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Our captor steps into the room. Given the monster he so obviously is, I expected him to be ugly, but he isn't. At least not on the outside. He’s cruel beauty. A little shorter than Seven, probably six feet tall, and not quite as broad. In a fair fight, Seven would win no question, but I can see the clearly strong and lethal muscles under his T-shirt. He has strange light gray eyes that appear empty of everything and hair just a little lighter than Seven's. He's clean-shaven, where Seven has a growing beard, probably because of an inability to shave in here.
I grip Seven's hand harder as if he can protect me from our captor while unconscious.
The menacing stranger, the man who has insisted I, and I alone, call him master crosses the room to us. He hasn't demanded a title from Seven, and I'm starting to think his assessment is right. This man wants to make Seven a monster and me their whore.
He pries my fingers out of Seven's while I struggle against him and cry. “Please... please... don't hurt me.” I've never been more afraid than I am now in this man's presence.
He tilts his head to the side like a curious puppy. Then he says, “Please, please don't hurt me, what?”
“M-Master,” I say quickly.
He nods, satisfied with this answer but unwilling to offer me any reassurances to answer my plea.
He picks me up off the floor, then walks me to my corner on the other end of the room.
“Sit,” he demands.
I slide wordlessly to the ground, the tears moving down my cheeks. Then he turns and crosses the floor to Seven. He grips the man by the shoulders, and drags him to the door.
“W-wait, where are you taking him?”
He looks up at me and smiles a hollow, soulless smile. “Oh, don't worry Pretty Toy, you'll get your turn soon enough.”
He presses his thumb to a keypad, the door slides open, and he drags Seven out, leaving me alone in the cell.
4
It seems like hours go by while I'm in this classical elevator music hell alone. Finally, the door slides open, and he drags Seven back inside. I gasp at the sight of him, shirtless but still in jeans. Our captor tosses Seven on the mattress, lying on his stomach, revealing horrifying whip lashes across his back, several of them bleeding.
He's very still, and at first I'm terrified he's dead, but then I see his breath slowly moving in and out of him in a ragged labored way. I'm not sure if he passed out from pain or if he was drugged again. Then my captor's eyes move to me.
“Your turn, Pretty Toy.”
I shake my head, the panic and tears back. “No, no please... Master, please... I'll do whatever you want... please... don't...” I look at the disaster that is Seven's back again.
My captor doesn't reply; he just walks slowly and calmly over to me.
“Please,” I whimper. “I'm not as strong as him... I can't take... please...” I'm babbling. I can't think straight enough to make a clear sentence come out of my mouth. I'm just so scared. And I know none of what I say matters anyway. You can't reason with the devil.
I don't understand why. WHY? We did what he asked. And in this short time... he's already escalated his plans to torture. I'm sure I'll hyperventilate or faint when he reaches me.
“Stand up and come with me, Kate,” he says.
I don't know why it should surprise me that he knows my name. I had my driver's license on me when he took me. If he undressed me and put me in this cell, of course he's gone through all my things.
I choke back another sob and use the wall to steady myself and stand. I know if I resist him, whatever he has planned can only be worse. I grip the bath towel around me, but he tugs it out of my grasp and off me until I'm standing inches from him, naked.
He grips my upper arm and leads me out of the cell. When we get out into the main house, I realize the finality of my fate. Even phrases like ridiculous grandiose wealth do not fully capture this situation. There’s a level of resources where you know there’s basically no limit to a person's power.
This guy has those kinds of resources. That kind of power. No one will ever find us. No one will ever free us. We’re at the mercy of this monster for as long as he lets us live. And I'm not sure if a short time or a long time is better or worse under the circumstances.
The door to our cell is hidden behind a giant painting. The hallway alone in this place is breathtaking. High vaulted ceilings. Chandeliers that each probably cost about the same as a normal-sized house in the suburbs. We pass by windows, and outside the windows I see endless rolling hills. It's as though I've been transported to a whole other planet that only the three of us inhabit. Maybe it's a private island. I don't see any palm trees, but I really just have no idea at this point.
He has to have staff. A cleaning service. Something. There’s no way he manages this on his own. So have there been others here while we've been here then? There must have been. If he isn't worried about us screaming and getting found out, the cell must be soundproof.
I could ask myself why someone with this much money would even do something like this. But why not? If you obviously have no conscience, after you get bored with all conventional accumulation of power, surely something like this is next.
At the end of this hallway, there’s another door with a security panel. It's not hidden like our cell. I wonder if people ask what’s behind this door. I'm sure others are curious, but I don't want to know. I don't want to go in there.
