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Nathan nods. “I have one on every slave in the house.”
Unsure what to say to any of this, Carter turns his focus back to the file on his lap. On the left is a paperclip holding 2 pictures. The one on top is of the slave Carter knows as 7 - though he looks much different. At least 15 pounds heavier and golden brown with a summer tan. His eyes are bright, his hair cut short, his smile wide. He's on the beach, toes in the sand, shirt off, laughing at something off to the side. A candid shot. It radiates happiness. Freedom. He has an orange frisbee in his left hand. Carter can't stop looking at it.
A sticky note is at the bottom of the image, covering his left leg and some of the sand.Bryce Jacobson (17 yo at capture). Plays guitar and piano. Writer (good prose, decent poet). Favorite color ice blue. Wants to be a Firefighter or a Journalist.
The bottom picture is of the version of him Carter knows. He's naked, collared, his cock caged, his arms cuffed behind his back. Someone is holding him by his hair to force his face upward. His eyes are glaring at the camera. There's a nasty bruise healing on his cheek and temple.
This photo also has a sticky note.Male. White. American. Blonde. Blue eyes. 17. 5'8. 132 lbs. English speaking. Disobedient. High pain tolerance.
Carter looks at the file label again. “What does 7.3 mean?”
“Hmm?” Nathan glances at the file, his expression twitching before going deceptively natural. "Oh. He's slave 7. The third one."
“The third slave 7.”
“Since I began, yes.”
Carter’s stomach rolls. “What the fuck happened to the first two?”
A cold darkness seeps into Nathan’s gaze. That used to terrify Carter, but now he knows what it is. Nathan is shutting pieces of himself down. Building walls. Compartmentalizing.
“First one died. Second was… given as a gift.”
Carter huffs an unamused laugh. “A gift.”
“Carter,” Nathan says softly. Pleadingly. His walls are crumbling. That’s been happening to him a lot lately, Carter has noticed. He hates that it makes him want to wrap Nathan up and hold him close. “I can’t – you know I couldn’t have…”
“I know.” Carter grimaces, the taste of the truth like acid on his tongue. “I just hate it.”
“Me too…”
Throat tight, Carter turns his attention back to Bryce’s file.
There are more papers on the right.
Medical records from before – extensive ones.How in the hell did they even get their hands on them?
Medical records since in captivity – only half a page. He's had a penicillin shot. An IV drip after a rough bout of pneumonia. Broken fingers they only wrapped for a week. A shattered ankle that was treated with nothing more than a brace and lots of pain meds.
There are also behavioral write ups. He apparently tried to stab one of Nathan's men with a fork his second night here. His punishment was to be stabbed with the same fork over and over again. There are no scars from it, not that Carter can remember ever noticing, so they must not have stabbed him very deep. They still probably hurt like hell. He also bit a man's fingers hard enough to break skin and a bone when they were shoved in his mouth in his third week. That had resulted in a punishment Carter can't get himself to read. Not after the first 8 words.Slave was put on rack, stretched until shoulders- there's an entire paragraph after that, but Carter just… can't.
“He must have learned his lesson…" Carter says softly, noting that there's no more behavioral reports after that.
“Yes. He’s a smart boy. Broke quickly.”
Carter frowns at Nathan, tilting his head. “7 –Bryce– isn’t broken. Not like you mean at least.”
“I’ve seen him, Carter.” Nathan winces. “I’veusedhim.”
“So? I’ve seen him when no masters were around. He’s still in there, trust me. Most of them are. There's only a few I've met that are really empty. I used to be jealous, at first. I used to beg you to let me break. You remember, I'm sure."
Nathan makes a small noise, looking at the wall. “Yes.”
“I thought that's how they were surviving, but most of them have just learned to play the game. Like Bryce. He described it to me like going to work. He clocks in, becomes the slave for you all, then goes to the basement and clocks back out. Becomes Bryce again. They all talk in the basement whenever they can. They try to be human as often as possible."
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Carter shrugs. "It doesn't work for all of them. I mean, you have 3, who would probably kill himself if you asked him to because he's so fucking in love with you. And you have 11, who went mute months ago according to Bryce. And the one with the black hair and huge blue eyes. 9, I think. He’s like… losing his mind."
