Star
The van rumbled along, and I couldn’t see a damn thing. My eyes were covered in a blindfold as soon as I was pulled into the van, and my ankles and wrists were bound together soon after. Then I was restrained against the inside wall. I couldn’t move an inch.
Minutes passed, and for that first little bit of time in the van, I was certain that I was imagining things, that I hadn’t really been pulled off the street and tossed into the back of the exact sort of ominous black van that you’d see in those Lifetime movies about kidnapped kids. I was so shocked at first that I wasn’t even scared.
Finally, after a time, I spoke.
“Is this about me running out on the check?” I asked, realizing how pathetic and small my voice sounded even then. “I don’t have any money! I mean, I have a couple of dollars—you can have it! And I’ll wash dishes or clean up or do anything. Just don’t send me to jail, please!”
Silence fell over the van as soon as I was done speaking, the growling of the engine and the rumbling of the tires on the road the only sound. Then, after a couple of seconds that seemed like an eternity, the small space filled with uproarious laughter. The laughing went on for a good minute, and I was perplexed by what was happening.
Finally, it stopped.
“You hear that, Mikey?” someone spoke, a man with a gruff voice. “She thinks we nabbed her off the fuckin’ street because of some eggs-over-easy!”
A slap rang out—the sound of a palm on skin.
“Hey!” said the same voice. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Don’t call me by my fuckin’ name in front of the merchandise!” said a second voice, this one higher and thinner.
“What motherfucking difference does it make? Not like they’re ever gonna see your face.”
My heart felt like it stopped beating. Merchandise?
“Where am I?” I asked. “What are you doing with me?”
More laughter.
“Is this the part where they start asking questions?” asked the gruff-voiced man.
“Sounds like question time to me,” said the second.
“Listen,” said the thin-voiced man. “All you need to know is that you’re in the back of a van and that your life’s gonna change forever. Other than that, keep your mouth shut.”
“Yeah,” said the gruff-voiced man. “Someone liked your, ah, ‘look,’ and figured no one would miss you.”
“If you say his goddamn name, I swear I’ll drop you,” said the thin-voiced man.
Say his name? I wondered.
I sniffed the air, picking up the scent of whiskey, cigarettes, and motor oil. It was a scent that I associated with bikers.
“Dakin?” I asked, the word slipping out.
“How the fuck did she know?” asked the gruff-voiced man.
“You dumb motherfucker! Well, if she didn’t know before, she sure as fuck knows now.”
“Please tell me what the hell is going on,” I said, tears streaming down my eyes down to my jaw.
What the hell did Dakin have to do with what was happening to me? Was he bringing me back to the house to do God-knows-what with me? Fear had fully settled over me, and I felt more scared and helpless than I’d ever felt in my life.
“Aw, she’s crying,” said the gruff-voiced man. “Always tugs at my little heartstrings when they do that.”
I heard a sigh.
“OK, listen, girlie,” said the high-voiced man. “You’re not gonna die, and you’re not gonna get raped. So just chill the fuck out.”
“Let me go!” I shouted, struggling against my restraints, but accomplishing nothing.
“Last chance to shut the fuck up,” said the high-voiced man. “If you don’t calm the fuck down, we’ll put another restraint on that fuckin’ mouth of yours.”
“I’ve got a few better ideas with that mouth,” said the gruff-voiced man.
“Keep it in your goddamn pants,” said the high-voiced man. “You know what happens to anyone who fucks with the merchandise.”
“I know, I know,” said the first man. “Still, no crime against looking.”
The van rumbled on, and not wanting to have a dirty restraint shoved into my mouth, I kept quiet.
“Hey, how much longer till we’re there?” shouted the high-voiced man.
“Ten minutes!” came the reply from the front seat.
I wanted to scream, and the panic gripping me felt like cold hands on my lungs. But all I could do was keep quiet and not let these assholes see me cry.
After around ten minutes, the van pulled a long, slow turn, coming to a stop. The driver killed the engine, and the two men heaved to their feet.
“Here we go, toots,” said the gruff-voiced man, grabbing me by my upper arms.
“Yo, you sure you we’re can’t just take her down into the woods for a quick, ah, ‘quality control’ session?” he asked. “She’s fuckin’ cute.”
“No shit,” said the high-voiced man. “But you know the rules. I mean, if you want to risk getting’ your boys snipped, then be my guest. Just don’t get me involved.”
“Ah, fuck it,” said the gruff-voiced man. “No piece of pussy’s worth that.”
“Then get her the fuck outta the van! We got more pickups to make, and the auction’s at midnight.”
Auction? I thought. Just where the hell am I?
But before I could consider things for too long, the other man grabbed me by my legs and the two of them together carried me out of the van. In addition to being terrified, I felt ridiculous; I was being carried like a rolled-up carpet.
Soon, a door opened and we were indoors. The men carried me down a long hall and eventually opened another door. Once we entered, I heard muffled crying and sobbing, and I could sense the presence of other people.
“Let me go!” I shouted. “Now!”
But instead, the men sat me down on a hard metal chair, pulling my arms over the back of the seat.
“We done?” asked the gruff-voiced man.
“We’re done,” said the other.
“Good; let’s go get the next one then, I guess.”
This exchange was followed by the two men leaving the room and shutting the door behind them. Then, it was just me sitting there, still bound, still blindfolded. But now I was in a room with God knew how many other people. And I had no idea what the hell was going to happen to me.
But before I could spend too much time freaking out, a door on the far end of the room, the room opposite the one I’d come in from, opened. More footsteps sounded, two sets, these landing lighter than the others. Were they women? Soon they came to a stop only a few feet in front of me.
“Take the blindfold off,” said one.
Sure enough, it was a woman.
I felt a presence move close to me, then cool fingers slipping under my blindfold. The fabric then was lifted off of my face, and I gasped when the room was revealed to me.
It was a large space, windowless with brick walls, lit with soft white light, almost like what you’d imagine in a museum. The floor was bare, and to my left was a long wall lined with makeup vanities. What was on the right side of the room—or should I say, who—was the real horror: all along the right side of the room were metal-barred cages, each with a young woman around my age trapped within. There had to be about ten girls in that room, and the cages closest to me were empty.
I guessed that one of them was for me.
“What’s going on?” I demanded, struggling against the chair.
“You want a mouth gag, little missy?” asked the woman standing in front of me, a heavily-made-up, slender middle-aged woman dressed in a halter top that showed off a gym-toned stomach and a pair of jeans so tight it looked like she’d been poured into them. At her sides were two girls, both young and pretty, both with vacant looks in their eyes. Her voice was that hillbillyish accent that I recognized right away as from the rural middle of Florida.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” I said, my words now coming out in a pathetic plea.
My eyes darted around the room, moving from caged girl to caged girl, each of them staring at me, each with a gag stuffed in her mouth.
“Here’s the deal, young lady,” said the woman, cocking her hips to the side and placing her hands on her waist as she looked me over. “I’ll say it blunt-like: you’re not a free person anymore.”
“What?” I asked.
The words sounded strange to me; they didn’t make any sense.
“Am I … under arrest?”
The woman let out a bark of a laugh, the two younger girls smiling at her side.
“See?” she said, pointing to me. “Didn’t I tell you two that’s what she’d say? That’s always what they ask. They want to know if they’re in jail; they just can’t imagine that anything but the damn police could take away their freedom.”
She turned her eyes back to me.
“No, cutie pie, you’re not under arrest. But as of now, you’re property. Actually, let me rephrase that: as of tonight, you’ll be property.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, still pleading.
The woman said nothing, instead backing away from me and looking me over.
“Pick her up and tie her to the pole.”
The two girls moved to my side, each grabbing me hard by an arm. They pulled me off the chair and moved me over to a nearby pole that connected from the floor to the ceiling. One of the girls opened a segment of the pole that allowed her to move my hands over it. She shut the segment, and I was now stuck in place.
“Come over her and give her a look over,” said the woman.
The two girls moved to her side.
“Well?” she asked. “Tell me what you think.”
The girl on the left looked me up and down, her eyes narrowed.
“I think she’s pretty,” she said. “Very pretty.”
“Well, all the girls here are pretty,” the middle woman said. “That’s why we got ’em. I need more than that.”
The first girl cleared her throat and looked momentarily frazzled.
“Um, well, she has great hair.”
She then walked over to me, grabbed a handful of my hair, and looked carefully at my scalp
“No roots; she’s a real blonde.”
“Real blonde,” said the middle woman. “That’ll add a few thousand to her going price.”
My what?
The second girl stepped over and stared at my face like she was one of those people whose job it was to confirm that paintings weren’t forgeries.
“Doesn’t look like she’s had any work done, either,” she said. “Very natural, pretty face. I love those lips; plenty of women would pay tons to have full lips like those.”
“Anything else?” asked the middle woman. “She does have a body, you know.”
The woman in front of me closed her eyes and nodded, as if remembering something she’d forgotten. Then, to my shock, she slipped her hand up my shirt, under my bra, and grabbed onto one of my breasts, giving it a firm squeeze like a cantaloupe at the grocery store.
“Wow,” she said. “Real breasts.”
“I would’ve sworn those were fake,” said the second girl, taking a squeeze of her own, her fingers grazing my nipple.
The second girl pulled up my shirt and looked at my midsection.
“Not a drop of fat on her,” she said.
The two girls then returned to the middle woman’s side.
“Well?” asked the middle woman. “What’s the verdict?”
“She’s stunning,” said the second girl. “I think she’ll be one of our top offerings this evening.”
I was still so confused as to what was happening. Why were they referring to me as “merchandise”? Why were they talking about getting a price for me? They’d mentioned an auction … is that what this was?
“You know, I think I agree,” said the middle woman, scanning me hard one last time. “I think she’ll be one of our most coveted girls this evening. Send the boys into a bidding frenzy.”
Having seen all she needed, the woman then turned around and began walking towards the door she’d come in from.
“Okay,” she said. “Put her away. We got a long night ahead and Mama needs a drink.”
With that, the two girls removed me from the pole and led me to one of the free cages. One of them opened the door and the other tossed me in. Once I was inside, the girls shut the door and both of them took one last sneering look at me, as if to flaunt the fact that they were free and I wasn’t.
Soon they were gone, and it was just me and the other girls, all of us exchanging the same wide-eyed look of confusion and fear.