Man Hunt (19 page)

Josie was back from lunch. Only four hours to go for the day. Soon enough she could go back to her room and relax with her thoughts.

She looked at man #18. He was strapped to a metal table with his head tightly secured between thick rubber pads. His forehead had been under the dripping water for over two hours now. Water slid into his eyes, trickling backward and soaking his dirty hair. Little splashes of it continuously dimpled the rest of his face. He probably felt like he was drowning.

In the beginning, she hadn't even been in the room. She had tended to the paperwork for her other two jobs and helped some of the other girls while the drops of water did their work. But now she needed to be there.

Rhonda had taught all of her trainers about their early days on the island. Mistakes had been made; new procedures had been developed. The most critical lessons they'd learned were about the importance of timing and pressure. Too much or not enough of either one could result in wasted time or permanent scars of either the physical
or
emotional variety.

Our purpose,
Rhonda would often say,
isn't to torture, but to train.

Now, all these years later, the women of Monroe's Island were a well-oiled machine. Their techniques were nearly flawless. Men rarely died while in training and were far quicker to progress through the stages of Coercive Persuasion.

Brainwashing,
Josie reminded herself.
It's just a fancy word for brainwashing.

Man #18 did not yet believe in his Emotional Marker, but that was to be expected. He wasn't even broken yet, let alone that far into the 'refreezing' stage of Rhonda's brutally specific process.  Today was a day that had been on her schedule for over a month. Today it was Josie's job to bring this man to his breaking point.

He'd been a tough one so far. He refused to acknowledge women as superior, not even in a lie to simply end the pain. If the water torture didn't work, Josie suspected Rhonda would resort to assigning him a few weeks of solitary with smaller bowls of food, no lavatory breaks, and no light. Then he'd at least start lying. But today he still had a chance to save himself.

When she spoke to him, it was in a soft yet condescending voice. One that suggested her power over him was so great, so complete, that she had absolute confidence he would agree with everything she said. "Hey, pig," she began after five minutes of just watching him suffer some more. "Had enough? I'll give you the chance to make it stop right now. Just admit you are scum and we are superior. That's all it takes."

"Fuck you, bitch." The insult didn't faze Josie. She'd heard it thousands of times. Tens of thousands. If anything, she preferred it. Having the men yell and curse at her made the work a little easier to bear, a little easier to enjoy. And this pig really was scum anyway. He'd been a convicted rapist who had served just three years for his offense. Three easy years while bulking his muscles and then allowed back out into the world. Worse still, he'd been on the prowl again when Steph had discovered him crashing a college party. He was thirty-six years old.

"Now that's not very nice," she continued in that soft, condescending voice. "You're hurting my feelings. Why don't you say you're sorry and tell me how wonderful I am. Then I'll turn the water off. Might even give you a nice shiny apple to munch on if you make it sound good."

"Fuck youuuuuuuuu!" Again, Josie wasn't fazed. She didn't expect him to break this soon, but persistence was an important part of the equation.

"You see. Right there is just another example of the inferiority of men. Everything is sex. Even when you're angry.
I'm
not swearing. I'm not even yelling. But I
am
patient. I can wait, even for you. Why don't we just sit here together and listen to the dripping water while you think about signing your confession."

Man #18 struggled against his restraints, but it wasn't a real fight. It was only another release of frustrations. Nevertheless, it was also a sign the water was working. She'd not talk for a while now so her voice wouldn't distract him from the pounding water on his forehead.

A soft knock sounded on the door behind her. It was unexpected as nobody would normally intrude on a trainer's work within one of the training rooms. Josie said nothing while she slipped into the corridor and softly shut the door.

Waiting patiently outside was Rebecca, one of the younger trainers. She was still in green squad, but it was no secret she had a knack for the job. Closing the door quietly behind her, Josie stepped into the hallway where they spoke in a whisper to avoid causing any distractions.

"
I'm
so
sorry to disturb you, Josie, but I haven't been able to catch you all day and I'm leaving for lunch now and… this is rather important.
"

"
That's fine,
" she told the younger girl. She always enjoyed the moments when she could help the newer girls, and showing that the experienced women could be understanding was part of that. "
What is it?
" she asked, genuinely curious.

"
Well, I was up getting files from Beatrice earlier, and Gertrude saw me and waved me over.
" Instantly Josie was alert. Anything about Gertrude today was bad news. "
She wants you to see her right after you're done tonight.
"

"Damn it," Josie muttered a little too loudly.

"
Is everything ok?
" Rebecca asked.

Josie sighed. "
No. Monica's been blabbing again, that's all.
" Rebecca nodded understanding, and Josie saw Steph exit a nearby training room and walk silently down the corridor away from them. She held back an unfair urge to add that others had been blabbing as well.

"
There's more,
" Rebecca said. "
She wanted me to tell you it's urgent. What's going on, Josie?
"

Josie really didn't feel like talking. She felt more like hitting and causing pain. "
You'll figure it out some day when you get to be where I am,
" was all she could explain before slipping back inside the training room with man #18.

She looked at him lying there, helpless. He was such an easy target. She even had one of Rhonda's devices with her. But any distraction from the dripping water might destroy what had already been accomplished. She halfheartedly asked him if he was ready to confess yet. When he didn't answer, she left again to take her aggression out on someone else.

Josie brought man #53 out of his box for a second time for more Device Implementation. It was redundant– this one had already signed his confession a few days ago– but she didn't care. His reward for "confessing" had been promises of less torture since he was particularly susceptible to physical pain. Any man with little mind control was treated the same way. Man #18 had lots of it, but it only served as a punishment in the long run.

She shoved man #53 chained and naked into another training room. "Word has it," she yelled when the soundproof door was secured, "that you've been bad-mouthing us behind our back!"

"No!" he shivered. "No, I haven't. I swear!"

"Well who am I supposed to believe, pig? You? Ha!" It didn't matter that no such news had been discovered or that she hadn't said who had leaked it. Man #53 was too scared to think logically.

"I'm afraid this is a serious setback, and it calls for serious punishment." The man shook his head violently but could not speak. Josie looked at him, anger still running through her. Gertrude had purposely used the word 'urgent' with a newcomer as the messenger. It was an open threat, and one designed to embarrass her in front of the other girls. There was no doubt Rebecca would be spreading the news to everyone before bedtime.

Perhaps,
Josie thought,
I
am
going to be dismissed. Or maybe she'll demote me back to blue squad until she and Monica feel I learned my lesson.

Josie wanted to tell her off, just once. She wanted revenge for all the times Gertrude had demeaned her. She wanted Monica to be put in her place for being such a control freak to all the girls and such a kiss-ass to the headwomen. She wanted to tell Steph that her betrayal, though unintentional, had truly hurt. She wanted to kick Charles in the face for every nightmare he'd ever caused her.

Keep dreaming, girl,
she told herself. Such notions were comically farfetched. But the man cowering in front of her was fair game.

One of Rhonda's devices was resting on the small table by the door, but Josie ignored it. Without thinking, she took two steps and kicked him in the back of the thigh with her steel-toed boot. Hard. He yelled. She kicked him there again even harder. He yelled louder but did not move to protect himself. He wouldn't dare. He had been trained better than that.

An image flashed in Josie's mind of Monica glaring at her with her fingertips pressed together. Another one, this one fictional, showed Steph sitting in the patient's chair and blabbing away with words like 'Josie' and 'feels sorry' and 'getting worse'. A third image, this one a simple, hateful scowl on Gertrude's (or was it Charles'?) face put her over the edge and she kicked the man in the same spot once more, this time with all of her might.

Even as he screamed, the man instinctively slapped his hand to the area to cover it, to protect it. Then he realized his mistake and jerked them back as if the wounded area would spread like poison. His eyes shot up to Josie, wide and bulging in fear. Sweat on his forehead dripped off the end of his nose and slid down his temples to his jaw line. He looked so helpless, so powerless, so truly like a child.

Instantly Josie's heart sang and her compassion blossomed. She looked into his scared eyes and was once again filled with disgust at what she'd just done. The man had committed a moral crime, yes, but his punishment here on the island far outweighed it.
What is the right punishment for verbal abuse?
Josie thought, thinking of his personal files.
If so, why doesn't Gertrude have to pay the same penalty?

She saw him there at her complete mercy with pure terror in his eyes. She was suddenly sick to her stomach for hurting him, sorry that he felt so terribly scared and helpless. She wanted to help him, not hurt him. She wanted to hold him, rock him, heal his wounds inside and out. She wanted to make herself feel better, and this was the only way she thought it possible.

The man shook as he stared at her, waiting for yet another blow. She was not surprised to realize she was near tears once again.

Another image flashed along with a ghost-like audio recording of Monica's deep voice.
I want you to remember,
she had said, and Josie did remember. Charles was over her yet again, grunting like a musk ox and completely unaware she was in pain. Then she saw the anger in his eyes on their third date when she asked him to stop his roving hands. Then the backhand across the face came again. Then he grunted and raped her some more.

Already hovering over him, she kicked weakly at the man at her feet. "You're such an asshole," she said aloud, though it was not much more than a crying whisper. Man #53 didn't object. She opened her eyes and realized she had rested her forehead on the wall above him; realized she had dropped her control over him. Suddenly she was immensely glad the training rooms were soundproofed and didn't have windows. Nobody ever needed to know about this.

"Did you learn your lesson?" she asked, straightening up. She felt so tired.

"Yes. Yes. Oh, yes!" man #53 nodded eagerly.

"Can I trust you to get back into your box all by yourself?" Again he nodded. "Then go. And if I see you turn around or slow down for even a second…" she warned. But she didn't finish. Man #53 scurried out the door when she held it open for him, dashed as best he could in the chains and shackles, and dove directly into his box while swinging the door closed behind him.

Josie checked the corridor for other women and, seeing she was alone, went back inside the empty training room and closed the door. Finally, she allowed the tears to come.

She stayed there long enough to cry herself dry. Then she stayed even longer with just her thoughts. Long enough to feel hollow, hurt, and finally anger all over again.
This is what it's like to be insane
, she thought.
I can't be me, I can't be them… I can't fold, I can't fight. I just… don't know what to do anymore.

A fleeting concept crossed her mind then. A thought of breaking into Monica's medical supply and swallowing every pill from every bottle. It was a strangely peaceful notion, but she pushed it aside instantly. She would
not
let them do that to her. She wouldn't be beaten like that. She would be strong. She would finish her remaining four years. She would get on with her life, and she would do anything she wanted as a strong, powerful woman.

Steph would help. She could count on her. It was only four years, after all. Four years of lying. She could do that. She'd already lied to herself for nearly six about how she felt about the island. She could lie to Gertrude and the others for four more. Certainly with Steph's sanity by her side she could do that.