Redemption – Imogen Wells

Jess “Lottie,” I whisper, but the only response is a small groan as I try to shift closer. “Fuck’s sake,” I curse as my movement is halted by these damn fucking chains around my wrists and ankles. Realising it’s a useless waste of energy to try and shift closer, I move back to the damp cobblestone wall, chains rattling and clanking as I shift. I drop my head back and close my eyes. I listen to the constant drip of water as it runs off the walls and ceiling along with the scratching and scraping of claws as a couple of rats scurry across the concrete floor nearby. There’s a small, high window on the opposite wall, but it’s barely a couple of bricks high in size. Whilst it’s enabled me to keep a track of the days and nights, it’s also allowed the bitter cold to cut through in the evenings when the temperature drops even further. As far as I know, we haven’t left the country, but I was out for some time, so I haven’t ruled it out. When I came round, I was blindfolded and couldn’t see shit, but I knew we were in a vehicle, and we travelled for several more hours after I woke. It’s been three days since then, and other than one man, who brings a pitiful meal once a day with a small, bottled water, I’ve not seen anyone else, until today. A bang comes from the floor above, and then the scraping of metal on metal before the faint sound of voices reaches me. I can’t make out their words, even though they appear to be arguing. I scan the room that’s been our home for the last three days again in the hope there’s something I can use as a weapon. Something I may have missed the other half a dozen times I searched, but there’s nothing except the bucket that was placed in the middle of the room for us to use as a toilet. My nose has become accustomed to the rank aroma that’s coming from it, and unless the stench is potent enough to knock someone out, it’s of no fucking use to me.

I try rousing Lottie again as the sound of heavy footsteps thud from above, but other than another groan, there’s no response from her. I have no idea what the fuckers did to her, but she didn’t come down here with me when we arrived. They kept her somewhere else for almost a day after I was thrown in here. She’s been in and out of consciousness since then. The footsteps close in on our door, and despite not being able to see anything, I can feel the energy from whoever is standing on the other side. It sends a shiver over my skin, and I prepare myself for whatever is coming. I close my mind off, like I did the last time, and I allow a veil of invisible protection to douse my body. My body is just that, but I know the importance of protecting my mind, and that’s what I concentrate on now. The snick of a bolt being drawn back pierces the darkness, and as the heavy metal door is pulled open, light pours into the room. I close my eyes for a split second, and when I open them again, it takes a moment for them to adjust enough for me to see two figures standing in the room. “Levantate. Levantate, ponte de pie,” one of them shouts, telling me to get up on my feet, and he steps forward when I don’t move fast enough. He snatches my arm, attempting to lift me, but I relax my body making it difficult, and instead, all he manages to do is drag me forward a fraction. “Levantate, puta!” he spits at me in anger. ‘Fuck you’ flows through my mind, but I say nothing as the other man steps forward.

“Get the fuck up!” he tells me, and there’s not a hint of a Spanish accent in this man’s words. The other man looks to Lottie, then back to me before he stalks towards her. That’s enough to get me on my feet. “Hey, over here, arsehole,” I say, getting to my feet and drawing his attention back to me. He hears my words and turns, stomping back to me with rage swirling in his eyes. So, the fucker does speak English. “Who you call asshole, puta?” he says, spittle landing on my cheek before he draws a hand back, slapping me hard across the face. Before I can recover, a fist lands in my gut, and the air rushes from my lungs. I suck in a breath, fists clenching with the need to lash out, but I hold myself because it’s not just me I have to worry about. As I right myself, another man steps into the room. “Basta!, Raul. We don’t want her unable to talk,” he says, stepping up to the man who hit me and laying a hand on his shoulder. This man is clearly Mexican, but his accent is less pronounced, and his English is clear. Raul steps back, allowing the new guy through. I keep my eyes trained on Raul as my mind takes in every detail of his face, so I can be sure he’ll remember me when I deliver my punishment.

“Hello, Jessica, my name is Jorge.” I finally pull my focus away from Raul and look at Jorge, but I don’t give him what he was clearly looking for because he snaps out a hand, gripping my chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You will look at me when I speak, and you will answer or every time you refuse, I will have a man come down here and show your little friend over there how good Mexican dick feels again. Do I make myself clear?” Bile rises in my throat as his words sink in, and I now have my answer to where Lottie was before here. I grit my teeth, biting back what I really want to say, and clench my fists at my side. “Yes,” I bite, trying to yank my face out of his grasp. He releases me, then pats my cheek. “Now, let’s have a little chat about—” His words are cut off as breaking glass sounds from above. Jorge turns to the English guy, telling him to go and check it out. Looking less than pleased, he trudges from the room, cursing under his breath. “Raul, levantarla,” he says, waving to Lottie, and I step forward, only to be stopped by the chains holding me.


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Updated: 23 October 2021 — 08:53

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