Freedom Incorporated, Peter Tylee [literature books to read TXT] 📗

it back up. A wave of nausea settled in her midriff and she ceased contemplating rape to focus on not vomiting.

The nausea gradually subsided until only a lingering queasiness remained, and that would stay with her until she’d flushed the drugs from her body - or she got another hit. She regained a portion of strength and used it to stand on unsteady feet. The cuffs made it frightening because she had nothing to stop herself from toppling to the ground if she stumbled. First, she wanted to see Claire, and she wrestled with her foggy memory to find Claire’s room. It was empty. This can’t be right… I got it wrong. But she recognised the few trinkets Claire had used to brighten her room. So where is she? Then she realised she had no clue what time it was. Daytime? They regulated the lights with the sun. Yes, daytime.

A finger of clear thought poked through her enfeebled mind and she came up with an eloquent explanation for Claire’s absence: She’s somewhere else. So, with a series of dolly-steps, she turned around and wandered through the halls looking for her friend. She couldn’t face the prospect of examining her body for rape without emotional support. She needed someone who understood and who’d been through it.

She eventually shuffled into the lounge room.

“…isn’t how I wanted to spend my weekend either,” Adrian was muttering.

“Why does Esteban have to work today anyway?” Junior asked, wincing as he poked at his dressing, but completely incapable of leaving it alone.

“Company emergency, remember? He’s on the reaction team.”

“Ha!” Junior stopped short of saying what he honestly thought. Serves him right for all the trouble he causes. He was first to see Jen. “Hello princess,” he snarled.

She remained silent.

“How’re you feeling?” Adrian asked more compassionately. He didn’t really need to ask, he could see the answer by looking in her eyes - they were bewildered and unfocussed.

Jen quivered. “Can you take my cuffs off?”

Adrian nodded. “Hang on a moment.” He strode from the room, presumably to get a key.

“You did some real fucking damage to my neck last night.” Junior didn’t know what else to say. He was furious with her, though no longer felt the need to cut off her feet.

She didn’t answer. She just sank into a chair, sitting uncomfortably upright to protect her wrists from unnecessary damage. The colours in the room looked muted and she wondered whether it was the lingering drugs or whether her outlook on life had changed. Will things always look less vibrant now? Is this how depressed people see things? It was as if somebody had taken a bucket of murky water and splashed it over the world to wash away the pleasure, the vigour, the life.

“Here.” Adrian was back, holding a small key triumphantly in the air. “Stand up.”

She stood and turned her back to him. There was quiet click, a clank, and the cuffs were off. She gently brushed fingers over her wrists, which were too sensitive for real rubbing.

“Are you okay?” Adrian asked. “They look painful.”

Jen shook her head. “I’ll be fine.” She wanted to leave. She couldn’t stand the thought of casually talking to men who might’ve raped her the previous night.

“I’ll get you some skin-healing cream,” Adrian offered. He was gone before Jen could protest and had returned before either Junior or Jen could think of anything to say.

“Here.” He offered her the tube. “It’ll help.”

Reluctance oozed from every pore of her skin, but she accepted. She didn’t want anything from these people, except her freedom. She eased herself back onto the couch, removing the weight from her wobbly legs to apply the cream. It felt cold and soothing when she dabbed it on her skin. According to the print on the tube, it was anti-inflammatory and had a mild anaesthetic to dull the pain. “Thanks,” she mumbled, wishing her upbringing hadn’t forced her to say that word. They have no right to my gratitude. Jen tossed the tube back. “Am I free to go?”

Adrian nodded and said, “As far as you can without a chip, yes.”

Jen kept her eyes trained on them while she stood. If she had the balance to accompany her presence of mind, she would’ve backed from the room. As it was, she used all her concentration to avoid having to crawl. Back in her room, she closed the door and removed her sweat-soaked shirt and bra. A sinking feeling weighed in her heart when she saw the bruises. Ugly black and blue welts, which were turning yellow at the fringes, neatly fit the shape of a human hand. Someone had taken advantage of her unconsciousness. The question is, how much? Badly bruised breasts was one thing, seamen dripping down her inner thighs was something else entirely. She removed her jeans and underpants to perform the examination.

Holding her breath, she checked, sick with the prospect of confirming her fear. But there appeared to be nothing amiss. Strange. She studied herself three times before daring to believe that nobody had raped her. Maybe they got interrupted? But a less savoury thought soon displaced her tentative euphoria. Maybe they’re waiting until I can fight back… maybe the sick bastards think that’s more fun. She dressed in silence, bathing in temporary relief. She knew they were close to forcing her into an unwanted sexual encounter; it was just a matter of time. I have to get out of here.

She still believed her original plan was the best. Borrow a microchip. Last time Edward, the pompous English arse, had caught her unprepared. But next time will be different. She considered everyone in the Guild a fair target. They were all guilty, or so she repeatedly tried to affirm in her mind.

She wished she could banish the final effects of whatever they’d injected her with, but dared not wait for it to clear. She suspected they’d inject her again before too long. And then the game’s all over. One more shot and she’d be addicted, of that, she was somehow convinced.

She wove toward Claire’s room on slightly steadier feet, growing anxious when she found it still vacant. Where are you? She checked the showers and toilets, smiling politely every time she saw another woman. The suspense was too much. “Excuse me.” She sounded like a child. “I’m looking for Claire, do you know where she is?”

The woman she’d apprehended looked sad and reached out to brush Jen’s shoulder. “She died.”

“What?” The strength drained from her legs and she couldn’t understand what stopped her from collapsing.

“They killed her last night.”

Jen’s lip quivered with shock. The other women were familiar with the Guild’s disregard for human life but it was Jen’s first taste. “Why?”

She had long dark hair and, like the others, unnaturally large breasts. They heaved when she shrugged. “Nobody knows. They dispose of us when we lose our appeal, but Claire was still young.”

“Younger than me,” Jen affirmed.

“Oh, you have nothing to worry about.” She did her best to smile reassuringly. “You’re pretty enough to keep them attracted for ages yet.”

“Who?” Jen mouthed the word but not even a whisper escaped.

The dark haired woman understood her question anyway. “Frank. I think they call him Junior… not him, but his friends.” She saw the helpless fury brewing in Jen’s eyes. “Take some advice, don’t do anything stupid, okay? Don’t do anything at all.” She didn’t want to see Jen hurt.

Jen thanked her and shuffled back the way she’d come, beginning to understand how to navigate the bunker. Adrian and Junior were exactly where she’d left them, except now they were engrossed in magazines. She demanded to know whose microchip she should escape with, “Who killed her?”

Adrian peered over the latest issue of Fortune and adjusted his glasses before folding the pages together and depositing the magazine on the lamp table. “Who?”

“Claire Robinson.”

Adrian felt a smidgeon of shame that he’d never known her surname, but it quickly passed. “Esteban of course.”

Junior was still living in his sphere of silence. He wasn’t yet ready to forgive Jen for wounding him.

Jen paled and returned to her room, shuffling unsteadily down the corridor. She didn’t notice that Adrian was following. He reached her door just as she reached her bed. “Get away from me,” she shouted when she saw him standing there.

Adrian’s expression was always serious and Jen couldn’t remember seeing him smile. But now he did, or tried to. It didn’t come naturally to him and tended to make him look sinister rather than convey the intended reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.”

“Promises don’t mean shit if I can’t trust you to keep them.”

“That’s a good point,” Adrian conceded. “So I’ll have to earn your trust first.”

“How about letting me go? That’d be a good start.” Jen felt uncomfortable with him standing in the doorway. She looked desperately around for a weapon, but found none. And she certainly wasn’t strong enough to beat him away with fists alone.

Adrian entered her room and closed the door. But instead of approaching her bed, he sat on the table. “I’m just going to sit here.” He paused, but Jen didn’t accept the opportunity to speak. “I never knew Claire’s last name.”

You’re not doing yourself any favours. Jen maintained her disdainful stare.

“I never got the chance to talk to her much, but she seemed like a nice girl.” Adrian ran a hand through his neatly matted hair.

“What did she do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Adrian admitted with a shameful expression. “Esteban has a replacement.”

“Me.” Jen understood. “Did she really kill someone?” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Adrian nodded. “Her boyfriend, in self-defence.” But people on the outside perceive domestic altercations differently from people embroiled on the inside. Claire was the only one who truly knew whether it was self-defence or malicious murder, and now that she was gone, nobody could know the truth. But it felt wrong to dishonour the dead by speaking ill of them for crimes against which they could no longer defend themselves. It seemed fitting to give her the benefit of the doubt. Besides, she’d paid a thousand times for her mistakes.

Jen consumed the news in silence, wishing Adrian would leave her alone.

“I’m no saint, but I didn’t want her dead,” Adrian confessed. “I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn’t listen.” She was giving him less feedback than a couch or a refrigerator, and he began to wonder whether he should leave. “Once he’s made up his mind, nothing can stop him… it’s scary.”

She suddenly snapped out of her trance and turned to face him. “Then why do you stay here? Why didn’t you shoot him?”

“Cross Esteban?” Adrian’s eyebrows shot up incredulously. “No way. That’d be a death sentence.” He grunted nervously. “I don’t know why I stay. I suppose because it’s easier than getting out.” His voice sounded dreamy, as if he were imagining things that could once have been. “I don’t even know how it happened. One thing led to another and before I knew it, I was in the crew. We were doing small things back then, shifting packets of drugs on campus and other minor stuff. Esteban was the tough and he intimidated anyone that stood in our way. Once, we were busted for selling amphetamines, but Esteban beat the crap out of the security guard and threatened to kill the man’s family if he didn’t turn around and walk away. The guard sensibly applied for a transfer the next day.” Junior frowned as he recounted the course of his life. “Pretty soon we were doing bigger things and got clear of the drug scene altogether. It only leads to one place, and