Vanished (5 page)

Papria stared forward her chin lifting under the twisted gazes.
But as she pushed forward, something changed. People lowered their heads, their eyes studying anything but her. Refusing to allow them to insult her further, she inclined her head a fraction of an inch higher and marched forward.

Every footfall echoed through her
mind as she followed her captor. Whispers preceded her, stares trailed her, and shame blazed over her cheeks. Everyone had seen the violation of her body, the attempted breaking of her spirit. They knew she’d been defiled; they’d
watched
.

She wanted to scream. Every last one of them had betrayed her, now they stared at her like she was some creature on display, some oddity, a freak for their entertainment. Her knees trembled, threatening to spill her in a puddle there, in the middle of the hall. But somehow, she managed to keep upright.

The hall split again, and Farali followed it to the right. Papria’s numbness began to thaw. People stumbled out of her way as if she might kill them for being there.

This kind of thing didn’t happen. Rape didn’t happen. Her people didn’t even have a word for it; only her extensive grasp of the Earth-people’s language allowed her to name the action.
Men couldn’t force themselves on women, their ability to sense the danger and pain of their mates equated to torture – another Earth word her kind lacked.

Her eyes narrowed, seeking out the faces around her, and she wanted to shout to them all.
Would you not have done the same?
She wasn’t wrong, she knew it. Yet she bore the weight of guilt, shame and judgment with square shoulders and a chin creeping up a half-inch higher.

Her fists clenched and released, her whole body tense,
and she wondered if anything would ever be the same again. Farali halted before a door, her motion ending so abruptly Papria slammed into her.

The woman
’s hands gripped her shoulders, as if to keep her from falling, but her lips moved, a gentle whisper resounding in Papria’s ear.

“You’ll be okay
.” Farali thrust her in the room with no further explanation. The door slammed shut, and Papria wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. She paced around the room, wandering with no goal in mind.

Though modest, the space offered plenty of room to move. A cot-like bed rested in one corner, next to a small dresser
decorated with a glass vase. The clear, water-filled vase housed billowing white flowers, triggering a memory of Zoltan and their bittersweet end. No windows graced the space, but a small door led to what she assumed was a washroom. The main door boasted a counter that thrust a good foot into the room. A square crack ran along the top of the counter, and Papria realized the thing would open so something could be placed on the counter.

With shaking steps, she made her way into the washroom and locked the door, glad for the small favor. At least she was in a room that allowed for some
privacy. She stripped down, her fingers trailing along her ribs, searching for any echo of the ache she’d felt. Her wrist, too, seemed perfectly intact.

Her lily-white
skin showed no traces of dirt, mud or blood. No trace of the vile act. Why then, did she feel so dirty? Her hands shook as she covered herself. There was shame in her nudity for the first time. Even her touch felt wrong. She stepped between the glass blocks encasing the shower. Fear, a feeling she couldn’t place, and humiliation surrounded her.

The water shot out, hot, startling her. After a moment, she sat on the tiles, her back to the wall. She pulled her legs to her chest, hot water cascading over
flesh suffering phantom aches. Wrapping wiry arms around athletic legs, she placed her chin on her knees.

Drops of water mingled with tears on her cheeks, and she just sat, her chest aching, refusing to let her draw a deep breath. Fr
ost-white locks of hair soaked through and clung to her skin. The sting of hot water wasn’t enough, but she lacked the will to heat it further.

The sense of loss crept up, threatening to consume her, and she let the pain flow. A wise person had once told her that pain couldn’t heal until it was let free. Her eyes roamed over the waved glass tiles, the confined space. The chill of the blocks to her back, a shocking contrast to the heat of her water, somehow comforted her.

She pressed her legs tighter to her chest, the muscles tight under her arms. Anger snapped at her, and she wondered if rage was normal. The need to hurt the people responsible for her torment welled up inside.

Deciding it wasn’t productive to wonder what was normal, she focused on the words Farali whispered.
Why had the cold woman suddenly whispered something that sounded almost sweet? She wouldn’t be okay, there was no way the council would ever let her out of this box. They couldn’t risk it and if a rebellion was to rise, she’d be publicly euthanized, she was sure. Nothing dissuaded protesters like the loss of the one who’d triggered the event.

The questions circled, and wi
ld thoughts answered them. She refused to let the speculations hold any weight but clung to them. They were a better focus than the fuzzy edges of the world, the crackle of fire, the acrid smoke that still stung in her nose with every passing second the memory pressed in. She wouldn’t relive the moment. The act wouldn’t own her.

Numb, she got to her feet and stepped out of the shower. The water
shut down, and she shivered, wrapping a towel around herself.

Taking another, she patted her skin dry, avoiding the mirror that glistened with billions of tiny water drops. The top half of the room billowed with steam, the bottom, shockingly clear, chilled her damp skin.

Throwing her suit back on, she wound a towel around her damp locks and padded out to the main room, wincing as the end of her trial appeared on one of the walls. Refusing to look at the screen, she focused on the clock as the
pop, pop
of the pistol echoed through her little enclosure.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to escape the
memories flooding back, but the screen’s images filled her mind. Needing to see anything other than the freeze frame of Kred’s body pinning her own, she slid her eyes back and forth behind closed lids.

They’d captured and showed everything in gruesome detail, including the time she’d finished. 5pm.
She’d only been in the trial for three earth hours. Fighting tears and a fresh wave of humiliation, she realized she’d never thought the whole world could shatter in three measly hours.

The crush of the situation pressed in on her, and her breath caught in her lungs.
She yanked the towel from her hair and tossed it into the bathroom. Not sure what else to do, she sat on her bed. Back to the wall, she pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. The tight coil seemed to offer some measure of comfort. If she could just squeeze up tighter, maybe she could disappear. Focused on the screen as it shifted to the eleven winners, her eyes narrowed.

Strong male faces, most of them handsome, nagged at her.
The council had really done it. All these young, pretty men were poster children; perfect. The council gone so far as to televise her trial, making sure the whole world watched a man overpower her, take her, and then showed her the mocking, smiling faces of those who would be going. As the screen showed each picture and the names of the men, she gasped when Zoltan’s name was called and his familiar face appeared.

The
embarrassment took a backseat to the sharp taste of fury and she leaped to her feet. Snagging the vase from the bedside table, she hurled it at the screen. The clear screen shorted as the glass shattered against it. A round smash cracked away from the center of the impact, and the backsplash rained down water and glass shards.

The screen blinked a
nd fuzzed, the sound still coming through as the program continued, and tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t make it stop. It wouldn’t stop. Ever. She’d never be free of this. She clamped her hands over her ears, but a movement snagged her attention.

A
tray, thrust through the mini opening onto the counter behind the door, housed dinner. The scent of food lured her forward and she padded over to go gather the bounty. Taking the tray back to her bed, she sat, curling up while eating.

Listening to
the news, because she had no other choice, she soaked in the details of the pending mission. She nibbled on the simple meal of greens and fish, though it tasted like ash on her tongue. The fork reflected her face, but there was a new gleam in her eye, something she couldn’t quite place.

Moving the tray aside, her eye caught the glitter of broken glass on the floor. She stood, gathering one of the longer shards. It stung, slicing her hand as she gripped
it, blood running down the edge that hung at her side.

She
stared at the screen. They were watching, she was sure of it. Even now, they would be analyzing every move she made. She lifted the glass, staring at it for a moment. Gathering her hair in her fist at the base of her neck, she slipped the sharp edges between her skin and the mostly-dry alabaster strands.

With a quick jerk, she severed the locks and the short ends sprang forward to trace her face
like loving fingers. Dropping the shard to the side, she took the length of white locks and dropped them, watching the delicate ribbons flutter to the floor in a heap.

Her lips parted and she lifted blue eyes so light they might be silver to the camera. The trailing locks around her face shifted back ever so slightly, the touch electric. Some sense of strength coursed through her, and she stalked back to the bed, every step tense. Curling back up, she finished her food in peace, a small smile creeping across her lips. They’d have no idea what to think, and that was satisfactory.

When finished, she replaced the tray on the counter and curled up in bed. Pulling the covers up over her head, she let silent tears slip down her cheeks. She squeezed her eyes closed, cursing the pain jabbing at her heart. How dare they?

Her breaths evened out, and she slipped into some uneasy place between sleep and waking. Images raced through her mind, too quick to place, but the sense of dread accompanying them couldn’t be mistaken.

The sensation of falling elicited a jerk from her muscles and she woke, trembling. Sitting up, she pulled knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them and rested her chin on the trembling mess.

“This won’t control me. It won’t define me.” Her whisper resounded in the
dark room. 

“But it will change you.”

She gasped as the far wall moved, the shadows melting into the image of eleven familiar faces. The blankets threatened to tangle around her as she scrambled back, pressing her spine to the wall. The original speaker, Vendas, if she remembered correctly, stepped forward.

“We apologize for startling you. However, after the televised event, we decided to hell with the council.” He extended a hand toward her. “We’d be honored if you’d lead Earthbound.”

Words deserted her, and she gave a short nod, taking his proffered hand.

His hand was firm on hers. With a quick tug, he pulled her to her feet and shook her hand with a brisk gesture.
His eyes sparkled in the dim light, and he seemed to want to say something.

“What they did… it was wrong.” A chorus of nods followed his statement and he shrugged a shoulder back at one of the men behind him. “Radek checked. After fifty years of physical trials, not one man ever has undergone... anything quite so challenging as you did.”

His eyes locked on hers.
“We do believe this means you are the strongest among us. A new era is dawning for our people, and we’d like it led by you.”

She got to her feet,
flesh still crawling with shock. The men straightened, saluting. Zoltan’s face stood out, but she refused to look at him. She didn’t want to think about him, see him, be near him. He would be forever tied to memories she couldn’t bear to think about. With a brief smile, she mirrored their motion and stood down. They followed suit, and she was led out of the room.

Vendas
directed the group down dimly-lit hallways out of the facility. Their heavy steps echoed down the halls like the rumble of thunder. At both her sides, men’s arms pressed in on her shoulders. Radek on her right, towered over her a good foot or so, the other about half that. She’d never thought of herself as a small woman, but the men were large, stocky and tall.

A quick glance over her shoulder was met with a blink and a nod from those trailing behind, boxing her in.
Zoltan’s stare maintained a searing heat on her back, but the need to avoid him kept her acknowledging him. She wondered how the group must look, these huge men clad in black, armored ship suits with her at their center, in a white undersuit.

A hand touched her shoulder, light as a whisper. Grabbing his middle finger, she spun, twisting his hand. Her other hand locked around his forearm,
and she shoved the finger back toward his elbow. Zoltan dropped to his knees, pain shining in his eyes.

The group tightened around her, tense bodies suspended, breaths held.

“Don’t touch me.” She growled the words, increasing the pressure. He jerked his head up and down. Her hands released him, and he fell back, rubbing his hand. She turned, catching Vendas’ unreadable glance. The man pushed forward, the group falling back into step.