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Nathan looks at Carter, a wry smile on his face. “3's name is Nolan, and he's not in love with me. 11's name is Matt, and you're right, he stopped talking in March. After a particularly awful night involving too much cocaine and Mica's birthday party."
“Does he get in trouble often? For not speaking?”
“No. Nobody really cares." Nathan winces, clearly aware of how that sounds. "I mean… I care. Benny cares. But, well, you know." He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "The men know he doesn't talk. Doesn't make much sound either these days. They take him when they want a cock warmer or a quick fuck. I hate to say it, but he's just convenient now, no longer fun. Especially for the men who like to draw things out and make their victims… upset."
“Well… maybe that's a good thing. Cock warming. Quick, convenient fucks. That's… better than the more elaborate shit."
“Yes.” Nathan clears his throat. Twice. "And black hair, blue eyes is 9, you’re right. Darian Keller. He's a… rescue, of sorts. He's only 20, but he's been in this for nearly a decade. Been through a few masters. Then a brothel. He was going to be sold to a f2d. I bought him instead."
“What’s f2d?”
Nathan squeezes his eyes shut. “It’s what we call men who – they enjoy – they buy slaves to…”
“Nate,” Carter says softly, curling his hands into fists to keep from reaching for him. "Just say it."
“Fuck to death." He opens his eyes, looking into Carter's. A flurry of grief swirls in them. "It's a term we use for men who specifically buy slaves to kill them."
Carter swallows a rush of bile. He hurriedly puts Bryce's file to the side, grabbing another in the hope of a distraction.
Jonathan Queen. 5.1.
The top picture - the one of Jonathan before this life - makes Carter pause. He knows 5. This… isn't him. The current 5 has spiky blonde hair, pale skin, and dark eyes.
This 5, however, has black hair and bright eyes. The picture of him is a wide-eyed teenager holding up a fish with a very proud dad making goofy thumbs up in the background.
It’s strange that it’s a file for someone that’s no longer here. Carter hadn't expected Nathan to keep track of everything. He had said he kept files for slaves in the house, not every slave that’s ever been in the house. That’s so many slaves. Over a hundred, probably.What’s the point?
“He’s not 5 anymore,” Carter states, fishing for information.
Nathan glances at the file without really taking it in, shrugging. “Okay.”
“What happened to him?”
“Let me see." Nathan takes the file, frowning. He flips through the papers on the right side, past medical records and behavior reports. He tugs out 3 yellow-colored papers. They're copies, the ink faint. Like the part of the check left behind in a checkbook. Or like receipts. "One of my men purchased him when he left the main house to live in his own place. After about a year, he gave him to his best friend. Eventually the best friend sold him to a man looking for a house slave for his staff. He's been there since. Head of the grounds, last time I was there. Keeps a rather beautiful garden. I told his owner I'll take him back for the same service if he's ever for sale again."
“That’s why you kept his file?" Carter asks, something burning in his chest. Anger, maybe. Or something similar, yet much more complicated. "Because you're hoping to buy him again for your garden?"
Nathan chuckles dryly, replacing the pages before handing the file back to him. "No, I keep the files of every slave that leaves here so I can keep track of them. When this is over, I want to free as many of them as possible. And any that get lost along the way, I plan to give their families some closure. These men and women are my responsibility. Each slave that passes through this house becomes blood on my hands. I take that seriously, even if it doesn't seem like it." He shrugs then, which gives away just how much this really means to him. "Like I said. They're my why."
“What about the slaves you sell? Isn’t that how you make your money? You sell them?”
“Yes. Or, more specifically, men who work for me sell them. My markets are far too wide for me to handle sales myself. But there are too many to keep files like this on. All of them are tracked digitally. They're still my responsibility, but I never meet them. I never interact with them. They're mywhy, too, but… in a different way. A more abstract way."
“How do you decide who stays in the house, then?”“Oh, no one in the house is from my own business. I sell raw slaves." When he sees Carter's frown, he elaborates. "Untrained slaves. Of course, as you've seen yourself, the captivity process before auction is enough to break a person down somewhat, but not nearly enough. I sell to trainers - both individual trainers and training facilities. They buy them from me, train them, then sell them to their masters. I buy trained slaves for the house. Sometimes, the slave ends up being one I sold to the trainer, but I don't specifically try for that. In fact, I like to get slaves from trainers who don't come to my auctions often. Then I build a relationship with the trainers. Maybe gain customers."
Carter shakes his head. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I don’t,” he says simply. “Nathan does.”
Heart in his throat, Carter turns his attention to the sticky note at the bottom.Jonathan Queen (21 at capture). Enjoys fishing, hunting, and woodworking. Lives to annoy his friends and family with terrible puns. Thinks Taylor Swift is underrated. Wants to be a florist.
Carter smiles to himself. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless. “He wanted to be a florist.”
“I know.” He looks up to find Nathan with the same smile. "You should see him gush over the garden. He's quite happy - as far as happiness goes in such a situation."
That helps alleviate some of the ache in Carter's chest, though some of it seeps back in when he glances at the picture of him as a slave. He averts his gaze, eyes scanning the note without really reading it. He doesn't like to think of these things. He likes to think of Jonathan from before. He likes to think of the Jonathan now with his garden. Not the hell in between.
He doesn't look at the medical records either. Maybe he should. Maybe they deserve for someone to see what they've been through. But Nathan has seen, Carter has a feeling Nathan forces himself to see more than once, and that's not a burden Carter is willing to carry. He's suffering the same fate as these slaves. He's endured the same things. He doesn't need to punish himself by reading over the gritty details. Those aren't his why. His why is the people in the top pictures. The personalities and hobbies. The hopes and dreams.
