Thousands

All I wanted to focus on was this corridor and this moment, so I could understand better just how much trouble I was in.

  Turning left at the bottom of the hallway, my uniformed guide opened another door and pushed me through. Marching me to a high-top desk where a female officer stood shuffling paperwork, he muttered in French then pushed me forward.

  She nodded but didn’t come to grab me. Instead, I was left standing alone with my wrists cuffed, waiting until she’d finished her task while the man who brought me here disappeared out the door.

  Finally, she looked up, scanned me from head to toe, and motioned me to follow her into yet another room. This was one smaller but very bright and clean.

  She was younger than the rest of the officers—no doubt fairly new to this career and not yet jaded by thugs and thieves.

  She didn’t bother asking any questions, just nodded kindly and pointed at the wall where a height graph had been painted. “Please stand there. Don’t smile.”

  I did as I was told and blinked as the flash from a camera blinded the rest of my wonky vision.

  “Great. Now come here, please.”

  Blinking a few times, I moved toward a computer station with a multitude of wires and equipment linked to it. She pushed a chair toward me.

  For the next few minutes, I sat still and didn’t make a sound as she took my hands and pressed each finger against a pad that somehow scanned my prints and appeared instantly on the screen.

  Tapping away on the keyboard, she entered my height and whatever other information had come to her about my circumstances, slowly taking me from unknown citizen to catalogued felon.

  My eyes prickled as my mug-shot was dragged onto the file and attached in place. Pressing the printer icon, she smiled then headed over to retrieve the warm freshly inked paper. A lot of areas for details such as my name, personal description, and other things remained blank.

  She hadn’t asked a single question. Almost as if—

  The door opened, and another officer appeared.

  —she’d been doing the paperwork for another person to do the questioning.

  The new arrival was a woman dressed in a black suit with an A-line skirt, crisp white blouse, and a gold shield sewn over her breast pocket.

  The woman who’d processed me said something in French, handed over my newly created file, and returned to her post at the desk.

  Turning in my chair, I faced yet another stranger and tensed, ready for the interrogation that all good movies showed. Only, her eyes fell to my handcuffed wrists, and she tutted. “They should’ve been off by now, don’t you agree?”

  I didn’t know what to agree with.

  This was all so bizarre to my realm of comfort.

  Not that I had a normal range of comfort anymore.

  Pulling a key from her pocket, she motioned for me to stand then quickly unlocked the metal. She smiled as the shackles fell away and placed them on the desk. “Better?”

  My eyes widened—or as much as they could with bruising swelling them.

  These women treated me as a human being rather than a lowlife member of society who’d broken the rules. I kept waiting for the strike to my head or the disdained quips about how I’d screwed up my life.

  Not this civil processing.

  The older woman ran a hand over her cheek, touching up her immaculate makeup that’d been artfully applied to look as if she wore none at all. As if the pretty shadows over her eyes and pinky hue on her lips were natural.

  She was handsome with a no-fuss brown bob and simple gold chain with a medallion and some saint dangling from it.

  Clutching my file to her chest, she opened her arm in invitation. “Shall we?”

  Shall we what?

  When I didn’t reply, she moved in no-nonsense heels and opened the door to the corridor. “Let’s go have a little chat and get the basic stuff out of the way then I’ll summon the doctor, okay? My name is Carlyn Grey, and I’ll be in charge of your case from now on.” She pursed her lips sympathetically. “You’re not looking so good, you poor thing. And you’ve lost a shoe, too. Oh dear. I’ll make sure to find something in the meantime.”

  I froze, once again gobsmacked at the kindness in her tone. Had I lumped all humans, male and female, into an unfriendly light because of my past?

  Was that a product of Alrik’s lessons or my mother’s upbringing?

  Either way, this woman reminded me of a kindly aunt inviting me to unload my woes rather than the upholder of the law whose job it was to take away my freedom.

  Even though I wished upon a thousand wishes that I could rewind time and never think about stealing—I had to face the consequences.

  Elder...

  I’d successfully kept him out of my thoughts, but his gorgeous face appeared with such vibrancy, I gasped at agonising memories and a bone-crushing desire to be with him.

  I needed him.

  Not just for this terrible situation but because I couldn’t breathe without having him near.

  When I didn’t reply, Carlyn Grey leaned forward. “Do you need some water? I can’t give you any painkillers for your injuries until the doctor has assessed you, but if you’re feeling faint, I can order some food.”

  Food?

  That did sound good. I managed a small nod and drifted toward her.

  With yet another kind smile, she marched ahead and guided me down the nondescript corridor to another door—this one with a label stating it was Interview Room Four. “Right this way.”

  She held open the entrance and waited until I’d passed her before closing it and taking a seat in the black plastic chair. A large table separated her from a spare seat which I hesitantly took and winced as my bones took on the agonising job of realigning to sit and not stand.

  She watched me. “You’re not looking so good.” Using a walkie-talkie resting on the table, she commanded, “Bring some water and a sandwich into IR Four, please.”

  A crackled response managed to overshadow the sudden growling in my stomach.

  A sandwich had never sounded so great.

  Smoothing the paperwork before her, she looked at me intently. “These questions are just a formality. The moment we’re done, I’ll call for the doctor and get you sorted. If at any point you’re not feeling well, tell me.” She narrowed her eyes with the first hint of warning. “If you cooperate, tell the truth, and help me get this done, it will only take a few minutes.”

  Swallowing, sending a message to my voice not to hide this time, I nodded.

  “Great.” Pulling a pen from her breast pocket, she pressed the nib against the first empty box. “Are you ready to begin?”

  She’d asked so softly it painted a scenario as if I was a child lost in a busy supermarket and she was merely trying to find out who I was to return me to a loved one.

  I hung my head, my fingers dirt covered and scraped from clawing at the pavement while Harold kicked me.

  I wished talking was easier. I wished it was first nature to answer when spoken to. But it took such effort to trust a stranger enough to give them my voice.

  Carlyn Grey didn’t lose her temper, though—waiting patiently as I glanced up from my tangled hair and sighed deeply. I had to get over this. Sitting straighter, I winced as my side throbbed. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  “Good.” She smiled encouragingly. Glancing at the page, she asked, “Name?”

  This was it.

  The moment where I ceased to be Pimlico and returned to my previous existence. I wasn’t quite ready to embrace my full name. I wasn’t quite strong enough to be a normal citizen with work worries and tax obligations. But ready or not...my journey back into the light had begun.

  “Tasmin Blythe.”

  The officer acted as if my name was given out freely every second of every day. And why shouldn’t she? A name was the most common thing shared. But to me...she was the first in so very long to hear it.

  I should’ve told Elder.

  I shouldn’t have held so much of myself back
from him. All he’d asked in return for my safety was to know who I was. Why didn’t I share the name of my favourite stuffed rabbit when I was a child? Why didn’t I tell him how I’d read epic fantasies by torchlight of warrior fae and princesses, secretly wishing for my own magical fairytale?

  I wanted to tell him now.

  The urge was overwhelming to the point of bursting with the desire to sit him down, open up, and spill years upon years of hiding.

  My heart stole all the bruises on my limbs and centred them in one location. I needed a bandage for the agony.

  “Nationality?” Carolyn looked up expectantly.

  “English.”

  “Address?”

  “Apartment Three, Century Building, Pollyworth Road, London.”

  Just saying that brought back the taste of butter chicken from my local Indian takeaway and the scent of pink roses from my neighbour’s window boxes. The sound of my mother’s disapproval as I flew up the stairs rather than walked like a lady, and the heaviness of my backpack filled with textbooks from school.

  “Age?”

  I paused. How old was I? I was eighteen when I was stolen....

  “Twenty.”

  I shuddered to think I’d spent the rest of my teenage life—the years of innocence and reckless fun—locked up being sexually abused. I’d never get those years back. I’d never find that innocence again.

  My breath turned raspy.

  I hugged myself as a nefarious chill descended.

  Carlyn noticed, her brown bob swinging around her jaw. Her hazel eyes warmed in pity. “Know what? I’ve got enough for now. Let’s get that doctor’s visit sorted, shall we?”

  I didn’t look up, too swamped with old memories.

  * * * * *

  The rest of the day was a blur.

  Officer Grey guided me into another room—this one with a medical gurney covered in pale blue sheets and a simple workstation for a doctor to dispense their advice. Waiting until I’d winced my way onto the bed, Carlyn fastened a small handcuff around my wrist to the silver frame.

  I stiffened at the cold bite on my skin.

  “Policy, I’m afraid.” She shrugged apologetically. “I’m going to leave you alone for a bit while I arrange for the doctor. I can’t leave you unattended and not be restrained.”

  The fact she explained and acted as if she regretted cuffing me spoke volumes about her nice nature.

  I forced a smile. “I understand.”

  She left me to my heartache, reappearing a little while later with another female in tow. Carlyn left the moment she’d given instructions to perform an overall check-up, granting me privacy.

  The exam started off fine.

  The doctor—after telling me her name was Michelle Annaz—asked questions on where I’d been hit and kicked. She politely asked to inspect me and pulled up my dress to reveal the fresh contusions rapidly blooming over my hips and thighs. She ran her hands over my joints and ligaments, and while I locked my jaw to prevent squirming away from her unwanted touch, her face slowly fell from polite professionalism to concern.

  She eyed my many scars.

  She traced my many abuse-given imperfections.

  Unlike Carlyn Grey, her eyes held deeper laugh lines, and silver threads decorated her dark hair. Her tanned skin spoke of an island life on this party destination, but the shrewd calculation in her gaze said she missed nothing.

  She certainly didn’t miss anything regarding me.

  Oh, no...

  Removing her rubber gloves, Dr Annaz stepped back. For a moment, she didn’t speak, but then with a thread of unquestionable authority, she said calmly, “You’ve been hurt a lot in your past.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t respond.

  Not that I needed to.

  My body told the truth.

  Crossing her arms, she murmured, “What you tell me can remain off the record and be protected by client-doctor confidentiality, but it can also be used to help your case. The officer said you were beaten by the boyfriend of the girl you tried to rob, is that correct?”

  I looped my fingers together and squeezed, ignoring the gravel abrasions on my palm. “Yes.”

  “And before that? Do you want to tell me how you have bones nodules that are self-healed breaks without the aid of a cast or other medical supervision?”

  No, I don’t want to tell you.

  Yes, I do want to tell you.

  God, I don’t know.

  I was sick of hiding.

  Perhaps if I’d given more of myself to Elder when he’d asked, he would’ve gotten what he needed to tolerate my presence for longer.

  Maybe questions weren’t something to be feared anymore but a tool to somehow get better.

  Rubbing my face with one hand while the other remained cuffed to the bed, I sighed heavily. “If I tell you, what will happen to me?”

  Would I be sent to a psychiatric ward instead of jail?

  Would my mother be told in explicit detail? Details I never wanted her hearing?

  Dr Annaz softened. Moving forward, she perched on the bed beside me. She didn’t touch me, but her presence was comforting. “You get to decide. If you tell me in strictest confidence, I can provide advice that comes from years of study and experience, and we can leave it there. Or, if you feel you’re ready to take back whatever was stolen from you, then I’d probably suggest including Officer Grey and letting us help you.”

  “Help me by putting me in prison?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes, we endure single events, and each event must be dealt with as such—either earning forgiveness or consequences. And other times, the things we survive aren’t single events at all but are joined in sequence that give an explanation to things that before had no answer.” She sighed before saying, “I won’t tell you what to do and I can’t tell you what will happen if you make either choice, but at some point, you need to trust that not everyone is out to hurt you.”

  I didn’t know what part of her wise paragraph broke me.

  Only that it did.

  One moment, I sat stiff and stoic.

  The next, I crumpled into silent sobs.

  Forgiveness or consequence.

  Single events or linked by sequence.

  At some point...you need to trust.

  I wanted so badly to trust.

  Perhaps, it’s time to start...

  Speaking around my tears, I admitted, “I was imprisoned for two years after being sold into sexual slavery.”

  That sentence.

  That confession.

  It was the final blockade in the dam of agony.

  Michelle Annaz took my hand and squeezed. That was all. She squeezed and stayed silent as I trembled with the knowledge that more people than just Elder knew now.

  My ugly truth was out, and this woman treated me as if I was so, so strong for surviving it.

  Dr Annaz asked her first question: “How?”

  And I answered.

  The rest of her questions turned into bees buzzing in my skull.

  How long?

  Where?

  Who?

  Why?

  What was done to me?

  My answers were the nectar those bees fed upon, slowly sweeping up the pollen that’d suffocated me for so long, flying away to churn into honey.

  I was brutally honest and held nothing back, doing my best to stop the memories from having power over me.

  And by the time I’d finished, I had no idea how much of the day had passed.

  My head ached from the emotional purging, and my stomach had skipped past hunger into vacant emptiness.

  “I have one last question for you, Tasmin. And I need you to think about your answer very carefully.”

  I looked at Dr Annaz and the strictness on her weathered face. I waited for her to finish.

  “Do you wish this to stay between us? Or are you happy for me to include Officer Grey?”

  Once again, a question with two very different outcomes. r />
  If my tale remained in this room, then my thievery and slavery would forever remain two separate events with no explanation about how or why I’d done what I did. But if I let others know, then their scolding would most likely turn to sympathy. They would have a deeper understanding that this wasn’t a separate event but part of a sequence—a sequence Elder had been a part of, and now these two women who’d taken the time to talk to me.

  I didn’t do it for sympathy.

  I did it for truth.

  “Tell her. I want her to know.”

  Without a word, Dr Annaz stood and disappeared out the door.

  Ten minutes later, she returned with Carlyn Grey.

  Both women gave me a gentle smile as Carlyn unlocked the cuff around my wrist and nodded at Dr Annaz. “I’ll escort you to the hospital and remain there while the tests are done.”

  “Tests?” My eyes bugged. “What tests?”

  Dr Annaz patted my shoulder. “I came here to treat a few scratches and bruises, Tasmin, but you need much better care than that.”

  “I do?”

  She sighed sadly. “You do.”

  * * * * *

  The tests were invasive.

  They brought back terrible memories and broke some of the glued pieces of me.

  Elder’s doctor, Michaels, had been the one who’d sewn up my tongue and put me back together again. He’d been gentle and patient and understanding.

  These new doctors, with a multitude of accents and machinery, asked probing questions about my periods, internal organs, and other terribly private things.

  A gynaecologist was enlisted to see if I had permanent damage after I admitted what Alrik used on me. Multiple x-rays were used to determine if I had any broken bones.

  Blood was taken.

  ECGs were recorded.

  Hours went by between answering yet more questions, submitting to whirring machines, and waiting, shivering with nerves on starched sheets, for yet another consultation.

  By the time Carlyn Grey approached me with a tired smile and an air of completion, the sky was black with night, and she held out a third cup of coffee.

  Between the first and second cup, she’d told me I’d dealt with everything better than she could’ve hoped, and she was in awe of what a human body could withstand. I didn’t think she enjoyed hearing my tales of the tortures I’d endured, but the evidence was plain upon my skin.