The Sister(69)

He stared back at her with eyes as cold and black as stone. He let her go, wiped his wet lips dry on the back of the knife hand; he seemed to be looking at his reflection in the blade. When he spoke this time, there was a soft hint of Irish in his voice.

‘She’s been with me a long time, that one, she knows how to toe the line,’ he lowered his tone so the caged woman wouldn’t hear. ‘And if you turn out to be as good as she is I might even decide to keep you. You know, look after you like I do her.’

She shivered at the thought. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then you’ll be dead.’

‘Look, why don’t you just let me go? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.’

He held the knife out.

She should have stopped talking then, but her voice was like a disembodied thing. She heard herself telling him she was a junkie and she couldn’t help it. Surely, he knew what it was like, surely he understood. ‘I would lie, I'd cheat, steal or anything for my next fix.’

‘Really, Eliza?’ he took a wrap from the bag and held it up in front of her. ‘Show me.’





Leading her upstairs, Martin produced a syringe and a spoon.

‘I’ve never taken it like that before,’ she said, too needy to be afraid.

‘Welcome to my world.’

He prepared the makings, a half teaspoon of water, a measure of smack, a single drop of lemon juice. He heated the mix in the spoon until the powder dissolved, then dropped in a piece of cigarette filter. Eilise had only ever smoked the stuff before; she had the feeling she’d no choice in the matter. If she wanted it, he’d jack her up.

His lips hung open, slightly apart and wet as he drew the solution into the syringe. He wrapped one hand around her bicep and squeezed, she felt no pain, just a weird numbness as the veins struggled to maintain the flow of blood, becoming visible and raised. The other hand pushed air from the clear plastic cylinder. A dribble of liquid appeared at the tip of the needle.

She licked her lips in anticipation; he found a vein; he drew on it, a tiny cloud of her own blood swirled in the mix, she swore she felt it leave her body and then whoosh! He injected the contents into her. A feeling so high and so low took her above and beyond the limits of just smoking it. She relaxed on the sofa vaguely worried about what would happen next, she noticed his cock had become erect; she struggled to focus. Holy shit he’s going to...

She struggled to recover her senses, but could not. He pulled her clothes off roughly; she was as limp as a rag doll, detached, powerless as though she were watching it happen to someone else. He moved on top of her, parting her knees, preparing to penetrate her.

‘Martin, what do you think you’re doing?’ It was the voice of the woman from the cage.

He rounded on her. ‘H-how did you get out?’

‘Never mind that, leave her alone. She’s no more than a child!’ Eilise floated down from her sweet detachment and opened her eyes. The woman had long dark hair, it was bedraggled; her face was without make-up. Her eyes were pretty, but vacant looking, lost and haunted. She had a scar on her upper lip that disfigured her and made it hard for her to speak properly. Eilise began to lose consciousness again.

‘You, child – how old are you?’

Eilise had to think about it; she’d lied about her age so many times. ‘Fifteen.’

‘I want her out of here, Martin.’ The woman was angry. ‘You can’t keep her here.’

‘After what she’s done? No way!’

‘And what did she do, Martin?’

‘She stole from me and she told me she was eighteen as well. She stays as long as I want her to stay!’

He pulled her up without answering the woman, steering her into another room. He breathed menacingly into her ear. ‘I’m going to get rid of her soon, and when I do…’ He brushed himself against her. ‘This room is yours...for now,’ he said, before shutting the door.

She heard him lock it behind her. Eilise looked around, unsteady on her legs.

The interior of the room was spacious enough, but gloomy and windowless, a red bulb hung from the ceiling, the light it produced barely sufficient to see an unmade bed along one wall, a sink, a bucket and little else. She flopped down on the bed. Cold and naked, she found a way into its folds. She passed in and out of dreams she couldn’t remember. Occasionally she thought she heard them arguing violently, sounds like someone thrown onto the floor so hard that the whole upstairs shook and finally, the cries of rough passion that kept her awake for hours. Eilise was terrified he’d kill the woman and then come for her.

She stayed in bed until the last residues of the drug had gone. There was no natural light and he’d taken her watch; she had no way of knowing how long she’d been unconscious. It felt like morning.

Pacing around in the confines of her cell, she wondered how long she’d be able to keep him off her. There was no way she’d spend her life locked up by a pervert. She had to get away.

Suddenly the door unlocked; he flicked the light on and came in carrying a tray with milk, biscuits and a preloaded syringe on one side.

‘Supplies,’ he said.

After that night, he kept her and the other woman apart, locked in two separate rooms. Eilise tried to speak up as close to the dividing wall as she could, trying to get the woman to talk, but she only succeeded in waking him and getting herself locked into the cage downstairs as a punishment.