I look around, tryin’ to find somethin’ to grab onto. I feel so helpless. My fear be a black stain upon my heart for Whisper and the hell she be put through.
There be a dangerous man with her, and she still be tellin’ me she was sorry and that she loved me.
I can no longer stem the tears that be wishin’ to fall.
How could an angel be sufferin’ so much under God’s watch?
How can one chile be receivin’ so much attention from the Devil?
WHISPER
Blood is gushing from her neck like a release valve has been opened up. It flows down her crisp white blouse, soaking it. Her eyes are trained on me, begging me to help her. All I can do is watch in a horrified stupor.
Master William drops the body and heads for me. A storm was brewing.
I’m slapped hard across the face to get my attention, and then I’m being dragged through the house by my arm, the shoulder socket straining as he pulls me down the back porch steps. The skin on my knees and thighs rubbed raw as my dress rode up, catching the brunt of small stones and dirt as I’m dragged across the dusty, hard ground and into the slave cabin.
I’m chained up, and my dress is torn down the back in one rough yank, separating it, my bare back revealed. I hear my punishment being prepared as his belt buckle is undone and the sound of it swiftly coming away from his pants, and then he tells me to bow my back.
I do as I am told because he will make me regardless.
I can’t protect myself.
And then it starts. Lashing after lashing from the thick metal buckle is rained down viciously upon my body.
“Please… Master,” I cry out. “Please… I don’t… understand.”
“Whisper, you have made a disgusting mess. You will clean it all up when I come back for you.”
He knew to keep the marks contained to my lower back. He didn’t like to see what he had done to me. He liked them to stay hidden from his sight, as they were a blemish on my body.
“Please,” I sob.
“Wake up…”
My good eye slowly opens and a blurry figure comes into view. My instant reaction is to move away. I try to sit up, gasping in pain, my body shaking all over when a large hand firmly pushes me back onto the soft bed.
“Where am I?” I rasp out, barely recognizing my own voice, and only then noticing the body the hand is attached to belongs to the masked man who had slammed me face down onto the desk in the hangar. I can see he’s lost the jacket and has changed into a black tight T-shirt and fresh jeans, but he still hides behind that mask.
He woke me up. I think back and realize I must have allowed a box to come undone, releasing a memory that should have stayed buried. Boxes were boxes for a reason. You could shut them and tape them down so they couldn’t be opened, but it only took something sharp to break the seal.
I don’t like lying flat out in front of this man. “I want to sit up a little. Please.” I feel too vulnerable lying down.
He wordlessly assists me into a more upright position, pushing another pillow behind me as his eyes take me in, and he quickly swears under his breath as he hands me a glass of water. I take it in my quivering hand. I am in a large bed, and the water slops onto the Versace emblazoned white, deep navy, and gold patterned bed coverings.
Annoyed with me spilling the water, he snatches the glass from my grip and holds it to my lips as a hand slides behind my head, holding me steady. I guzzle the water. It feels good on my parched throat, and then I’m coughing, the jolts spearing my body.
“Too fast,” he grunts at me, as I get a hold of my coughing fit.
I look down, a reflex action from my submissive days with William. The coverings have slipped, revealing my naked breasts. This is what he saw before he handed me the water. He snatches the covers back up without a word.
I move my good arm underneath and feel about. I’m naked under the bedding. Just my underpants have been left on. I can’t even feel the humiliation in being stripped without my consent.
The pain in my shoulder is a barely controlled fire, and I feel sweaty and uncomfortable. I don’t know how long I’ve been out, and no idea where we are.
“You are on the plane,” he answers my silent question.
I can now register the muted noise of the engines and notice the curved ceiling, and small window shutters have been pulled down. I’ve only ever seen planes in movies, never one with a bed in it.
“You were having a bad dream, so I woke you up. Your shoulder is bleeding again, because you were thrashing about, throwing your arms in the air.”
I let my mind rewind a little. “The girl… her white blouse was stained red.” My thoughts are spoken aloud. The guy looks away, running his hand through his thick hair.
“She was killed because she ran.” I detect a note of regret. “You will be dead too if you try to run like she did. You have no clue what you are up against.”
Fear starts to stifle my mind.
No, I don’t.
“I can’t be here,” I plead to him. I need him to understand.
“But here you lay, beaten, shot, and weak.”
“But why? My whole life, I was a prisoner to a bastard of a man. I escaped that hell to fall into another. What gives anybody the right to do this to me?” I am so angry.
He watches me, his mouth set in an unemotional line. He does not care for my loss of humanity, my loss of freedom, or my questions. He only cares for a paycheck.
I figure if he was going to kill me, he would have by now, so I tempt my fate. “You have assisted the devil in taking my life away from me again. Is your life that bad you need to help others to ruin innocent lives?” There is a flicker of something in his blue eyes, and then it is gone.
“I earned that freedom. I was free for a little over eight months, and now I am a prisoner again.” I want to pound my fist in frustration, but I am so weak. I need to reserve my strength for when it counts.
I’m sweating profusely, and my breathing is coming in short pants as reality really sinks in. “I don’t… understand why. I shouldn’t… be here.” I’m trying to convince an invisible jury.
This. Is. Happening.
He turns his back on me and leaves the bedroom.
When he comes back, he’s holding a few things and dumps them on the bed. He places a cold cloth on my forehead. It feels like it has come out of an icebox, and it feels amazing as it soothes my scorching skin. He places another one over my swollen eye.
I look past him and notice the table with a bunch of white cloths piled on it. Has he been keeping my temperature down while I’ve been unconscious?
He doesn’t warn me before he starts pulling the covers down. I instinctively grab for them, stopping too much of my chest from being exposed. “Relax, I’m not into cheap thrills.” He peels the large bloodied bandage that is covering my bullet hole away, and I can’t help but look down at the ragged, exposed wound. The skin surrounding it is red and angry-looking. An infection has set in.
He busies himself cleaning and placing a new bandage over my wound, getting me to move so he can tend the exit wound. He’s not rough with me. I would go as far as to say he was being as gentle as he could, considering what I know he is capable of. He hands me two Ibuprofen pills and helps me drink from the glass of water.
He steps back from me, his arms crossed, one hand stroking his beard. “Why did you risk your life having that phone on you?”
The phone! He found the phone.
“You should have been searched. You would have been killed on the spot if it was found on you.”
I owe him no explanation.
“I wouldn’t trust me, either.” He waits a few beats. “If you had somebody tracking your whereabouts, they will no longer be able to. The phone has been disposed of.”
The tracking might not have worked in the air or from a greater distance anyway. I have no clue about these things, but it was a lifeline that has been severed, and it hurts.
“The scarred man, Kane… if he knew you had that phone, you wouldn’t have lasted another second in his presence. He didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger killing the girl, and he won’t hesitate to hurt you. Remember that. I saw what you did when I entered the office, and I also saw when Kane got curious about what was taking me so long to bring you to the plane.”
This man standing before me didn’t shoot her? He knew about the phone then and didn’t turn over this information. Why? Because he needs to bring me in or his life is on the line too.