EMMA

As was standard for this place, I was marched naked down the halls with a lumbering guard at my back cradling his gun to his chest as if it were a threat. At first, it had been, but now that I knew Ethan had decreed his protection order that I not be harmed unless it was on his stage, I knew that no matter what I did, the guard couldn't shoot me.

Not that the knowledge made me feel any better. I was still of the opinion that a bullet to the brain was better than the nightmares this place had in store for me.

My bare feet padded over the floors as we approached the pneumatic door, and I turned to face the wall like the good little prisoner I was. The guard grunted his dissatisfaction that I didn't give him an excuse to manhandle me and went to work punching in the code. The door hissed open like something you would hear on a science fiction movie, the freezing cold sneaking out to scrape at my skin welcoming me back to the tundra. Goosebumps raced over my skin, my muscles instantly tightening until painful as I was led inside to walk the shadowed halls.

Clutching my blanket to my chest, I tried to ignore the women scrambling to hide in their cells as we passed, my focus having been redirected to a question that had come to mind several times already between the time I left this place last and now. Worried about Melanie, I hurried my steps down the halls, taking the turns I remembered from last time. The guard was none too happy about my increased pace, but matched the speed of my steps regardless.

Reaching my former cell, I stood at the door waiting for the guard to open it, but my eye caught sight of movement in the deep shadow, that of another woman curled up on the steel cot folding herself tighter into a fetal position. The guard laughed at my back. "Sorry, sweetheart, but you've been evicted. New arrivals came in today while you were sleeping."

Panic struck a path through my heart. How would I check on Melanie if I wasn't beside her? Before I stepped away, I peered into the shadow wondering if the new girl in my former cell had already been used for one of Ethan's films. Unfortunately, the answer to that question would remain a mystery. Before I could utter a word in protest, the guard grabbed my arm, dragged me past Melanie's cell and planted me by the door in front of the cell on the other side.

I grinned. "Looks like I didn't have to move far."

The guard grunted. "That's because only one girl passed the examination. I'm sure you know what happened to the others."

Oh, God. I was sure they'd been led through the left door instead of right, which meant they were in the fast lane to the snuff stage. "How many?"

Reaching around me, the guard unlocked the door, pulled it open and shoved me inside. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

The cell door slammed shut ending the conversation. I watched while the broad shouldered guard stalked off, his gun tucked to his chest, his black fatigues disappearing into shadow. From a distance the electronic notes of the keypad filtered back to me, the soft hiss of the door opening, the quiet click as it closed.

I rushed over to the wall beside Melanie's bed to find her sitting up, her legs bent in front of her, her arms wrapped around her knees tucking her legs to her chest.

"Are you awake?"

Although she was seated, she wasn't moving much. Just a small patch of her face was visible beneath her matted hair, her cheek resting against her knees and her lips chapped. "Yes," she answered, the word gritty, but not shaky. Whereas my teeth wouldn't stop chattering against the cold, she didn't appear bothered by it. Only sad and defeated.

My thoughts rushed back to what she'd told me the last time I was in the cages, how she claimed medical had stitched her up without painkillers or anesthetic. Why they hadn't done the same to me was anybody's guess. Even now, knowing that I had stitches, I still felt no pain. Perhaps they'd given me something to dull the sting, something that would eventually wear off.

"How are you feeling?"

"Sore," she whispered. "Upset."

Asking her why she was upset would have been stupid. Who wouldn't be upset in this situation? "Did they leave you here all day?"

Not answering at first, she simply shook her head, the curtain of her hair moving over her legs and down her body where it hung at the side of her head. "No. They took us to the showers. They fed us. And then..." Her voice hitched over that unfinished thought. I watched her arms tighten around her legs, the muscles flexing against her skin. "Then they took us to the theater room."

My heart dropped into my stomach and I clutched the blanket to my chest. The theater room. I didn't have to guess what it was, but I didn't want to think about why the women were led in there. Fighting my curiosity was impossible, the question tumbling from my lips even as I regretted asking it. "What happened in the theater room?"

It's odd how silence can sometimes carry a beat. Not during times that are comfortable and relaxing. In those times, the silence is welcome. It soothes you, brushing its warm fingers over your eyes until they are closed. It hums against your ear as a lullaby gently leading you into sweet slumber. It's a friend that cushions you against the maelstrom of sensation that pelts you in the outside world.

When you're happy, silence reminds you of the womb, comforting you with the white noise of amniotic fluid or the rhythmic thump thump thump of your mother's heart. Safe. Secure. Hidden from all the monsters that would eventually devour you.

Silence didn't work the same in times of terror or sadness. Instead of a comfort, it was a ticking bomb that counted down the passing seconds while ratcheting the tension inside you. It mocked and scorned, poked and prodded, left you exposed to the elements that tear at your skin and strip away whatever happiness you have inside you.

The beat is no longer a welcome rhythm, it's a curse that reminds you that no matter how horrible your existence was before it started, after the silence passes, your world would only get worse.

I wished for the happy silence while waiting for Melanie's answer, but all I received was the horror.

"They make us watch the films. All of us, watching what was done to each other, to ourselves, to the women who never made it back to the cages after they were taken." A tear dropped from her cheek to slowly trail down her leg. It didn't make it far before the temperature of the room dried it, stealing its warmth to replace it with another cold, stark reminder of this place against Melanie's skin. She shivered against it, whether from fear or pain, I wasn't sure.

"I can still hear the screams, Emma. And the laughter of the guards standing at the back of the room. We tried closing our eyes against the images, but you can't escape. The volume is so loud that you can't block out the sound of what's been done to us. It echoes."

My eyes closed, the memory of Melanie's screams echoing in my head. The stage was visible in my thoughts, the bed, the men who abused her body for Ethan's art. I highly doubted they regretted having to act out the scenes. It wasn't their bodies being shocked by an electric prod or cut by a razor lined gag.

"I don't think I'll ever see my son again."

Sobs broke apart her whispered confession, the fear so forceful that it had burst from the confines of her heart to seep out on labored breath and tremulous words. Pure sorrow sat beside me on the other side of the bars, the embodiment of bitter agony and insurmountable remorse. What's worse is that I knew her worries were true. She never would see the child she'd given life. She would never hold him again, and he would never hold her. My heart clenched at the thought.

"Tell me about him."

I wasn't afraid of hurting her by bringing him up, not like I'd been the last time. In truth, if there was any possibility of adding just a touch of happiness to her now, it would be by blanketing her thoughts in her memories of him. The power of her love for her son was stronger than her hatred of her present circumstance. In a world where she'd lost every shred of joy she once had, the love of her son was the last bit of warmth they couldn't steal from her.

Her lips tugged into a sad smile. "His name is Kyle, after my grandfather who raised me. His eyes are a warm brown, like chocolate struck through by caramel. And his smile," her mouth stretched wider, "his smile is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's pure sunshine beaming out from his chubby face."

Settling down on the concrete floor, I rested my head against the bars. I wouldn't invade her memories with my voice. If it took hours, I'd wait patiently while she swam in the deluge of her son's image, of the films playing in her head that were powerful enough to drown out the films she'd been forced to watch today.

"Kyle loves animals," she finally breathed out. "The same can't be said for people, but who can blame him? He's so shy, but then again, he's young. I thought he would eventually grow out of it. I used to tell him that he shouldn't be so quiet, that he should get to know people and other children just in case they could be friends." She paused, the memory rolling over in her head. "Now I wish I hadn't told him that. After what's been done to me, I hope he hides forever in a place where he’ll be safe."

Sighing, I shifted my weight over the cold, hard floor. My eyelids were growing heavy, weighed down by the low hum of the air conditioner that never stopped blowing. The cold in the room perfectly matched the hope dying a slow death inside me.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, "I'm tired of being so cold. I'm tired of feeling pain every time I move. Those films today, they showed me what happens to women who choose to die. No matter what choice you make, you're destined for agony. Ethan shouldn't ask us fuck or die. It's deceiving."

Forcing my eyes apart, I fought against my own exhaustion to listen to her talk. "What should he have asked us?"

"How long we want to suffer."

Life doesn't always offer you the opportunity to lie and make it believable. Like now when I couldn't argue that anything she'd said was untrue. Our situation was a thick stew of bad choices and worse ones, the only common element being the suffering that came with all of them.

"I'll never see my son again," she repeated, as if the thought were still boring a hole into her mind to settle among happier memories. "But then again, he never claimed I would, did he? Ethan has a silver tongue, the deceit easily slipping off it. No, he never told me I would actually see my son turn two, he only said I'd live long enough for it to happen."

Cursing under her breath, she sighed. "I guess it doesn't matter. It's getting late and I'm falling asleep. Here's hoping I don't wake up."

I would have agreed with her, but I liked Melanie. If she died, it would destroy me, leaving me alone to navigate this place without the friend I'd found in her. How selfish was it to want another person to endure torture just so I could find a few moments of peace? The thought chilled me almost as much as the air.

Stretching out her willowy frame, she laid down on the steel cot only to curl over herself again. Even in shadow, her lithe frame was obvious. It had only been two days and already she looked like she'd lost weight. Behind me, the screws holding her cot to the wall rattled, the shivering of her body more violent now that it was pressed to the icy steel of her makeshift bed.

"Hey," I whispered, lifting the blanket from my skin to press the end through the bars. "You should take this."

Her eyes fluttered open, widening when she finally saw the blanket I held. "Where did you get that?"

I stuffed more through the bars. The end dropping and brushing over her hip. "Doesn't matter. But you're cold and you need it to sleep."

Arm uncurling from her chest, she shoved at the blanket, directing it back in my direction. "I can't take it. You need it, too."

"We'll share," I whispered, insistent that she accept it. "You take it tonight, I'll take it tomorrow night. Back and forth, so we both have a little bit of comfort in this place."

After shoving the last of it through, I watched Melanie vacillate between taking it and shoving it back. She must have given in to the cold in the end, and when she wrapped it over her body, I smiled.

"Thank you," she breathed out.

"You're welcome. Good night."

Her eyes closed but she still managed to answer, "Good night."