Page 88 of Pay the Piper

I wish I could see her, but she sounds young. So many questions suddenly come to the tip of my tongue that I barely manage to squeak one out.

“What…what is this? How did you get here?”

It takes so long for her to answer that I almost think she’s died or fallen asleep. Finally, she whispers back.

“It’s Mayor Fitzpatrick’s basement. In his glitzy mansion, if you can believe it. Although, from what he said earlier, it sounds like you must know him pretty well? Have you been here before?”

For a moment, I consider whether I have anything to lose in telling her exactly who I am. I’m sure it’ll come out soon enough, but something about admitting that I used to live in luxury upstairs while this hellhole existed in the basement I was forbidden from entering seems wrong. Even if my luxury came with a constant, heavy price.

“Yeah, uh…I’ve known him for a while. I knew he was a bad man, but I had no idea he did…this.”

She huffs a barely there laugh, filled with bitter rage.

“Yeah, he manages to hide a lot of his shit from the public. Based on his latest polls, it seems like people might be seeing through the facade more these days. Plus, plenty of whispers are going around about what actually happened to his wife. He’s changed his story a few times. Hopefully, he slips up and gets caught before the next event.”

“Event?”

“They call them pageants. We’re fed extra calories in the lead-up to try to make us look more alive. They take us from here and doll us up, dressed in ball gowns and with makeup covering our malnutrition. Only one woman has ever come back. She’s the reason we even know what comes next. The others…apparently men bid on them, and then…”

There’s no need for her to finish her sentence. Every woman who has ever watched the news knows what happens when men with money have the chance to own us. I’ve never thought any man existed who was good enough not to take part, except my father. Now that Conor’s told me what I’m still struggling to believe, I’m not even sure about him.

Misha would never. The Santoris would never…

Tears threaten again, and Sandy tries to console me.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sure some girls go to nice men. And they feed us here and wash us once every few days.”

“Thanks.” I sniffle, trying to stay strong. If she’s calm, I can be calm. “How did you end up here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“My good-for-nothing husband pissed Conor off. He failed to get a good enough exchange rate on a seedy deal with some Italians and decided to take me instead of killing him. I’ll be what he likes to call a ‘lease.’”

“A lease? What the—?”

“Yeah, it’s fucked. Instead of selling me permanently to someone, he’ll lease me for a few months, then send me back to my husband. Used goods as punishment. He was never abusive to me before, but I’m not confident he’ll be understanding when I get back. If I survive, that is. I heard Conor telling him that the ‘lease agreement’ would be his penalty and thought they were talking about cars. Then I was offered a drink, and the next thing I knew, I was here.”

“You knew what Conor did? Not being mayor, I mean, but the…Mafia stuff? Did you know when you married your husband?”

“When I married my husband, he was a nobody. But he was my high school sweetheart, and my family was anxious to get me out of the house, so we moved out and got married. Then when he told me he found a way to make more money, I should have known it was bad news. Long story short, by the time he asked me what I thought, it was too late. He was initiated, and my life became sitting with other wives gossiping and hoping he’d come home safe every night.”

“I’m sorry. That doesn’t sound like a life you signed up for.”

Her reply is drowned out by the murmur of the woman I had turned my back to. The one Sandy had said wouldn’t speak.

“They’ll be here soon with food. Everyone quiet.”

The entire room heeds her warning, and within thirty seconds, the terrible light returns. As my eyes adjust, I see Sandy and realize she looks familiar. I must have met her at one of Conor’s functions, considering her to just be the wife of one of his associates. How many women have I met over the years who knew their husbands were a part of my husband’s illegal activities, all while I had no clue? How many of them had laughed behind my back because I was so ignorant?

Had Sandy’s husband been one of the countless men who had used me?

It takes everything within me to fight the nausea that seems only to wane and never truly fade and force myself to eat the bland but warm tray of food that’s been offered. My eyelids become heavy toward the end of the meal, and it hits me that they must drug us regularly to keep our ability to gossip or form bonds to a minimum.

Not sure why they bother, considering that from what I can see when the lights are on, we’re all too weak to put up any semblance of a fight against our binds.

This must be a lower dose than what Conor gave me before, and I have more time to think as I curl up and wait for sleep to take me. I’m scared, of course. I want to do nothing but live in my mind and dream of Misha and the life I might have had if I had just trusted him. But underneath my fear is a simmering pool of rage, and although it’s small, I know it’ll never be completely snuffed out.

I’m still alive.

If he had actually killed me, I would have died never knowing what a devil Conor truly is. I would never have had a chance to consider that now. If I make it out of here, it’s possible I can make a difference and expose him. I’ll at least fucking try, with my last breath, to save as many of these women as I can.