CHAPTER 11: SILENCE
4 Years Old
The whip sits outside of Summer’s room, taunting her. Two weeks and she’s covered in welts; even her welts have welts. Today she is given an old apple core and another piece of moldy bread to eat—which she does eagerly. It’s now been three days since her last whipping. The girl in the other room—her name, she finally found out, is Jaden—had told her if she keeps quiet the beatings will stop. But it’s terribly hard not to cry out when you’re already exposed skin is whipped upon again and again—mercilessly. Summer’s body finally decided it was time to raise the white flag, and she was able to keep herself from screaming. She came to find out that it isn’t just the screaming; if they catch her talking they will whip her again. Her back is finally healing, and now she refuses to talk. Even to Jaden who she considers a friend.
Summer pushes the empty tray back through the slot and goes to her corner that she’s made into a nest of sorts. She glares at the bucket in the other corner that is her toilet. It reeks and is only cleaned out once a week. She listens for any of the men outside her door and hears no one. But then she hears several male voices echo down the hallway, chilling her blood. Her lips seal automatically.
“It’s time,” says Jag excitedly to someone. “The buyer is thrilled with her Native American background.”
“Those Yanks always have rich tastes,” replies Johnny with a chuckle.
Summer’s heart skips at their words—they are selling Jaden to someone, and this will be the last time she’ll ever see her—or hear her, as it is. She stands and presses her ear to the wall between them, desperately wanting to say something but no words will form. Her body refuses to encounter another beating at the ends of the cutting whip. Her fingers cling to the wall as she listens carefully. Jaden also keeps quiet as they lead her away. Their footsteps grow fainter until she can’t hear them anymore.
Summer slides to the floor, her shoulders slumping dejectedly. All of her hope seeps from her pores and slithers away with its tail between its legs. Stupid hope, Summer thinks miserably. Fine, go run and hide you coward.
A phone rings just outside her door, and she startles, clasping her hand over her mouth to stop herself from squeaking. Footsteps pound down the hallway, and then a receiver is picked up. She had no idea that there is a phone just outside her door. If she would have known that the first day she ran for it, she might have been able to call out.
“Hello?” comes Jag’s scratchy voice.
There is a moment of silence before he lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s not negotiable. We’ve kept her long enough, ya know? We could of sold her already for a much higher price.” Pause. “I don’t care what kind of society yer are. She’s in my possession and if you don’t up your offer you ain’t layin’ a single grubby finger on her, understand?”
Summer put her ear to the slit in her door. Is he talking about Jaden?
“Now listen here you righteous— No!” he practically growls into the phone. The sound of it being slammed into the cradle makes her jump away from the door, her breath heavy with fear. She didn’t do anything, but the men are known to use beating the slaves as a way of letting their aggression out.
“You can take your money and shove it up your arse!” He kicks the chair she’s sat in many times for whippings.
She chances a glance through the slot in her door to see him dialing another number. His greasy fingers stab each button like they have personally offended him. “Jones!” A pause, and Jag smiles. “Ah, yes. I found the perfect girl fer ya.”
Oh, no. Summer panics internally. Jaden’s going to be sold.
“Of course she’s trained, you prat. Blonde hair, blue eyes. Name’s Summer.” He laughs at something Jones says.
No, I’m going to be sold, she realizes uncomprehendingly.
“She needs to go immediately. You gunna be at the shipyard today?” Another pause. “I’ll bring her by after dark. I think that’ll be an even trade. Make sure you kick your wenches off the boat before I get there.” More laughter. “Cheerio.”
Jag hangs up the phone, and Summer backs into her corner as the door opens slowly. Light floods the room, the golden glow so far from angelic she wishes for the darkness again. Her breath catches at the unnatural, greedy look in Jag’s black eyes. He runs a hand through his greasy hair to pull it out of his face.
“Time to get cleaned up.” He holds the door open and gestures for her to exit. She doesn’t hesitate in fear of what will happen if she doesn’t comply. They run into a whistling, jolly Johnny, his dark green eyes satisfied with something.
He guides her to a place she’s never been before and instructs her to strip down. She shakes, knowing when clothes come off there is usually some sort of punishment involved. Her tiny fingers hook into her black pants, and she pulls them off. Next she removes her shirt. The room is tiled, and she wonders if she will finally be able to take a bath—she hasn’t had one since she was kidnapped.
“Stand there and be a good girl,” says Johnny with a slightly crazy lilt in his tone. “This’ll take just a few minutes.”
Summer wraps her arms around herself, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Johnny turns a hose on, and the mocking water splashes against the tile like a waterfall of crystallized droplets beading up and rolling toward her in battle. He holds it up and sprays her with the cold water as she contains her shrieks before they escape and run rampant through the flowing water. She spins around as he commands and shudders through the whole ordeal. After several minutes he turns the hose away and flips a towel toward her. She dries and dresses quickly, impatient to be warm again. Her teeth rattle in her head.
Johnny opens a door and points. “It’s warm outside. Go. Your chattering is gettin’ on my last nerve!” Outside she finds a cage ready for her, bucket and all.