Man Hunt (20 page)

She would just need to pay a punishment to Gertrude first. She wondered what it would be and quickly shook the thought from her mind. There were too many possibilities, too many evils Dirty Gertie could conjure from her damaged brain. She turned instead to man #18. The convicted rapist.

Josie was back with him and his dripping water in mere seconds. Her priorities had changed now, and she didn't care if he was broken today or any day, Rhonda's schedule be damned. But one thing she could do was hurt this raping pig who thought he was so tough. In her mind, he deserved everything the island had given him. He could die for all she cared.

Man #18 had made excellent progress, but even one look told Josie she had left him there
too
long. Day after day without proper sleep, with little food, and with constant beatings had weakened even this tough competitor. His body flinched at every drop now, as if each one were unexpectedly the worst yet. His hands and legs continually pulled at the restraints despite how tired he looked. His eyes were wide open, unmindful of the water that trickled across his eyeballs. The stage had been set and the three hours of dripping water had finally broken his courageous resolve of honor and pride. She knew he was ready to confess.

"How are you feeling?" Josie asked. She didn't bother adjusting her voice. She spoke simply as Josie now, and suddenly she decided to see if she could do that to every man from then on.

"Make it stop," the man said.

"Can't do that. You didn't use the magic words." It was an empty threat. He'd been there too long already. She needed to take him out soon, one way or another. Even another half-hour would probably cause permanent psychological problems. But Josie doubted that he knew the women actually cared about such things.

"
Please
," he said. "
Please
make it stop." Another drop hit him on the forehead and he barked at it. Actually barked at it like an angry dog.

"Well, that's very polite of you," Josie said in her plain, Josie-voice, "so I'll slow it down for you." She turned the handle on the overhead pipe and the dripping slowed down just a little. "But those
aren't
the magic words." The man whimpered a little but didn't speak.

"Tell me what I want to hear," she continued, "and I'll stop the water. And if you say it like you mean it, I'll even enough to give you that apple."

The man opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again it was clear he'd composed himself as best he could, though another drop hit his forehead. He didn't react to it, and Josie was relieved to see he hadn't gone insane after all.

"I…" the man began.

"Yes?" Josie encouraged. "I'm listening." It was her real voice still, and she suddenly realized it was more powerful than any fake one she could render simply because she, too, could thereby speak with true conviction.

"I'm scum," he said, and Josie smiled. "I've been so… bad and I… deserve what you've been doing to me." It was clear to Josie that he almost believed what he was saying, though he would forget or convince himself otherwise by morning. Still, this was a big step for man #18, and the rest would happen in time.

"That's
good
," she said. "
Very
good. I'll slow down the water some more." She turned the handle and the man exhaled a huge held breath. "Now… what else? What are you forgetting?"

"That women are wonderful. And definitely superior."

This was utter bullshit, and they both knew it. "That's close, but you don't really mean it. I don't think you want that apple. Think about how long you've been here. Think about how much you've fought against us. Think hard. Take your time and feel a few more drops of water, then try it again. But I warn you, this is your last chance. If you lie to me again, I turn the water back up and leave the room for a while." Another empty threat, but it didn't matter. No matter what he said now she'd pretend she was satisfied and stop the torturous drips.

The man didn't speak, didn't even flinch at the water now. He was concentrating. "Think about
why
we brought you here and what we'd like to teach you." Her urging was gentle. Compassionate. Suddenly, she really did want this man to learn, to change, to become a better person. She tried not to think of her own past and just watched him patiently. Finally, he spoke, and did so with conviction.

"Men are pigs," he said. "It's true. Most of us just don't… don't understand that what we do affects others. We hurt lots of people because we're so selfish. And…" he paused to inhale deeply, "and women are truly the superior sex. They… care more, notice more… and what you're doing here is…
noble,
somehow, though I believe you'll all go to Hell for it. And that will be just fine with me. I'll probably be there waiting for you anyway."

Josie turned off the water. She wondered if she'd ever heard a man make a more honest confession. She supposed she probably had but simply hadn't been listening. For the moment she forgot he was a convicted rapist. For the moment, he was simply human, a person with the ability to improve himself. He had displayed true courage, especially at the last part, and she was humbled to know he was truly stronger of will than she. Then she was suddenly angry that Gertrude and Rhonda and Monica and the others could never appreciate what he'd just done.

But I wouldn't have appreciated it myself a few days ago,
she reminded herself.

She left the room without speaking and got an apple, consciously choosing the biggest one from Rhonda's meager selection. She returned to the room, unstrapped one of his hands and his head, and handed it to him gently. He made to bite it, but stopped short and looked at it suspiciously.

"Go on," she said in her regular voice. "There's nothing wrong with it. You've earned it. I keep my promises." The man looked somewhat reassured, but was still hesitant. "Shall I take a bite to prove it to you?"

"No!" He pulled it to his chest and quickly began eating, eyeing Josie while he did so. She watched him, happily, while he ate the entire apple… core, seeds, even the little stem. While he licked his fingers, Josie realized it was the first time in days, maybe weeks, that she'd felt truly happy.

And for a rapist
, she marveled.
Does that make me weak?
She watched him some more, knowing in two or three days he'd be swearing at Josie or one of the other trainers and professing that his 'confession' had been faked. But here and now they both knew the truth.
No,
she thought.
In a place like this, my compassion makes me strong.

She found another trainer to help her escort him back to box #18– unbroken men were always escorted with two trainers. Kneeling under the open door, he signed his confession without incident. He used his new name, 'Fale'.

Josie spent the rest of her time that day filling out the various pages of minutia Rhonda insisted upon every breaking of a man. It took hours and it was pleasant work after the day she'd had.  By the time she was done and was chatting happily with Steph, Rachael, Rebecca and the others about issues unrelated to training, she was feeling decidedly less anxious about the meeting she was about to have with Gertrude.  In fact, she no longer felt worried at all. She would take Gertrude's punishment, whatever horror it may be, and pay it. In another month this would all be past them and she'd be that much closer to going home a free woman.

But what Josie didn't anticipate, however, was just how bad of a day Gertrude was having.

CHAPTER 10

I'm in serious trouble,
Obe thought.
Beside him, Rein was silent as they continued lying on the cracked asphalt of the grocery alley. Obe was fine with that. He didn't much feel like talking. Instead, he carefully sat up and surveyed his injuries.

His broken nose throbbed, sounding like a repeated washing within his brain with each beat of his heart. His cheek burned with road rash. His shoulders and upper back were beaten and bruised, already working to become a gnarled mass of roots and boulders. There was now a fierce, pounding headache as well, and he could smell the faint odor of dried shit that coated his back even as his tongue could still taste the tang of someone else's blood. But worst of all, his most precious commodity, his feet, had been shredded.

And what did he have to show for it all? Nothing. The next grocery day wouldn't come until Wednesday. He would spend the next three days without food.

He remembered that Doov had said this "family" of theirs was good about helping guys who had missed out, so maybe he could borrow some food. But Doov had also said not to load up on favors too early.

He reached down and carefully rubbed an itch on the sole of his left foot and winced.
Thank God for my new sneakers,
he thought.
I'll need them now.
His hand moved to his stomach to press their bulk, to feel the security of their existence. His mind was daring to consider what selling the sneakers might fetch him in terms of food– he was imagining four or five full bags– when his hand pressed upon his jumpsuit and felt the hollow space underneath.

Obe scrambled at the zipper, suddenly fully awake. A long moment of panic forced his lips to begin their silent litany when, just as suddenly, he found them. They had only slid to his side in the final wrestling match.

Without food, the tangibility of the sneakers was an instant source of peace. He gripped them, counted them, rubbed his fingers on the short fuzz that hadn't yet been chafed from their surface. In a moment of impulse he lifted the opening of one to his damaged nose and inhaled, hoping to smell their newness. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the beautiful faint odor was still there even through the sweat that the OTTER had left behind.

"Wanna trade?" Rein asked. Obe looked over and saw him smiling broadly and holding up a dark blue sneaker so old and used it was more holes than shoe. The sole, the only part that truly mattered, was hanging loosely on the entire front half.

Obe faked a laugh. "No thanks," he said. Rein had been squeezing his left hand repeatedly but suddenly stopped. A small spot of darkness high on the forearm was glistening with moisture.
Bleeding from
under
your sleeve, Rein?
Obe could already see the missing chunk his teeth had made at that same location on the arm that had reached inside his jumpsuit.

"Of course not," Rein said. He was still smiling, but the tone of his voice was as much a fake as Obe's laugh had been.

Rule Number Three my ass,
Obe thought.
I'm going to remem–

"Hey, Sherry! Look at what we've got here!" The two men looked up. Three faces were poked out over the edge of the roof. All were smiling wickedly.

"Well, well, well," the one presumably named Sherry shouted back. "Isn't that interesting. The two douches who fought the hardest lost out. How tragic. How utterly fucking pathetic. LOSERS!"

"LOSERS!" the third woman echoed. Obe wished instantly he had the courage to raise his middle finger at them. But he didn't. Couldn't.

"Hey, Sherry!" the first woman yelled again.

"Yes, Lucy?"

"What do you say we give these poor souls a break?"

"Why, whatever do you mean?" All three women were giggling now. One cackled like a hyena, and Obe recognized her as the whip-wielder from the black car. She'd probably been the one who threw the shit balloon at him too. He nearly walked away then and there, not wanting to test the supposed safety zone of Grocery Day, when they said something that made him pause.

"Well, I just so happen to have one more bag of food here!"

"You don't say!"

"Yes, indeed I do! And I was just thinking we could give it to them!" Obe's heart beat faster in spite of what his head told him.
It's a trick,
he thought.
They're using the words you want to hear in order to trick you. Kill you.

"
Don't fall for it,
" Rein whispered. "
It's a trick.
"

"
I know,
" Obe whispered back.

"Oh, Lucy. You
are
such a dear," Sherry went on. "How
ever
did you turn out to be such an
angel
?"

So obvious,
Obe thought.
Do they really expect us to believe–

"Just luck, I guess! Here you go boys!" And without further warning a bag of food catapulted over the edge of the roof. Obe was instantly running toward it, his logic forgotten and his screaming feet be damned. Somewhere in the depths of his mind he heard one of his many torturers from the fortress telling him that women were
good
, women were
kind
, women were
giving
and
loving
and would
always
provide the men in the field
exactly
what they needed.

He was just arriving underneath the falling prize, and then the bag jerked in mid-air and swung there, a full ten feet above him. The three women howled with laughter.

"Sorry chump!" the hyena-woman shrieked. "We're all out of line!"

"Yeah, see if you can jump for it, pig!"

Obe tried to hide his anger and heartbreak, but he knew they had beaten him again. To them it was something to pass the time, a horribly mean game. To him it was pure devastation and confirmation that he was still weak enough to fall for their deceit.

His mouth began to flutter the comforting litany once more, and in that instant he hated them with more passion than ever.

He may have screamed at them, then. May, even, have foregone his earlier fear and
cursed
at them. Unfortunately it was then that Rein, smoothly coming at him from behind, used his double-fisted hands to slam Obe in the back of the head, and his world went instantly black.