16
ATTICUS
I rapped on Evelyn’s door, and she ushered me into the room.
“How is she?” I asked. “Any progress?”
Evelyn shook her head glumly; she didn’t approve of what I was doing with the blind girl she’d been keeping in her room for nearly two weeks.
“The girl is fine,” Evelyn said with a trace of criticism I was used to. “As fine as she was when you brought her here, anyway. She still won’t talk, she drinks little and eats even less—wouldn’t even do that if she wasn’t worried about her sister.”
She paused and turned to see the girl sitting on a chair by the window.
“I’m telling you, Atticus, this one will never break. I’ve seen dozens of girls come and go in this business, but this one”—she glanced back at the girl again—“it’s not gonna happen, not today or five years from now. She’s broken, yes, but not in the way you want her to be.”
I felt Evelyn’s fingers clamp down on my elbow.
“The men are starting to talk,” she went on, her voice low and harsh. “It’s not like they haven’t seen her; I can’t hide her under the bed when they visit me, y’know.”
I sighed.
“I can’t keep telling them she’s in training,” she went on, “or that she’s sick, or whatever other ridiculous lies I come up with to buy her time. Sooner than later, Atticus, they will start demanding her services—blind or not, she’s a beautiful girl. This is a mistake. A huge mistake.”
“If she’s going to be here,” I told her, “I want her to choose to be here.”
“It doesn’t work that way, and you know it.”
“It has to!”
Evelyn took a deep breath.
“They’re going to kill you if they see this weakness in you, Atticus.” She stepped up into my personal space and bent her arms between us, resting them against my chest. “It scares the hell out of me to see you doing this. They’ll see that weakness and pounce on you like lions on a wounded animal.”
I stepped away from her, and she crossed her arms under her plump breasts, sighed and then glanced at the door.
“Why aren’t you doing this with any of the other girls?” Evelyn asked, not with accusation, but with interest. “Or is that what you plan to start doing?” She pointed at me before tucking her hand back against her arm. “I’m not going to keep doing this, so don’t get it in your head to bring me anymore.”
“Most of the others don’t care, Evelyn,” I said. “They either come here grateful to be given a place to live and don’t care what they have to do to earn their keep, or they accept it soon after.” I looked across the room at the blind girl again. “But girls like that one are…different. And I can’t, on good conscience, force her to sleep with these men, or it’ll feel like I’m the one raping her”—my voice rose —“I can sort them, I can even visit them myself the way I visit you, but I can’t become the Devil, Evelyn.”
“But you can be the Devil’s advocate,” she accused, and it cut the fuck out of me.
I clamped my hand around her elbow and took her with me out into the hall, closed the door behind us.
“One more week,” I whispered urgently. “Just give her one more week.”
Evelyn stood in front of me, a frown manipulating her pretty pouty lips, concern etched in her face—I knew she thought me reckless and crazy to be doing this, but I was her friend, and no matter how much she disagreed with me, she would always help me.
“And what if she doesn’t break?” Evelyn said. “What do you plan to do then?”
I looked at the wall, lost in my deep thoughts made up of a dozen questions with zero answers.
“I don’t know,” I finally spoke. “But that’ll give me a week to figure it out.” My hands collapsed around her thin arms, and I squeezed them gently. “Think of this one as your toughest case yet—you can talk her into it, Evelyn; I have confidence in you.”
“Are you telling me to do whatever it takes?” She narrowed her gaze.
I shook my head. “Don’t force her into anything,” I said, though already knowing Evelyn wouldn’t do anything I wouldn’t do. “Just talk to her, say whatever you have to say to convince her of her new life, even if it’s nothing but lies—I know you can get through to her.”
“I’ll do my best,” Evelyn said, unconfident.
She paused. “What about the sister?” Then she looked at me sidelong, suspiciously. “Or has she already accepted her fate? It didn’t take the other one long. Petra, I think her name is; she’s already one of the favorites among the men, and she’s only been here forty-eight hours. Is the sister coming around, too?”
I couldn’t look Evelyn in the eyes.
She cocked her head to one side, waiting.
“Atticus?”
“She’s a different case altogether,” I finally answered.
“Maybe so,” Evelyn said. “But if she’s anything like her sister—and I’m guessing she is—how do you plan to keep her alive before Rafe gets back, much less send her to live with Rafe against her will when he does? You’re digging your own grave—you’re digging her grave.”
“I know!” I hissed, getting tired of her being right all the damn time. I glared at her. “Look, I know this is risky, but I think change can happen. I don’t expect everyone to like it or agree with it at first, but the only person who has to agree is Wolf—.” I stopped when I heard the echo of footsteps coming up the stairs.
“I think I can manipulate him”—I spoke more quickly—“into believing it’s in all of our best interests that the women are treated better.” I’d wanted to say ‘equally’, but I knew that’d never happen.
Evelyn looked beyond me toward the darkening hall—it was about the time when one of the other women would make rounds lighting the candles along the steps and in the hallways.
“How the hell do you plan to do that?”
“By telling him the truth,” I said. “They don’t want anyone to start a rebellion. We need to make these women want to be here, to believe they’re as essential as any soldier. Brainwashing creates devoted followers, but slavery creates rebels. And the rebels usually win.”
Evelyn pursed her lips thoughtfully, and had no argument. She couldn’t; my logic was sound.
“You can’t tell me that Rafe and Wolf sleep like babies every night,” I said, “that they don’t entertain the very real possibility that their tyrant ways aren’t going to be what gets them killed—I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”
Evelyn shook her head, still not convinced, nor would she ever be, I knew. Because, deep down, I felt the same way.
“Many women like powerful, tyrant men,” Evelyn pointed out. “That’s why Rafe and Wolf are still alive. And women don’t like to share. Rafe’s wives are content with one another, but they’ve drawn the line, and you know as well as I do they’re not going to share Rafe with anyone else. I give it a few days and that girl you’re trying to protect will be choking on her own blood. I’d tell you to break her in yourself and spare her, but then you’d be the one choking on your own blood, and, well, that’s unacceptable.”
The footsteps were getting closer.
Evelyn stepped up to me, seeking my closeness, and instead of moving away from her this time, I touched my lips to her forehead.
“You’re a dear friend, Evelyn Bouchard.”
Her eyes smiled faintly but it wasn’t enough to show on her lips. I knew she was fed up with my choices despite her attempts to make me see reason; and she probably knew it was only a matter of time I would be dead because of those choices. Unfortunately, so did I.
The door to the stairwell creaked open, and a shadow grew larger against the wall.
“One week,” Evelyn relented in a hurried voice, holding up her index finger. “But after that, Atticus, you’re on your own.”
It wasn’t a threat, but simply the way things had to be. I knew I was putting Evelyn in jeopardy already, and I couldn’t continue to risk her life—I wouldn’t.
As far as Thais hiding out in my room: I had to keep my distance to avoid feeling more sympathetic toward her than I already did.
Keep your distance or you’ll regret it later.
THAIS
I had spent two days in Atticus’ room, two days of his constant absence, and practically talking to myself even when he was there. Not that he had much to say before, but it seemed like he stopped talking altogether. Maybe it was because I only ever talked about Sosie; I wanted him to take pity on her so he might help her. I even asked him to take a letter to her, but I was wasting my breath.
In two days, I had not seen nor heard from the pregnant woman who said she’d help me escape the city. It had been Atticus who brought my food, Atticus who took me to use the restroom, Atticus who took me to bathe; his was the only face I saw anymore.
I was beginning to lose hope.
Then there was a knock at the door, and my head shot up. Atticus, sitting at his desk, his attention buried in his maps and papers like it usually was, heard it as clearly as I had, but he was in no hurry to see who it was. He scanned the paper in front of him a few seconds longer and then slowly went to answer the door.
“De bath is ready,” a familiar voice said.
I craned my neck to glimpse the pregnant woman standing in the doorway. It’s her…
“Surely ya not goin’ to take her ya’self to get a bath?” she said with accusation.
I got up from my cot, setting the book I’d been reading down on the mattress, and I went to the door.
“I won’t be going inside with her,” Atticus said coldly, “if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Well, I’d hope not,” she warned. “My husband ain’t gonna like dat ya’ve had her in ‘ere, alone wit’ ya like dis—it doesn’t look right.”
I stepped up beside Atticus and the woman looked right at me, smiled mysteriously; a dress hung over her forearm, pressed against her rounded belly.
“I can’t help how it looks,” Atticus said flatly. “But I can assure you she’s completely safe in my room. This is the safest place in the city for her to be.” There was something else in his comment other than reassurance; something sharp, accusatory.
The woman smirked, and then she glanced at me.
“De safest, not to mention more appropriate place for Miss Thais”—she looked Atticus in the eyes—“is wit me and my sisters.”
He offered no response, but his rigid body language said things that words didn’t have to.
“Well in any case,” the woman said as she held out the dress “here’s a new dress and a clean pair of panties for ya to wear.”
I took the clothing into my hands.
“Thank you.”
The woman covertly looked at me, and then down at the dress. I thought it strange.
Atticus went to close the door.
“If she needs anything else,” the woman said, “I’m more dan happy to help.” From a two-inch crack in the door, she smiled in at me one more time, and then the door closed, cutting us off.
“If you want a bath,” Atticus said, stepping into his boots barefooted, “then let’s go before the water gets cold.” He didn’t even bother to lace the boots up and tie them.
I grabbed a little makeup bag I carried my personal toiletries in and left the room without discussion.
While Atticus sat outside next to the door in a chair reading a magazine, I set the toiletry bag down on a shelf and slipped out of my clothes. Something caught my eye as I hung the dress on a nearby hook: a tiny piece of folded paper lay on a square tile floor piece. I bent over and took it into my fingers, unfolding it slowly, glancing over my shoulder at the door where Atticus sat reading his magazine on the other side. I looked down into the handwritten note I immediately knew had been written just for me. It must’ve been hidden within the folds of the dress.
My heart raced as I read:
Meet me on the lowest floor of the building near the back exet where the water fountins are within ten minutes of Atticus leeving his room when the next scouting party arrives in the street come prepared to leave I have your sister wit me she’ll be waiting for you
I raised my eyes from the paper, cautiously looked over my shoulder again.
I could practically taste my freedom!
Crushing the note in my fist, I looked around the room for a place to hide it, settling with a loose strip of crown moulding that ran along the base of the wall. Crouching, I pried away the end piece from the wall and tucked the note behind it, patting the strip back into place.
I washed up quickly, even though I’d intended to take my time soaking in the water until it turned cold; I got dressed, and then stepped out into the hall.
ATTICUS
I was surprised she was already done. I set the magazine down on the chair in place of myself and escorted her back to my room without a word.
I couldn’t put my finger on it but Thais seemed different after her bath. She was quieter, and she appeared anxious as she stared off at the wall in my room. And instead of burying her face in a book, the way she did every night before she went to sleep, she gazed out the window. Her incessant conversation attempts ceased to exist. And she stopped talking about her sister, which was noteworthy. Eventually I ignored it, despite instinct kicking me in the back of the skull; instinct gave way to acceptance, and I no longer cared.
Two more days passed, and I heard my friend, Peter Whitman, on the other side of the door alerting me of a scouting party that had just arrived.
THAIS
My heart froze when I heard the news muffled through the door. I kept my eyes on the book in my lap, afraid to look up at either of them for fear of the anticipation all over my face giving my secret away. I pretended to read, but I didn’t see the words. All I saw were scenes: me slipping out of the room and hurrying down the stairs; meeting the woman by the fountains on the lowest floor; seeing Sosie again for the first time in weeks and me running into her arms and us escaping together. My heart beat against my ribcage in an eager and restless rhythm; my breath was heavier, and the blood rushed into every limb as if racing to get from one side of my body to the other.
It was time. I was going to see Sosie again.
We were going to escape!