Slave: Chapters One + Two

1

I spent a year locked in a closet, fearing death. And no, that’s not supposed to be some symbolic shit, it’s literal. I was locked in a closet. In the dark. Trapped. And thinking I was going to die, or kill myself, at some point . . .

Now obviously, this isn't where the story starts. That would be ridiculous. Because I read somewhere that you’re not supposed to bring in a reader into the middle of a story, I have to start somewhere a bit further back than that.

So I’ll start from that morning.



I sat, crouched in the bushes, with Lindsay by my side. I was holding a pair of binoculars, but not using them. Instead, I was staring at Lindsay, who was grinning from ear to ear. I leaned closer to her, and a moment later, she had a hand on the back of my head, kissing me. We both laughed silently and continued, our hands now intertwining with each other.

I spun around as something hard slammed into the back of my head and saw Enrique pointing at us, mouthing and saying, Stop it now, in sign language with a very stern face. I promptly made a horrible obscene finger gesture at him and turned back to Lindsay, winking at her. On our other side, Enrique’s little brother Ricardo, smiling at us with a sense of love and hateful jealously at the same time.

Ricardo used to feel the way I do with Lindsay. He used to have a girl, a neighbor of his from back in new Mexico. She was shot a long time ago, caught in gang war crossfire. That’s when Ricardo and Enrique decided they’d had enough of street life, and took off. Along the way, they’d picked up other people, who agreed to join them on their spree of crime. Our group consisted of six people, ranging age 14-21.

Enrique had found me in an alleyway beside a bar, badly beaten up. I wasn’t doing anything wrong that night, just trailing drinks and flirting around. Unfortunately, I started flirting with the bartender’s wife. He told his “colleagues” to quietly take me outside and beat the living shit out of me, a task they had more than eagerly carried out.

Enrique, Ricardo, Lindsay, and a 14-year-old named Ryder carried me off into some shady squatter’s den, where Lindsay slowly nursed me back to health. One day, she went off with Ricardo to find food for us, and Enrique took the opportunity to try and negotiate with me into joining his group of thieves.

“So, kid, what you name?” he said, his voice heavily accented. He had grown up in a small, Spanish-speaking community obviously overrun with crime.

I smirked.

Enrique nodded. “Okay, how about call you piss-head?” Ryder laughed. “Nah, we just call you Cinco. Five.”

I nodded, satisfied with the nickname.  I’d certainly had worse.

“So where you from? Whatcha doing out here?”

Again, I didn’t answer. I just shrugged.

“You’re not runnin’ from da law, right?”

I shook my head, grinning.

“Good,” he said, patting my shoulder. “You be perfect for our team, then. Interested?”

I shook my head. I was perfect where I was, stealing money from unsuspecting drunks, occasionally picking up a girl or two, every once in a while getting in a bar fight . . . Nah. My life was great already.

“Man of few words, huh? You could be nice . . . useful. Ryder?” The kid next to him walked up to me. I stared at him, confused, and he struck, punching me in the stomach. I fell on my hands and knees, breathing hard. “What your name?” Enrique shouted.

I shook my head. What was this guy’s deal? Ryder stepped on my back, and I fell flat on the ground.

“Where you from?” he yelled again. As Ryder grabbed my hair, Enrique bent down and looked me in the face. “Nothing. A mute; make good Breaker.” He patted my head. “Good news, kid. You in.”

Ryder let me go and ruffled my hair. “No offense, man,” he said, also with a heavy accent. I later found out that Ryder was a runaway Russian foster child. I smiled weakly at the two of them. I was officially in a band of thieves. Great.



And now we were on one of our jobs. After some . . . “persuading”, a man in New York had told Enrique about a house in Pennsylvania that was mostly a “party house”. Almost every night, about one hundred junkies, strippers, and kids just looking for fun would gather at the house in the woods and stay there for hours, just doing what they do.

But the man said that during the parties, they always had a few doors locked. At all times. He said that it was rumored there were gorgeous china plates and silverware from colonial times, shipped over from London, England to the large mansion in PA. All stored in the locked kitchen.

Enrique looked at me again, signing Look through the damn binoculars. I had been surprised, at first, when the whole group had learned American sign just to communicate with me. But after the first few jobs I’d been involved with, they found out it was useful not having to talk at all. We could just sign to each other.

I nodded to Enrique, and held the lens’ up to my eyes. I saw a small garden beside the house, an abandoned dirt driveway that led away from the mansion, and there was the back door we were looking for. I put my thumb and forefinger together, signaling OK to Enrique. He waved, and we quietly jogged out of our forest cover and began running toward the house. I jogged ahead, flipping my pocketknife open and crouching next to the door. I stuck the knife in the door’s crack and began moving it around. After a few moments, the door clicked and I swung it open, pocketing the knife and replacing it with a gun. I quickly swung around into the wide room, checking the area.

I jumped back out onto the tiny porch and signed Clear. The rest of the team moved in holding burlap sacks, Enrique tapping my shoulder as he went in. I nodded, ready to keep watch.

At my first job, I learned what Breaker meant. It meant the tech guy, basically. I picked locks and kept watch. I was one of two of us that kept a gun on them, the other being Enrique. I also hacked computers when that was needed, although that had only happened once.

I twirled my gun in my hand, leaning against the rough wood exterior of the house. I loved my gun. It was the smallest piece I’d ever seen, which was very handy when we were on jobs. Easy to use, easy to hide, and not so bad on the eyes either. I’d won it almost a year ago in Vegas, during a drinking bet.

Enrique had never had a big problem with me drinking, at least not until I’d get bottom-ass drunk. Then he’d have to sober me up . . . the hard way.

Just before we moved out to begin the second job I was involved in, Enrique had come into the apartment we’d rented and saw me sleeping on the couch.

He shook me awake. “Cinco. Cinco, you have beer?”

He helped me sit up, and I nodded.

“How many?”

I held up shaky fingers. Six.

“Ryder, find six bottles. There should be freakin’ enough in here.” Ryder went off into the other room.

“Stand up, now,” Enrique said. The newest recruit, a 16-year-old named Rylie moved to help me, muttering, “Hey, its okay, Five, it’s okay. You must be really dumb. I’ve only been here about a week and I know better than to get Enrique angry.” But I knew he wasn’t angry. Probably just disappointed.

Enrique had disappeared into the bathroom, and a moment later, appeared again. Enrique grabbed me from Rylie and steadied me.

“Cinco,” he said, “you no use to me like this. Hit me.”

I hesitated, a little confused.

Enrique pushed me, hard, and I almost fell into the couch. “Hit me. Now.”

I quickly took a wild swing at him. He grabbed my hand and twisted it around my back. He leaned in close. “See? Cinco, you shit to me when drinking. Now . . .” He pushed me into the bathroom.

The sink was filled with water. Before I processed what that meant, Enrique came up behind me, grabbed my head, and shoved it into the water.

It was freezing, and it certainly woke me up to my surroundings more, but I knew I couldn’t struggle against Enrique. I grabbed the edge of the sink as everything started to go black . . .

Enrique pulled my head above water again. “Feel better?”

I nodded, breathing heavily.

He spun me around and looked in my face. He pulled one of my eyelids up and stared into my pupil. “Okay.”

He led me back out to the living area, where Ryder had laid six empty or almost-empty beer bottles on the floor in a row. Enrique turned to me. “Take your shirt off.”

I was a bit worried of what was happening now, but I didn’t question him. I pulled the shirt over my head, my chest and stomach now fully revealed. He pulled me over to the back of a chair.

“Turn around.” I listened, turning to face the chair’s back. I heard Lindsay gasp as I turned, seeing the many scars, bumps, and bruises on my back. “What happened, Cinco?”

I shrugged.

Enrique sighed. “Brace yourself, kid.” I held on to the back of the chair with both hands, hearing Enrique pick up a bottle behind me. I closed my eyes as I felt the bottle hit my back and break. He picked up the next one, and the next, and broke them on my back.

I could feel the blood running down my back, and tiny pieces of glass stuck in my skin. The next bottle he picked up had a small bit of alcohol left in it, which stung as it ran into my new cuts.

By the time he had smashed all the bottles, I could barely breathe from the pain. Lindsay and Rylie helped me sit down, while Enrique retreated into the bedroom, looking upset. I knew he was just trying to be protective of me, like a demented older brother. He cared about me.

My thoughts were interrupted by a squeaking sound around the corner. I turned and saw a girl wheeling a wheelbarrow shockingly close to where I was standing. I swore inwardly and turned to the kitchen door, knocking on it furiously.

Enrique ran to the door and hit me lightly on the back of the head. “What you doing, eh, kid?” he whispered furiously. “You gonna get us caught.”

I signed back, There’s a girl just around the corner. We need to get out of here.

I had obviously moved my hands too quickly, because Enrique looked at me as if I were insane. I signed, Go! and jumped off the porch, spinning around to point my gun at the girl. She didn’t see me until the rest of the team had left the building and were streaking toward the cover of the woods.

I turned back toward the house in time to see the girl pulling out her own pistol. I turned and bolted.

As I passed him, Enrique tossed me a burlap sack, which I caught, I was surprised at how heavy the bag was; it was filled with silverware. I dodged through the trees and bushes, gaining a small amount of ground between me and the girl, but not much with the rest of the team. I almost stumbled, and Enrique passed me.

I spun around, holding my gun hand out, and took a wild shot. I felt a hand clamp down on my arm, and saw Ricardo next to me,

“What you doing? You want to be put away for life?” He spun me around, and we continued running. I was slowed by the huge bag of silverware, and Ricardo was soon running in front of me again, with the rest of the group.

I could hear the girl coming closer, and noticed Enrique had turned to look at me. As the girl fired a shot two feet next to my head, we exchanged a knowing look. That bitch wasn’t going to stop until she got the dish-and-silverware back. I nodded and dropped the bag of silverware, but Enrique had a different idea. He held something that sparkled in the sun up, and flung it quickly back at me.

I felt Enrique’s knife enter my shoe, then my flesh. I grimaced as I fell, and shot Enrique a confused look. He looked at me sadly, then said loud enough for me to hear, “You make good breaker.” He turned and ran.

Then I understood. He had sacrificed me so the girl wouldn’t go on to chase the rest of the group. I was a distraction.

I scrambled to stand up. I was halfway there when I felt cold metal on the back of my neck. “Don’t move, or I will shoot you. Lay down, flat.” I put my hands above my head as I lay back down, sprawled out. “God, you are so dumb. Don’t move.” She reached down and picked my gun up, putting the barrel in her pocket. “Sit up. Where’s the stuff you stole?”

At first, I ignored her. She pulled me up. “Tell me where you put it.” After a few more moments of silence, she brought the pistol up and swung it around, hitting me in the face. “Where!?” I cradled my now-bleeding face in my hand.

Quickly deciding that the girl was absolutely insane, I raised a shaking, bloody finger and pointed it toward the bushes a few feet behind her. She turned and began looking for the bag. I saw my opportunity and took it. I turned and began running through the woods.

I flattened myself on the ground as another shot rang out. I could feel the bullet zoom over my head. A moment later, the gun was pressed against my head again. “Holy shit,” the girl breathed, sounding shocked. My thoughts exactly, bitch. “Don’t do that again, idiot. Believe it or not, I don’t really want to shoot you.”

Now that was a surprise. She really seemed to enjoy having the gun pressed against my head. That’s usually a sign that someone wouldn’t mind killing you.

“Stand up,” she said a bit nervously, then quickly added, “but keep your hands on your head.” She latched an arm under mine and helped pull me up. “Now move.” She shoved me in the back with her gun. As we passed the point where she’d dropped the silverware, she quickly bent over to pick the bag up, without ever stopping.

We continued walking. My arms were beginning to get sore. Not to mention blood was still running down my face. My hair was beginning to get wet as well, because of the blood on my hand. Eventually, we came to a four-way crossing in the path we were on. “Forward,” the girl said coldly. I continued forward until we soon came to a large clearing. In the middle, on large stilts, was a small cabin. Unlike the old house, the cabin was plaster on the outside. It had a set of large steps leading to the door. A man was standing in the middle of the stairs, polishing the banister with a furniture cleaner.

I was considering a way to get his attention, but before I could, the girl shouted out, “Slime! Slime, I need help.”

The older teenager looked down, caught his eye on him, and chuckled. “That’s sort of obvious. Bring it up here.” The girl pushed me up the steps to the wrap-around porch surrounding the cabin. We reached the top and the boy grabbed me and pushed me against the wall, then moved out of the way.

Around several moments of silence, he turned back to the girl. “Uh, Anime?”

“What?” the girl answered.

Slime gaped at her like she was dumb. “Well, are you going to shoot him or what?”

I immediately jumped around, trying to get past the gigantic man, or rather, Slime. He grabbed me and slammed me back against the wall.

Anime gasped. “Just . . . shoot him? Don’t you even want to know what he did?”

“Okay, what did he do?”

“He tried to steal the china from Angel’s kitchens.”

“Idiot.” He looked at me and just laughed, shaking his head. “But you got it all back, right?”

Anime nodded. “Well . . .”

“Good. That’s as good a reason as any to shoot him. And if you won’t, then I will.” He took the gun from Anime’s hands.

“Wait! Slime, don’t. There were other people with him, they were carrying more than this bag, and he might know where they are now.”

Slime was looking intently at Anime, and I took the chance, spun away from them, and leaped off the porch. I soared down twelve feet and out a few as well and hit the ground hard, rolled a bit, jumped back up and started running towards the woods again.

I could hear Slime behind me, cursing and shouting, and the other one, Anime, protesting behind me. I was so close to the woods now, just a few more feet and I’d have what I considered a big advantage.

I was so close to the trees, I could have touched the trunks, when I heard a shout. Someone grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down to the ground. Slime was certainly built like a football player.

And he could tackle like one too.

2

Slime threw me over his shoulder like I was a sack of potatoes and carried me back toward the shack. He dropped me at the bottom of the stairs and shoved me up the whole way. He opened the door of the treehouse-like building and pushed me inside,

I stumbled and fell onto the dark-colored carpet in the room. I saw a door on the left side of the cabin, and one on the right. In the middle of the room, there was a small mattress with a few sheets and blankets thrown over it.

Pushed against the wall was a small, dark-brown table with an office chair next to it. On the table, there were different knick-knacks that seemed to be all shapes and sizes. There was also a closed chest under the desk.

I turned back to the door and glared at Slime and Anime through the partly-glass door, who were arguing just outside.

“That’s way more trouble that the kid’s worth, Anime! Why should we bother keeping him alive?”

“Just try getting him to talk. I’m sure he knows where the rest of those people are. I’m positive after a while--”

“Where are we going to keep him? If Queen finds out . . . You’re dead.”

“She never looks in the tree house, because it’s our responsibility to maintain it, so we can keep him here.”

“How do you know he’s going to talk? He looks pretty stupid.” He turned and glared at me, and I glared back.

I looked up and saw a window near the ceiling. I took a backward step toward it, and Slime pounded on the door. “Don’t even think about it,” he said before turning back to Anime. “Let’s just kill him.”

I reached over to the desk and grabbed a flower-filled vase. Then, after flipping Slime off, threw the vase at the door.

“God damn it!” he shouted as he pushed the door open. I tried to duck out of his punch, but he was too fast. His fist caught my cheek; I twisted and fell. The second punch was directed at my stomach, and completely knocked the breath out of me. I rolled around on my back, onto the glass form the fallen vase. Slime stepped on my chest and lowered himself next to me, wrapping his hands around my neck.

I grasped his wrists, trying to pull them apart, but it was hopeless, trying to pull the giant, muscular arms away from my skinny neck. I tried grabbing his neck, or face, and tried to punch him back, but I couldn't reach.

I heard the girl, Anime, yelling, “Slime, stop it! If you kill him, we’ll never be able to find all that stolen stuff. How do you think Queen would feel about that?”

Slime loosened his grip, and I took the chance to gulp in a large amount of air and move out from under him as far as I could.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll keep him in here, we’re the only ones who have a key.” He jerked his hand toward the door on the left side of the room as he stood up and moved over to the chest under the table. Anime was staring at me, and I replied with the cruelest snarl I could conjure.

Slime walked back over and kicked me onto my stomach, pushing my face into the glass, water, and flower petals on the floor.

I felt someone sit on the floor next to me, and a soft hand take my own and move it behind my back. Then, click. I jumped up, knocking Anime aside, and bolted for the door. Nonchalantly, Slime stuck out a foot and I tripped over him, landing again on my face in the glass. He grabbed my hair and yanked it up, his eyes full of fury.

“You ever, ever touch her again, I’ll kill you. I promise you that.” He grabbed my arm roughly and clicked my other wrist into the handcuffs. I was shaking now, feeling completely trapped and helpless. My eyes were watering, and as Slime looked at me, he smirked. “Are you about to cry? Next time, you’ll think twice about stealing from us, you stupid-ass punk.” He pulled me up from the floor. “A, hand me the tape over there.”

Anime pulled the trunk open and handed a roll of duct tape over to Slime. “Are you sure that’s necessary? He hasn’t said a word since I found him. Maybe . . .”

“Anime, give me the tape. Otherwise he’ll be screaming his head off at tomorrow’s party.” He smiled, apparently amused at the thought.

I had given up on struggling and let him put a roll of tape over my lips. After all, who was I going to shout for? I could now imagine what kind of psychotics must show up at their parties.

Anime moved over to the door on the left and unlocked it, pulling it open to reveal a tiny, unlit closet. Slime shoved me in that direction, and this time, I did resist. I didn't want to go into the tiny closet. It looked like there was just enough room for me to sit down.

“Emotional and scared of the dark, eh?” Slime laughed. “I’m gonna have a field day with you, buddy.” He grabbed my throat and lifted me until my feet were a few inches off the ground, pulled me over to the closet, and practically threw me in, slamming the door shut behind him. Anime locked it again.

“Good night,” Slime called out to me.

Anime said to him, “I’ll come back in the morning to clean up all the glass and stuff. Oh, and, Slime?”

“What?”

“What are we going to call him?”

“He’s not a puppy, A.”

“Yeah, but . . . what will we call him?”

Slime hesitated. “Slave.”

The door slammed.