Farrah
I knew that Connor was impatient. I knew that he wanted answers. But I couldn’t give them to him. Not yet. At the moment, all I could think was, Poor Honi. Poor, poor Honi.
Yes, I knew that she had brought this on herself. And yes, I knew that she had more or less betrayed me. But that didn’t change the fact that she was a scared and helpless woman, desperate for safety and for the right to spread her legs only when she wanted to. And now she was suffering for me. It wasn’t right, even if she had been a selfish bitch. Who knew what those men would do to her?
After waiting at least an hour, we finally emerged from our hiding place. Though Connor was frustrated, I could tell that he was happy that none of the financial documents had been found. Only a few of the Devil’s Wings had been injured, and minorly at that. It was Montengo, in fact, who seemed most upset. He stormed up and down the halls in a rage, punching through sheetrock and shouting at anyone who dared cross him. Connor sighed deeply, knowing that he was duty bound to report in to his president. I, meanwhile, felt way too shattered to deal with Montengo, so I asked Connor to return me to the bunkroom. After the horrible realizations of this afternoon, even that place seemed inviting.
Without a word, Connor keyed open the lock and let me in. He looked at me sadly, gave my hand a squeeze, and left. I did not envy him having to go deal with Montengo. As soon as the door shut behind him, I collapsed onto the nearest bed and pressed my hands against my face.
I knew why Minghelli’s men were after me. I knew why they’d killed Aunt Venus in their hunt for me, and I knew that Honi was in terrible danger. I lay back and closed my eyes. At long last, the assault of memories I had been putting off since that morning overwhelmed me.
# # #
It was last Christmas Eve. Honi had been busy with a client, and I, rather than wrapping presents or singing carols or getting drunk like any normal college student on December 24t, was analyzing the house’s records and camera surveillance. Special rooms in the whorehouse were equipped with secret cameras. Sometimes, these served as means for excellent blackmail opportunities, especially for well-respected or well-known clients. Other times, for regular clients whom we trusted, we could sell the videos: little pieces of personal pornography that they could treasure forever. The working girls never minded. In fact, it often made them feel safer. It created a sense of accountability for whatever happened in the room.
But the records hadn’t kept Vanessa safe.
Tom Minghelli, head of the Minghelli family, had walked in late that night, asking for one of our top quality whores. Knowing Vanessa’s skills, Aunt Venus had assigned her to him, and together they had disappeared into one of the secretly surveyed rooms. The camera feed wasn’t instant. It needed to be recorded in fifteen minute intervals, downloaded, and sorted into the house’s extensive record system before I could pull it up on my computer screen. Aunt Venus had the live feed, of course, but she had been home, preparing Christmas dinner.
It had seemed strange even then. Synthesizing whorehouse data. Cooking Christmas dinner.
Tired but satisfied with my night’s work, I began switching on the camera feeds at random, curious to see who was out on Christmas Eve and what the girls were doing to entertain. Several brought a smile to my face. One couple involved a man dressed up as Santa Claus while the hooker rode his lap. Another showed Lady Vixen, our most talented dominatrix, whipping a man tied to a bedpost with a stocking full of what could only be coal.
Then, I turned on Vanessa’s screen.
At first, I thought no one was in the room. Naturally, the camera angle focused on the bed, and when no one was there I was confused. I looked to the padded armchair nearby, and even the floor. But no! There they were, in the far corner, almost entirely out of sight of the camera.
Vanessa was crouched down against the wall, naked except for her thigh-high black boots, and she was cowering. Though the image was grainy, I could see that her mouth was twisted open in a terrible scream.
Tom Minghelli stood over her.
Boom!
It was a silent image, and yet I imagined I could hear the impact. His fist struck her jaw and she collapsed, trying and failing to shield herself with slender little wrists.
Slap! Crack!
Blood splattered the floor. The screen was black and white, but there was no mistaking its evil glisten staining the rug and bedsheets.
I was near paralyzed, stupefied by what I was seeing. Just enough of me was aware to turn the sound on, desperate to hear what was going on. Vanessa whimpered. I could hear her pleading. Minghelli grabbed a lamp from the nightstand and took its cord, drawn out between his hands like a garrote.
“Die, bitch! Die!” he roared, and I saw it close around her neck…
“No!” I cried, shaken loose of my paralysis. I leapt to my feet and rushed the door, crying out for our security guards, the ones who kept the whores safe. They came at once to my summons and rushed immediately to the bedroom where Vanessa was trapped with Minghelli.
No one was there. Fifteen minutes. There was a fifteen minute lapse. The lamp was gone, as was Vanessa’s body, but there was nothing Minghelli could have done about the blood. It ranged from the rug all the way up to the curtains, pearly in its freshness. Minghelli would be trusting two things: he assumed he hadn’t been seen, and he knew that no cop was going to go looking for some useless whore.
He had thought he was safe.
Despite my terror, some part of me was still thinking rationally. Rather than staying to help to clean up the blood, I rushed back to my computer and downloaded that video, and the one after it, into a special file. This I encrypted, over and over again, and buried it deep within the house’s records. No one but me or my aunt would have been able to find it.
Storing the video away had had a strange effect on me as well. As I buried the video, so too did I seem to be burying the horror, and later even the memory, of what happened. I blotted it out, like a night of drunken regrets and refused to think about it ever again.
That was until I heard Minghelli’s voice, talking to me on the other end of Aunt Venus’ telephone.
# # #
“Ah!” I opened my eyes with a start, overcome by the clarity of the memory haunting me all those months later. I had thought I could make that horrible night go away, but now I knew that I was wrong.
It had gotten Aunt Venus.
And now it was on its way to get me.
The only hope I could think of—the only hope I had—was Connor.
And I did not yet dare hope in him.