Lauren
The hours went by slower than I'd ever imagined possible. With no clock, no sun, no change in temperature, time seemed to stand still as I waited in the cage. What would pops do to me? Beat me to death like he'd beaten my mother? Sell me like the other people he'd probably put in these cages? I shivered, knowing that the man who had raised me had become this creep. Earlier, he'd looked like a child's monster in a faerie tale when he'd come from the shadows. The longer I sat in that cage, though, the more I realized the similarities were more than just skin deep. Finally, footsteps came down the hallway towards the door. A single set. The door pushed open, and the visitor came into my jail.
“Lauren? You awake?”
It was Anderson. The man who let me be sentenced to this hell hole.
“Lauren?” he asked more urgently than before.
“Yeah,” I finally said, “I'm awake uncle. What do you want?”
“I . . . I brought you some water.” He gestured feebly with the big, cold-looking bottle of spring water in his hand. Across his shoulder was draped an ugly orange and purple beach towel. “And, I wanted to see if you'd like to get out, maybe take a walk?”
Get out? Of course I wanted to get out! I turned, suddenly desperate to stand upright for the first time in hours. If I was ever able to settle down somewhere and get a dog or a cat, I decided, they were never going to get kennel trained. No fucking way, not in a million fucking years. “Out? You're going to let me out?”
“Now, hold on,” he said as he grabbed the keys down from where they hung next to the door. “I can get you something to drink, and a shower, but you gotta get back in afterward.”
A shower sounded like the next best thing to a king-sized bed at this point. And If I couldn't have the second, I might as well take the first. “Fine! Whatever! Just let me out of here.”
He came over and knelt down, unlocked the door, then helped me climb out from the cage. As I stood and stretched, my back crackled and popped all the way up and down my spine. He caught my shoulder and kept me from stumbling as a rush of blood went to my head, disorienting me for a moment.
“Oh my God, that felt good,” I groaned.
A concerned look came over his face as he offered me his hand. “You okay to walk?”
“Yeah,” I said, taking his hand anyways as we headed out of the small room. “What time is it?”
“A little past midnight,” he said as he took me left down the hallway, away from the stairs we'd first entered the tunnels through. “There's some showers down this way, and a bathroom you can use.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure, baby girl. Anything.”
“How bad are things? Really?” He sighed and bit his lip, and I could tell he was trying to think of how he was going to answer without betraying my crazy pops' trust. “I'll take that as 'not good,' then.”
We rounded the corner and stepped into the bathroom and toilet area he'd mentioned earlier. In here, four or five shower heads sprouted from the mildewing white, clinical tiles. It looked like I imagined prison showers would be. I didn't even ask why this stuff had been installed in the bowels of the Fortress. I didn't want to know the answer. I glanced from the showers to him, then back again. I hope he didn't think he was going to stand here and watch me shower.
“I'll stand over here,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said in a clipped tone, “how about stand outside in the hallway, instead.”
He laughed uneasily. “Sure, baby girl, anything you want.”
I realized for the first time how creepily he used my nickname. I'd always felt something about him was a little off, back before I'd run, but I'd never thought much of it. I was pretty sure I'd just been naïve to the looks he was giving me. Now, after years of experience, I knew what his eyes on my body meant.
I stripped down after a minute or two, tossing my clothes off in a dry looking corner, and turned on the shower. I slid into the stream, making sure my back was never to the door. If my adopted uncle was going to try and sneak a peek I wanted to know.
The water turned hot right away, the boiler kicking in quickly. I basked under the water, not even caring that I didn't have any soap or shampoo. I just let it soak into my sore muscles, my cramped legs, my strained arms, and my knotted back. I must have been under the stream of water for ten, fifteen minutes, silently mulling things over in my head. What was Anderson doing down here, if it wasn't to set me free? Did he know something I didn't? And had Asa made it back upstairs alright?
I missed him. Even after our short time apart, and the brief moment we'd had in the cage room, I still missed him. What the fuck was happening to me? Did I really have deep feelings for this guy? More than just the good fucking he'd given me? I shook my head, trying to dislodge my thoughts of him, sending a spray of droplets from my flailing hair. It didn't work. Those strong arms, that chest, those tattoos I wanted to trace my fingers over, the way he smiled, the way he listened to me as I read to him. I shook my head again.
Nope. Apparently, Asa was harder to get rid of than I'd given him credit for.
Shit, I did care about him. Finally, I turned around and shut the water off, my skin pink as a salmon in some places, red as a steamed lobster in others.
“You done, baby girl?” Uncle Anderson asked from out in the hallway.
“Yeah.” I paused. “Just hold the towel out around the corner, I'll come get it.” The towel popped out from around the corner, and I padded over in my bare feet, took it, then dried off and wrapped it around my body.
“Decent yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.” I went over, found my dirty clothes, and began to pull them on. This would have to do. I doubted Anderson was going to find me clean underwear on such notice. I wrapped my hair up in the towel, figuring a blow dryer would be asking a little much, too. “Alright, you can come in.”
His footfalls echoed as he walked in to the open shower. “Feel better?” he asked.
I looked him right in the eye, my toes splayed out on the damp tile beneath my feet. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“Anything for you, baby girl,” he replied, staying a little distance away from me, but still wanting to come closer.
“Anything? How about you tell me about this shit show with my father, then? What the hell has really been going on?”
He shook his head, looked away.
“If you want to help my pops,” I lied, “you need to tell me everything's that been going on since my mother died. I need to figure out how to help him, no matter what he did to her, and I need your help to do it. He's my blood, Anderson, no matter what he did. I don't want to see him put away, but I don't want to see him like this, either.”
His jaw was working like crazy, as he ran a hand back through his long hair and started to pace the length of the prison-style showers. “Fine,” he said, clearly not liking that he needed my help, or that he had to burden me with this. “Things have been going downhill for a while, since before he killed Ora. I shoulda put a stop to it back then, but I just couldn't.”
“Tell me,” I pressed.
“He's going bankrupt, baby girl. All these soldiers? He thinks he needs them! Actually needs them! His suppliers, they don't give a shit, they're just shorting him anyways. All his power is wound up in this place, tied up here, stagnant. No one'll work for him from outside the Fortress, saying he's too erratic.”
“Fair point on their part.”
He stopped and looked at me for a moment, but immediately returned to his pacing. “I don't know what to do.”
“Can you fix it?” I asked.
“Fix it?” he replied, stopping in his tracks and looking at me. He nodded, a gleam in his eye. “Yeah. I could fix it. I think. Why?”
“This place is my inheritance, ain't it? Why wouldn't I want it fixed?”
“You mean . . . you'd wanna . . .?”
“Well, it's the family business, after all,” I lied. “Why wouldn't I?”
Of course, I wanted nothing to do with this. I'd just taken a shower after being locked in a fucking cage reserved for human trafficking victims. And drugs, money, guns? I might hustle a pool game here and there, steal a car, maybe. But doing all these things? Knowing my luck, the feds would be up my ass farther than Asa. I smirked a little at the thought.
“What?” Uncle Anderson asked.
“Nothing,” I replied quickly, waving away his question. I took a step closer to him, my posture relaxed and more trusting than before. “Look, how can we . . . how can we get you installed at the top . . .”
He looked away as I came closer, shame from even considering this on his face plain as day.
I soldiered on, though, despite his reaction. “. . . where you belong?”
He looked back to me, his chin held a little higher. Flattery works wonders sometimes, I'd found.