EMMA

Sleep eluded me in the cage that night. Unsure how much time had passed, I was in the only position I could find that made me slightly comfortable. My butt was frozen against the steel cot, my back pressed against the bare concrete wall, and my teeth were clenched so tight the enamel probably cracked. But if there was a light to be found in this long dark tunnel, it was the cot at that moment. Yes it was hard and painful against the skin, but it felt like ice, and ice was exactly what I needed.

Whatever medication they'd given me in medical had worn off and the pain of my stitches was a constant radiation up my body, a burn that was only soothed when I sat with my ass planted firmly against the steel. When you're stuck in a situation as hellish as mine, it was the small comforts that mattered, and for that one moment at least, I'd found that comfort, no matter how truly depressing it was.

After an hour, my eyes had adjusted to the lack of light. Nobody stirred within the shadows, but it was easier for me to make out the balled up figures in their cells. Only able to see three cells down on either side of me and the four or five cells on the opposite wall, I realized just how many women were kept here.

Hours passed as I wondered why so many women were needed. I assumed most had chosen fuck instead of die, but if they could be reused for new films, what was the purpose of abducting more? We were like a small prison of hopeless souls, ones who hadn't done anything wrong to deserve being here - we'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. How many films were made on a daily basis? Where were the films viewed and what was their purpose?

Money, I assumed, but how? It wasn't like Ethan could distribute to a wide audience. I was sure anybody would question how real the films seemed. Plus, if any of these women had been reported missing, I was positive seeing them being used as prey for rapists and murderers would clue in law enforcement to our existence.

I wasn't an expert on crime or human trafficking. Perhaps, over time, all of us are forgotten. The thought made me wonder what my parents were going through at that moment. I knew them well enough to know they'd probably already gone to the police.

My mother was the type that even twenty-four hours without hearing from me was too much. She'd always been paranoid, but now I was starting to understand why. The world was a cruel place full of monsters, and if you weren't constantly on guard, eventually one would sneak up from behind to drag you into the shadows. It was a bleak way to live your life, but if I'd listened to all the warnings she'd given me, maybe I wouldn't be here now using a steel cot as a painkiller.

The silence was welcome, I couldn't complain about that. After everything that occurred since arriving here, I hadn't had much time to myself to think.

Everything falls down on you in the silence, all the crushing fears, the loss of happiness, the bleak understandings that your life has changed so significantly that nothing will ever be the same again. I was one person that night on the sidewalk in Boston, and now I was someone else entirely, a girl whose skin was stolen and replaced with plastic, my smile wiped away by a crappy eraser so that the former smile showed through even when drawn over with a frown.

I was a killer now. No longer the carefree girl who cringed at the sight of spiders, I was now one of those few who knew how it felt to take a life. It was the strangest of feelings. Once, there was a man. His heart beat and his lungs pulled in air. He felt pain and he felt pleasure. And now he did none of those things because of me.

I'd never wanted to be that person, the person who could look a man in the eye and remove the soul that stared out from behind it.

While drowning beneath the surface of what I'd once envisioned my life would be, voices were a low murmur in the distance, the electronic key pad beeping out its tune before the pneumonic hiss of the door echoed through the winding halls. My head spun in the direction of the sound, my arms tightening over my legs where they were pressed to my chest.

The voices grew louder once the door popped open, one of which I recognized instantly.

"Is there any fucking light in this place? I'd like to actually see my selections. Why fuck an average looking woman when you can find something much prettier to be with?"

Lights flared on in the hallway and cells, the white beams blinding my eyes. Reaching up, I tried to block out the glare while still keeping an eye on whoever was coming around that corner. I knew Ethan was with the man, his laughter and voice hadn't stopped echoing in my mind since I first met him. It didn't matter where I was or what I was doing, I would recognize the sound of him.

Despite not being able to see where they were standing, I could guess fairly accurately where they were by the sound of their voices. The man spoke more than Ethan, his voice deep and gravely, harsher somehow than the smooth cadence of Ethan's tone. I hated him instantly, my stomach churning over each syllable he spit out. To hear him speak was to feel slime rubbed against your most intimate places. My skin was crawling, bile coating my tongue, by the time they turned the second corner.

"Where's the girl from the film you just showed me? I wouldn't mind having a taste of her. Although I still doubt the film will be successful, I must admit seeing a woman lose control like that left me hungry for a piece. Is she just as feisty without the weapon?"

Ethan hesitated to answer. "She's down in medical. The male lead had an opportunity to hurt her pretty badly before she fought back. She won't be appropriate for your tastes. Not tonight, at least."

He'd lied.

For me.

I couldn't understand why.

By now, the voices had woken up some of the other girls. They merely lifted their heads, blinked against the light and then shrunk down over themselves again, prey doing their best to camouflage themselves against the predators. I turned my head to look at Melanie, but found she was still sleeping deeply, rolled up and warm in the blanket I'd given her.

"That one should do, the little blond thing that hasn't even woken up. Surprises are always fun, wouldn't you agree?" His lascivious laughter caused me to dry heave.

"I'm sure she'll be thankful for the sentiment," Ethan answered dryly.

A lock slid out of place, hard and cold. The metallic sound was appropriate in this freezing place. The swinging door dragged a scream from the hinges, the creak sending shivers chasing up my spine. The mood was so ominous it suffocated me, froze me in place like I was the blond little thing unaware of a pervert's surprise.

"I'll just walk around the corner and give you some privacy. When you're done, shut the door on your way out and call for me."

A piercing scream tore through the halls next, cutting the silence as sharp as a surgeon's scalpel. It was so shocking it became a living thing inside of me, a force so severe the pain I felt was everywhere. Not only that, but her scream disguised another sound I should have feared, the rhythmic fall of expensive shoes against concrete.

Ethan was in my line of sight before the woman's scream had time to die off. Calm, collected, without concern or any noticeable reaction to the sound still cutting through me like I was warm butter, Ethan approached on lazy steps. His eyes caught mine immediately, his expression blank and unreadable. He was simply here, but not affected by what here was to us.

Stopping when he stood just outside my cell, he leaned against the other side, not caring that he had a frightened woman cowering on her cot at his back. I wasn't planning on talking to him so I guessed it was a wasted effort on his part to press a finger to his lips to tell me to be quiet.

The slimy voice joined the woman's cries, saying all the terrible things men will say to frightened, helpless women. I wanted to vomit, but found myself staring at the devil himself.

No. Not the devil.

The Director.

He didn't create Hell, he only timed it perfectly, ensuring that each moment of heartfelt terror was as meaningful and painful as it should be.

My life was simply a movie when he was around, a film I didn't like watching, a collection of moving images that meant little to the man after he'd had his say in how one moment would transition into another. My current soundtrack was that of violence against a woman who had done nothing wrong but attempt to sleep in the cold cage she'd been assigned, only to wake up to abuse that was far colder than the air conditioning could ever make this place.

Glaring at the man standing across from me, I ignored the way his eyes slowly traced down my body and back up again to my eyes. A question wrinkled his brow as that intelligent gaze slid left to where Melanie lay sleeping wrapped in the blanket Ethan had given me. When his eyebrow arched and that gaze slid back to where I sat, I understood what he'd noticed.

He didn't have to talk for me to know what he was thinking. We could speak through facial expressions alone.

Why give up the advantage? he didn't say.

Having a heart is my advantage, I didn't answer back.

Ethan shrugged my response away, unconcerned that I chose to freeze in my cage rather than cling tightly to the only comfort he'd given me.

A frenzied rhythm of skin slapping skin and hips slamming against steel overlaid our unspoken conversation, the occasional grunt sounding from the throat of a pig. Although he hadn't moved so much as a finger to stop it, Ethan didn't appear impressed either. He simply stood staring at me, bored and leisurely as he leaned against the cell at his back.

The heat of anger colored my skin. Sweeping down from my cheeks, it spread over my shoulders and into my arms and fingers, down further past my breasts and my stomach into my legs and down to the tips of my toes. So fiery was that anger, I could barely contain it, tears seeping from my eyes as that poor woman continued suffering the man's abuse, her cries now lost to his savagery, his lust. Unable to bear the weight of it, I volleyed that anger toward the man staring back at me, only for him to deflect it with his superiority.

The woman meant nothing. I meant nothing. Not in his kingdom, his magical world of fantasy and film.

The soundtrack stopped, delivering us back to insufferable silence, our stare down disrupted by the click of a cell door closing and the grinding slide of a lock.

"Ethan," the man called, spreading his slime against me again just for having heard his voice.

And as quiet as he'd entered my hall, Ethan walked away from it without so much as another unspoken word. I listened to his departing steps, counted the beat of them until the lights turned off and I was returned to darkness. I said goodbye as the code was punched into the keypad, the pneumatic hiss a snake slithering down the hall before the door closed again.