Violet Grenade(74)

I head down the narrow hall, jail cells lining the right side. They're the old-school kind with actual bars and rusting toilets and steel benches that serve as beds. Not sure what else to do, I quietly call out her name.

"Ellie? Are you here?"

When no one responds, I tiptoe past the first cell that lays empty and move to the next, but there's no one here. I was wrong. I figured, with Eric's involvement, that if Ellie were being held anywhere, it'd be here. I look at Cain and shrug, shaking my head. He lays a soft hand on my upper back, ready to guide us out, when the air kicks on. The breeze rushes out through floor vents, and a soft thump sounds from behind us.

I turn on my heels, narrow my eyes. And though I'm staring right at it, it's Cain that really sees it first.

He strides over, surprisingly quiet on his feet, and spiders his fingers along the hardwood floor. Near the grated air return, his hand finds purchase. He lifts a flap in the floor and glances at me, his features twisted with concern.

I dash toward him but, when I make for the descending stairs, he blocks my path, holds up a wait hand. We listen, and then Cain takes the stairs before me.

Uh, we totally could have gone first, Wilson says.

Below the floor of the jail cell is a buzzing light, concrete floors, and second set of jail cells. I swallow, my throat thick. When I spot a thin girl lying on the bench, her back to me, I'm sickened but not surprised. I steal a glance at Cain, wet my lips, and say, "Are you Ellie?"

There's a long pause that wraps around my throat. Finally, the girl says, "What does she want now?"

My stomach touches my feet, and the wind is ripped from my lungs. It's her. This is Ellie, and Madam Karina put her here, and maybe I've known all along but was too afraid to admit it. Most girls leave and become like Angie, forever toiling for their master until they are one day, maybe, released from servitude. But Ellie tried to escape. And now she is here.

"How long have you been here?" I ask, choking on panic.

Ellie turns and faces us. When I see her, I have to look away. Cain brushes my arm, but I recoil from his touch. It's too much to be comforted when she's the one who needs help.

Her face is shallow and bruised, and her skin has a sickly pallor. A light sweat coats her upper lip and forehead, and blood cakes her bottom lip. "As long as I deserve. And I'll serve the remainder of my time and debt to Madam Karina with gratitude. Being here has given me time to reflect on my mistakes."



       
         
       
        

My entire body goes numb when I understand why Ellie is talking this way. She's consumed by fear. "We're on your side. You don't have to be scared."

She stands up, greasy brown hair falling over her left eye. Her body shakes from the exertion, and bile rises in my throat. "I love Madam Karina," she insists, shuffling toward me. "I wish only to return to her home and make her happy for the rest of my days. I was wrong. Can you tell her I was wrong?"

"Screw this." Cain spins on his heel and searches the space, no doubt looking for a way to open her cell.

"It's no use," a new voice says from farther down. A girl's arm appears from between the bars of the next cell. It's gut-wrenchingly thin, with blue veins rising to the surface like earthworms in the rain. "She won't tell you anything useful. But I will."

I race to where the second, older girl stands and stumble upon seeing her. She's in even worse condition than Ellie.

"My name is Viviane Roth, and I was caught by Eric and his pigs thirteen hours after I ran away." She raises her head as if she's proud of what she's about to say next. "I've been here for one year and forty-seven days."

Disbelief and horror crackle through my body, and I find it takes everything I have to keep my legs beneath me. "Tell me what I can do to help you."

She laughs and digs a finger into her ear. "You can't. And if you're one of Madam Karina's girls, you better get out of here."

"How did they catch you?" Cain asks, startling me.

"We're not sure. But one way or another, they always do."

"Paula made it the longest, I think. Three days before they found her."

"Four," a quiet voice says at the end of the aisle.

"Okay, whatever, four." Viviane continues talking, but my ears ring so loudly that I can't absorb what she's saying. Because now I'm moving down the cells, one by one, and trying not to lose control of my breathing. In each cramped space is a female, some young, some old. Their faces are shadowed and accusatory. Some are like the first girl, their bodies turned away, and all of them look broken, their spirits long buried. That doesn't stop a handful from announcing the time they've spent imprisoned.