Chapter 2: Waiting
Rain beat down on the tin roof above Devon Connors' head, save for a few spots where no roof existed. Thankfully, she'd been shoved into the only spot in the room that didn't have a hole in the ceiling, a dark corner behind the door. In all honesty, it was the first time she'd been thankful for that dry little corner. She'd envied the girls that had holes above their heads for nights now. At least, she thought, they could look up and see the clouds or blue sky during the day and the stars at night, reminding them that this stinky, hot, disgusting little room wasn't all there was to the world.
Her stomach cramped from hunger and her muscles cramped from lack of exercise. She'd been stuck in that position for far too long, her hands chained a few inches above her head. Her wrists were sore and raw, but at least she still could still feel them. At least she still had all off her fingers. Exhaustion and dehydration pressed down on her, making her weak and slow. She hadn't slept more than two or three hours at a time in weeks.
The room reeked of urine and human waste, but at least the rain provided a relief from the heat and steamy humidity, and the flies weren't swarming them for the moment. Some bastard flung the door open, banging it against her toes and knees, returning a girl to the room. They came and went at all hours of the day and night, bringing new girls, returning girls they'd taken out, taking girls, some to be returned, some to never be seen again. Those were the ones that bothered Devon the most, the ones that never came back. She could only imagine what was happening to them. She'd cried for them the first couple of nights, but the tears became scarcer when dehydration set in, but her heart still broke for them.
Each time the door opened, she prayed it would be Hannah or their rescue, but with each face of a girl she didn't know, she prayed a prayer of thanksgiving that her best friend wasn't there to endure this hell. Guilt and shame mixed with relief and loneliness. But, she'd been told that first day that they had Hannah, too, so she'd been looking for her in every set of eyes she saw. And she just prayed that they were lying to her, that Hannah hadn't been one of the ones that never returned.
Even in the darkness, Devon could make out the silhouette of the girl just returning enough to know who she was – the Hispanic girl with long black hair and big brown eyes. Devon assumed the girl's name was Camila, since she kept repeating it over and over whenever anyone would talk to her. She didn't speak a word of English, but it didn't take much to understand the sadness in the girl's eyes and the fear in her voice. Clearly, this hadn't been what she'd signed up for, this hadn't been the dream she had left home to live.
Devon had kicked her own water bottle over to the girl the day before when one of the bastards who kept them here had taken Camila's. It was the only time Devon had seen anything resembling a smile cross any of the girls' faces, not that she expected much more. This wasn't the relaxing weekend she and her best friend, Hannah, had planned. This was straight from the pits of hell.
The son-of-a-bitch that brought Camila back, cursed at Devon on the way out, and raised his hand as if he was going to strike her again, but just laughed when she flinched, doing her best to duck her head behind her arms. She had fought them from the start, earning her several beatings, but at least she still had her virginity. And she would continue fighting them, continue biting and clawing and kicking and punching if it meant they would stay off of her. She would rather they put a bullet through her brain than touch her.
But a part of her was certain they wouldn't. A part of her was certain they were saving her, keeping her untouched in that way. She was a smart girl, she knew they were waiting to sell her. But, they'd busted her lip and blackened her eyes. They would have to wait until the bruises went away to fetch the highest price possible, so she kept doing anything she could to keep the hits coming. But she knew their patience was already growing thin and their tolerance wouldn't be infinite – eventually, they'd get fed up, eventually, they would kill her.
She must have fallen asleep for some time, but for how long, she didn't know, for when she came to, the rain had stopped and the sun was out, peeking through the holes in the roof. The two windows were blacked out by paint and ratty, threadbare blankets, but enough light came in through the roof that she could see the details of the room easily enough.
Only three other girls were in there with her, at the time. Camila was gone again, and another one that had spoken kindly to Devon when she'd first come was missing, too. She didn't know the other one's name, nor did she know the names of any of the girls currently chained along the wall. One was new, though. Bless her heart, Devon thought, her nightmare was just beginning.
A few hours later, the door opened again, slamming into her. She hollered out and spit at the man, but he just spit back on her and laughed. But, instead of moving past her like they usually would, he reached down and grabbed her shackles, unlocking them from the wall and pulling her upwards. She gritted her teeth to keep from crying out as the rusty metal pinched her raw and bloodied wrists.
It was the first time in days she had stood and her legs and back were sore and stiff. But he didn't allow her time to adjust, to stretch her aching muscles, he just yanked her forward and shoved her towards the door.
The house was a small shack in the middle of the woods, surrounded by trees and overgrown foliage. The man behind her shoved her through the door into the backyard and immediately Devon was hit with a blast of icy cold water from a hose. The man behind her cursed and shoved her to the ground so he could get out of the way of the water. Her hands and knees scraped against concrete, and she just curled up into a ball, shielding her battered face from the stinging spray. Once she was thoroughly drenched, someone pulled her up by her hair and turned her around to see her face.
He wore a mask, they all did. But, she recognized his eyes. In an instant, she knew she'd looked into those evil eyes before. She knew him. She felt a dizzying sickness blossom in the pit of her stomach as things started to click, as memories started to surface.
"Hello, Devon," he said, and there was no mistaking it. She was right.
She opened her mouth to say something, but instead of words, the only thing that came out was puke.
