thing… I really have to cut the desire out of me to—bring my son. It's probably not possible."
"We'd have to wait at least a month if we were going to take him with…. And that would bring with it its own logistics challenges. But… if we get out without them realizing it—maybe the other agents will get here before she can escape. And then—they'll take the baby from her, and you'll be able to raise him, free of her influence."
He looked into the distance as if imagining a beautiful future. Then he looked at Jason. "I…have a name for him, you know."
"Really?"
"I remembered it when I came back up here. It—" He looked around the room. "I only whisper it to him when Elena's asleep…. I want him to know his real name before he's born.
"All of this—it's—hard to deal with, to make sense of. I dread his birth." He closed his eyes. "But I long to see him too. I can't wait to hold him in my arms, hold him close after all this time… I'm scared for him. Something could still happen."
"At least she's close to the doctor here."
Elliot nodded pensively.
Jason asked how the others were, but Elliot hadn't heard anything. Last time he'd seen them, before he'd been dragged upstairs, they had been fine.
Serhii had been locked in his room. But he hadn't heard of anything worse happening to him.
"Sahara's okay?"
He nodded. "I don't think they are focusing on her. That's the one thing Elena hinted—she's focusing on the three of us. So… it's Serhii that's probably in the worst danger."
"Elena said something about reconditioning him… breaking him further…"
The door opened and Elena stepped through. She stretched languorously, her golden kimono shimmering. "This looks intimate. What are you guys talking about?" She rested her hand on the back of the opposite couch.
"We were wondering how the others were," said Jason.
Elliot was gazing at her with fiery hatred. A motivating emotion, Jason knew from experience. An antidote to sorrow and despair. Yet love was the more reliable…
She leaned on the back of the couch, arms folded. "So you'd really like to know?"
Jason nodded.
"What will you give me?"
"It doesn't cost you anything to tell of them."
"I want to see how far you'll go to get it."
Jason shook his head. "I'm not playing."
"Very well." She stood, feet padding softly on the carpet as she walked toward the 'window'. "Are there games you would like to play?"
"I've had enough." He didn't want to acknowledge what she'd done last night.
She gazed at Elliot for a moment, then looked back at Jason. "Ah, it is wonderful having the both of you here. Two really is better than one." She clasped her hands. "I wish I could look at you all day. But—I have an empire to manage. Business doesn't come to a halt just because my life is inconvenienced… or because I have some shiny new toys." She smiled wolfishly.
"Couldn't you—let Elliot go?"
"Why would I do that?"
"If… if I give you something…."
"I already have all I want. Perhaps, in the future, if it pleases me. But right now, it pleases me to have you both here."
"You could—" said Elliot, "let Jason go back down, couldn't you?"
"He needs some sprucing up first. I almost reconsidered letting him keep his beard… but I still prefer him cleanshaven. My guys will take care of it." She headed through the door, presumably back to her room to get dressed.
A door opened at the edge of the TV screen; its edges had been barely visible. The man who'd given Jason a massage last time he'd been up here stepped through. He held a basket of items and gestured to the chair opposite Elliot. Jason sat down in it, not wanting to bring punishment on him by not complying. This man had given him a semblance of dignity and comfort last time, and Jason wanted to return the favor. He longed to tell him he'd be free soon, but no matter how determined Jason was, he couldn't promise that, even to himself.
Jason asked his name, but he shook his head; apparently the same rules applied now as before.
"I've learned his name is Kas," said Elliot. "The other attendant's name is Jesse. That's what she calls them anyway. They…have never spoken as long as I have been here."
Jason felt like asking what she'd done to them, but it'd probably be traumatic to say in front of them, and besides… he could guess… and he probably didn't want to know.
Kas lathered Jason's chin; his movements were professional yet gentle. Jason let himself relax, knowing he was in good hands, happy beyond words that it wasn't Elena that was doing this. Meanwhile, the other attendant, Jesse, crept into the room and laid some clothes on the coffee table. To Jason's chagrin, they had the E embroidered on them. He considered not wearing them, but Jesse would probably be punished if he refused.
After he'd finished shaving, Kas moved on to Jason's hair, snipping off the longer ends, moving swiftly and confidently. Jason wondered if he'd had a similar job on the Outside, or if he'd had to learn it here. Considering the practiced hands that didn't shake, Jason doubted he'd been conditioned into that role. He hoped he got some comfort from the fact he was doing something they didn't entirely own… or perhaps it just reminded him of what he'd lost…
Jesse took the bowls from breakfast into the other room and Elliot wandered over to the fake window. The scene changed to a mountain meadow, scintillating with flowers that wove back and forth in the wind.
After Kas was finished, he stepped back, hand on his chin, checking his work. Then he nodded and gave the sign for 'finished'.
"So—you can sign?" said Jason.
Kas nodded.
"I can—to an extent. If you'd like to talk to me… I'll be able to understand it."
I just know a little, signed Kas. She… didn't want us to be people. Just…things.
Thank you, Jason signed. For doing this.
Kas smiled. You can speak aloud. I… usually live in silence. It's good to hear someone who is not…her.
"Does she…leave you alone?"
Mostly. He looked away, face haunted; he had probably been severely abused in the past in order to suppress him to this point. I am…sorry for this.
"We all do what we have to to survive."
Kas nodded sadly and gathered the things in the towel and took them back to his room. Jesse came back in and gestured to the clothes, looking at Jason, pleading in his eyes.
Jason picked up the clothes, skin crawling as he touched the fine silk.
Jesse gave a small smile and darted back into his room.
Elliot gave Jason privacy, walking into the dining room, where the lyrebird was warbling a disjointed melody.
Jason took off his soft clothes and slipped on the silk shirt and pants. They were slick, like oil, and slid over his skin with whispering rustles. They were red, making the E stand out all the more. But it could be worse—they weren't translucent, and they were cut conservatively with a normal V-neck that didn't plunge more than an inch past his collarbone.
He checked his reflection in the dim mirror of the TV screen. His hair had been cut back to its former length, and his face was cleanshaven, for the first time in a long time, it seemed. He rubbed his cheeks, feeling almost naked after the barrier the beard had given him. To not look like himself here… it shielded his true self from this place. Now his true reflection looked back at him, wearing this ridiculous costume, his face rather gaunt, his eyes weary, plagued with dark circles that would probably be permanently imprinted there.
He turned from the mirror.
I can't be here.
If I could just transplant myself out to that mountain—
But the scene on the window screen had changed again and it was a lake painted with sunset. Perhaps he could plunge into its serene surface and swim away…. But they'd catch him on the other side, and in any case, he would not be the same person as the one who came here. This place had indelibly imprinted on him. Would he even fit out there anymore? Would Connie recognize her Jason in his eyes?
He headed back into the dining room, fleeing from his thoughts, dread pursuing him. The windows flooded the room with sickly orange light. Elliot was nowhere to be seen. Then Jason realized he could hear the faint rush of a shower.
Of course he'd want to wash Elena's touch off of him.
He headed into the thicket of vines and winding trees; even though he had once eaten breakfast with Elena in here, it was a sort of refuge, the leaves and shadows hiding him, their living cells free of the taint of violence and darkness. The smell of nature surrounded him and with the shifting light he could imagine he was in a jungle clearing. He sat on the table, feet on the chair, and immersed in the feeling of being safe, secure from any intrusion.
He felt he could hide here indefinitely—but they found him moments later.
Rough hands grabbed him and dragged him back Beneath.