Number Thirteen (3 page)

“Please no,” Number Six screams, her voice truly petrified. “I’m sorry, no, please...don’t.”

Her begging increases frantically. “I won’t do it again. I’ll be good. Please, don’t.” A loud bang sounds. Every single one of our bodies jerks in fright at the sudden noise.

Then nothing.

As if as switch has been flicked off, everything is silent. A sob escapes my throat, because I know the horrible truth of the situation. I close my eyes, pressing them together so tightly they burn, and I try to focus on any sound I can. I hear nothing. Number Six’s screams were just cut short. I hear the sounds of retching, and I lift my eyes to see Number Two lean forward and vomit onto the cold, empty floor. My tears get heavier, and I press my bound hands to my mouth.

Number Six is gone.

N
umber Six doesn’t come back. Instead, she’s replaced with another girl. We don’t know where she came from, or what happened to the original Number Six, but we all fear the worst
—
Number Six was killed. The very idea has everything inside me churning, so much so that I have spent a majority of the day dry-retching. I’ve not had anything to eat or drink, and my body is exhausted. No one has said a word; we’re all in a room together, yet we’re not speaking.

It’s all kinds of fucked up.

They finally come in towards the afternoon. We hear the door open, and we all stiffen, our bodies on full alert. Three hooded-men enter the room, and they’ve each got a line of chains in their hands.

“Don’t move,” one of them barks. “You move, you get punished. You will learn very quickly that the best way to survive is to do as you’re told.” Then they step in and lean down, hooking our hands into the chains. When we’re all in a line, they tug, and like dogs, we obey.

We step out into a long, fully-secured hall. I can see cameras up on the roof, and I tilt my head back to look at one, hoping whoever is on the other end can see what kind of shit he or she is putting us through.

“Eyes forward,” one of the guards barks. I lower my eyes, and stare at the back of the head in front of me.

I turn my eyes slightly to the right when we climb some stairs and come out inside a massive, rather beautiful home. This is not at all what I expected. I thought we would be in some rundown warehouse, or underground, but not this.

As we walk across the perfectly buffed marble floors, I take in the array of artwork on the walls: girls, all black and white, curled in strange positions. All of them broken. Like us.

The furniture is expensive looking, and rich in color: maroon, navy, and even some dark green. The house has been decorated professionally, that I don’t doubt.

We step into a narrow hall that leads us to a large set of double wooden doors. The guards open them, and take us into a gigantic ballroom. My ragged shoes squeak on the polished wooden floors as we cross ontas we cit to the middle.

The guards come to a stop, and turn to us. “Kneel,” one commands.

Slowly, as if in a domino affect, the girls begin to kneel. I can’t help but go down with them, even against my will. It’s humiliating. My hands land with a slap onto the shining floor, and I bite my lip to stop myself from crying out as my already raw knees hit the hard surface.

I hear the sound of footsteps, but I don’t dare look up. I’m too afraid of what might happen. After seeing what little mercy they showed Number Six, I certainly won’t be pushing my boundaries, not until I at least understand what those boundaries are.

“Welcome, girls,” a voice says. I’m not sure if it’s a guard, or someone else.

I try to raise my head, but I see nothing.

“My name is George, and I’m second-in-charge. While I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here, that’s not what we’ll be discussing today. Why you’re here is an irrelevant point in the scheme of things. All you need to know is you’re worthless in your lives—you have no families, and this is your second chance at life, if done right. For now, we own you, and you will do as you’re told.”

“The rules are rather simple, and if you follow them, you will be rewarded handsomely. If you disobey them, you will be punished accordingly. And let me assure you, girls, that punishment is not something you wish to experience.”

We’re silent. The only sound I can hear is the deep breathing of the girl beside me. Boots squeak across the floor as the guard walks up and down, pacing, as though he’s a person of great authority.

“Your time here won’t be spent like a holiday. You’re here to work, to earn your keep. Each of you will have duties, and those duties will be picked by your master, William.”

He stops talking a moment, and the room falls quiet, then he starts again.

“He will put you into the positions we feel best suit your strengths. You do not get a say in what your position is, and as I mentioned earlier, if you fight, you will be punished. This can run as smoothly or as roughly as you choose.”

Who is Master William? My heart stutters, and I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. My mind drifts to the other girls, and I can’t help but wonder how they’re feeling about this right now.

“You’ll be paired off into groups of three, with one having an extra. Each group will have a daily task they must carry out. After a few weeks, you will have free-range of the grounds, girls, but know that there is no escape, and those who try will wish they didn’t. We have every level of security, and we have no devices that are able to make calls out, so don’t bother. You will share a room with your chosen group, and at night you will be locked in, unless Master William requests your presence.”

Requests our presence? A feeling of mortification fills my body, and I hear the gasps slip from a few of the other girls’ lips. This only confirms they’re feeling the same fear as me. We’re all wondering who this Master William is, and why the hell he has decided to buy thirteen girls. Why not twelve? Or ten? Or hell, even one? Why the hell has this crazy man picked the Number Thirteen?

“You will earn your meals by carrying out your duties as ordered. If you don’t, you won’t eat. It really is a simple circle to stay in the middle of.”

His voice is firm, and unyielding.

“The numbers for your rooms and groups are as follows. Take note of your partners, because if one of you screws up, the rest are punished too. So I sugges y. So I st you all learn to work together,” he says, then walks over and undoes all of our chains before standing back and ordering, “Numbers One, Five and Ten stand please.”

Three girls stand, their faces a mass of fear and confusion.

“Stand to the left,” he orders them.

They shuffle to the left, heads down.

“Numbers Six, Two and Eight, stand.”

They do the same as the girls before.

We go through this until we’re all in a group. I’m in the group with four, which isn’t necessarily a good thing, because it gives a bigger chance of screwing things up. I have Number Twelve, Seven, and Three with me.

Now we’re paired off in groups, a guard walks in front of us all, his hands clasped together as he studies us. Then he turns and walks to the front of the room, lifting some sort of talking device into his hand and pressing a button.

“They’re all grouped off, sir. Take a look, decide which you want for what task, or if there are any changes that need to be made.”

I listen intently, trying to hear whoever is on the other line, but I can’t. The guard lowers the little device, and then nods at another man. Suddenly, a bright fog light is flicked on, burning right into our eyes. I squint and press my hands over my face, trying to block out the blinding light. I hear a door slam, but I can’t see anything. If I open my eyes, all it does is burn.

“They’re grouped off, Master,” I hear the guard say. “Assign them their duties.”

Heavy footsteps fall and alert us that someone else is nearing closer, and I know right away it’s the so-called “Master William.” I don’t know what he looks like, and it’s clear we’re not supposed to, for whatever reason. That’s what the lights are for. As he nears closer, I can hear his ragged breathing. I shiver, and not in a good way. I squint my eyes, tilting my hand just enough to see his silhouette. It’s hard to make out what he really looks like, but I can see he’s tall, and quite broad. I notice a good outline of his body, and it’s clear he’s extremely muscular, like an athlete.

From this angle, I think his hair is dark, maybe black? I can’t see a great deal more, except that maybe his skin is olive. He doesn’t seem to be very old, which makes this just that more confusing. He walks up and down, obviously taking us all in. “Face the front.” The guard snarls. I turn, and I can hear the clear shuffling sound of feet as the other girls do the same. I drop my hand, and turn my gaze to the floor, unable to keep my arm in that position.

I hear footsteps come to a stop in front of me, and a hand lashes out and takes my bound hands. I gasp, and stare at the large hand curled around mine. The stranger turns my hands, and runs his fingers over the bumpy scars on my wrist. I don’t remember how I got those scars, because I don’t remember how I got here. It looks as though I’ve tried to slit my wrist. The man’s thumb presses against the big one on my wrist. His grip is tight, full of dominance, as if he could just twist my wrist at any moment and crush it.

Is he deciding I’m damaged goods? Are these scars on my wrist going to make him take me away, like they did Number Six? My eyes burn with tears, and I can’t breathe steadily as I begin to consider all the reasons these silly scars might cause my life to be cut short. I’m damaged goods, he doesn’t want damaged goods. Who would buy slaves only to have them seem crazy? That’s what he’ll think, isn’t it? That I’m crazy?

Suddenly he lets go, and steps back. His footsteps disappear, and I hear the guard speaki goguard sng softly with him. Then the door slams, and the light flicks off. I see big white spots as I blink to try and clear my vision.

I haven’t managed to regain it before the guard speaks. His voice comes out clear, and full of authority. There’s no arguing with his tone, or him, it seems.

“Group one,” he says in a deep, penetrating tone. “You will cook. If you don’t know how, learn. You will be awoken at six a.m. every morning to start breakfast. It is to be served at eight a.m. punctually. Lunch is at twelve p.m. and dinner at six p.m. The kitchen is to be left in good condition at all times.”

“Group two,” he continues, turning his eyes to the second group. “You are responsible for cleaning. You too will be awoken at six a.m. You will begin on the lower part of the house, making sure everything is tidy. You will share the jobs between you, to make sure it all gets done.”

He swings his eyes to the next group.

“Group three, you will clean up the kitchen once group one has cooked each meal. You will also be responsible for all the laundry in the house, making sure everything is cleaned, ironed and folded in a prompt manner each day. You will also be responsible for cleaning the pool and maintaining the gardens. You also rise and six a.m. and start your duties.”

“Group four,” he says, turning to us and giving us all a long look. “You serve the master. You go to him when he needs you, and help him when he requests. If he doesn’t need you, then you will join the other groups in keeping the property maintained, but the moment he calls, you will attend to him.”

We have to service him? How does he mean? My stomach twists, and I feel sick. I wish I could remember how I’d ended up here, and why it is that I can’t remember a damned thing about my life, including my own name. I can think clearly enough now, but the past is a blur. I know it’s the drugs they’ve given us; they’ve created a drug-induced amnesia. Does that mean they’re going to continue the drugs? Does it mean I’m never going to remember enough to get out of here? What if it’s not the drugs? What if there’s another reason for my memory loss?

The guard crosses his large arms, and shifts from one foot to the other. “You will be taken to your rooms, now. There are clothes laid out. You will dress in these after taking a shower, and then you will begin your duties. There is a guard assigned to each group, and if you disobey him, you will be punished.”

He clicks his fingers, and three guards enter the room. They pair off, one of them to each group. I stare at the guard who has been assigned to us. He’s middle aged, with light brown hair, and hard brown eyes. He doesn’t look at us; he pretends we don’t exist as he re-chains us and tugs us towards the door. Right before we make it over, one of the girls from group one begins screaming, shaking her head from side to side.

“No, please, don’t make me go. I want to go home.”

Her guard takes hold of her arm, and yanks her towards him, snarling something into her ear. She screams, and kicks out, sending him reeling backwards. Her face crumples. She knows her attempts are futile. That’s the beauty of the human spirit. It can bend a lot before it’s broken. And a lot of these girls are already broken. Which makes me wonder if they were already damaged before they arrived.

The other guards quickly join the first, circling around the girl. My lips tremble as they force her to the ground. The lead guard turns to the rest of us. “You’re about to see what happens to those who behave like this.”

The guard takes hold of the belt around his waist, pulling it off ande tg it of pressing it into his hands. The other guards hold the girl on the ground, and one reaches down, lifting her shirt. I look away, unable to see what they’re about to do. My entire chest is aching so much it feels like I’ve got a ten-ton truck sitting on it. I blink back my tears as I hear the first crack of a belt against her skin, followed by her broken scream.

They give her ten of those.

By the tenth one, she’s stopped begging. I slowly turn, staring at her. My eyes burn as I take in her back. Red welts appear on her skin, swelling angrily. The guards haul her up, and she’s sobbing quietly, her hair falling over her face. My heart aches for her, and I want to go over and comfort her but I know I can’t.