Chapter 27

It was the early hours of the morning, but for Grace, it all meant the same given she had not seen the sun for the best part of a year. She was in her cell, with the screens outside each glass wall blaring pornography and evil footage at her. Even after all this time, Pembroke never let up on the mind control techniques.

Pornography—loud, obscene, a woman sucking a dildo with exaggerated moans, a lesson in what Pembroke expected from her.

Herself—surveillance footage of schoolgirl Grace, walking home in her uniform, unaware, innocent, before. A reminder of what she’d lost.

And Leila—two screens, side by side: One, stills from her Instagram, smiling, alive, loved—a gymnast, a daughter, a girl with dreams. The other, hidden footage—walking to school, stretching at practice, laughing with her parents over ice cream at Ben & Jerry’s. Happy. Safe. Just like Grace had been.

This was his twisted, evil introduction of her new cellmate, to make her think of her own happiness before capture, to make her think of this poor girl and the hell she was facing, just like her.

She felt awful as she looked at the pretty girl, Leila. She looked so nice, so kind, a girl she would have secretly loved to be friends with at school.

But that wasn’t what mattered now. Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of her dark purple panties, the fabric damp with anticipation of a new cellmate. She watched Leila’s smiling face—so alive, so unbroken—and imagined what would happen to her. What he would do to her.

The lesbian porn Pembroke had forced her to watch flashed in her mind, the moans, the kisses, the licking. Grace’s fingers circled her clit, as she bit her lip. She was looking forward to playing with this new girl.

Leila prayed and prayed. The box was too tight to move, her arms and legs bound behind her, wrists and ankles biting against the zip ties. She could feel the hum of the van through the wood, every bump jarring her ribs. Hours passed—maybe more. She had lost track of time.

The fear became unbearable. She felt the warmth spreading beneath her, the stench rising in the cramped space, as she slowly pissed herself.

Where was he taking her? A plane? A hole in the ground? The sound of the engine never changed, only the occasional turn, the rush of passing cars, then silence again. The horrible old man, he could only mean evil.

Her parents. God, she’d only stepped out for five minutes to feed the bats. Were they searching? Was anyone helping? Or was everyone still asleep? Would anyone find her before ... She prayed harder, unable to form any words from behind the gag. She clenched her eyes shut. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was her last prayer on earth.

Leila drifted in and out of a fever-dream over the next few hours. She was sure she would wake up in her own bed any second, her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. How could she have been so stupid, slipping out without telling them? If she got out of this she would never disobey again. She prayed she could hug them one last time.

Pembroke drove on without hurry. He had already changed the plates and peeled off the vinyl company logos from the van, then switching vehicles some twenty miles from his house. By dawn he was gliding into his quiet street in his own car. A large wooden box under a blanket looked like nothing more than a chest of tools. No one in the tidy cul-de-sac saw him carry it inside.

Inside the box, Leila felt herself rolled and tilted, her head knocking against wood. She imagined ocean waves above her, a coffin being lowered underground. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt. Every second felt like it could be her last.

Then silence, and stillness. What was this! Suddenly, the lid of the box opened, Leila, her face shoved to the back of the box, craned her face back, blinking at the flooding of daylight.

The man in the van, it was him again, and he was real, not a nightmare. A bald skull gleamed in the light, black eyes started from furrowed brows, sunk deep in a scowling, wrinkled face. His mouth split open, baring yellow teeth. And his hands, with veins running like rope under his skin, were reaching in, and about to touch her ... again.

Her body couldn’t take it anymore. The pounding in her chest, the burning in her lungs, the sight of that grinning, ugly face above her — it all pressed down at once. Darkness surged in at the edges of her vision and her muscles gave out.

“Grace never did this,” Pembroke muttered, checking her pulse. He lifted her like a sack and carried her below.

Grace sat in the glass cell, as she always did, waiting. Hundreds of days, thousands of hours. She straightened when she saw her master bring in a body, tied up, seemingly unconscious. Was it alive?

Grace,” Pembroke said, his voice ringing with triumph, “I have procured your new playmate. She is going to take a lot of getting used to her new life, so I expect you to do your utmost to help break her in. Remember our drill?”

“Yes, sir,” Grace stood up as Pembroke opened the cell door and carried the unconscious girl in over his shoulder before planting her roughly on the floor.

Pembroke cut the zip ties, and Leila’s arms and legs flopped uselessly to the floor. He tugged the gag free, and a trickle of saliva fell from her open mouth onto the floor.

“She’ll wake soon,” he said with a grin. “I’ve other business — my alibi, for one thing.” His laugh was sharp, ugly. “Remember, I’ll be watching and listening to everything.”