Filthy Secret

As soon as the tip of the needle nears my flesh, I scream. Pulling away as much as possible, even with the grip Travis has on me. It’s barely a couple of inches and doesn’t make much difference. All I manage to do is force Travis to tighten his hold on me before my arm is outstretched and my bicep is wrapped with a rubber band. My screams turn to sobs as I’m held still, and they prepare to steal the crimson life force from my body.

It takes merely minutes from the time the skin is broken until several vials are filled with the red liquid after the rubber band is removed.

Looking at the small tubes lined up on the counter is a mistake because even through my tears, the sight makes my stomach queasy and my head light. Blackness creeps into my vision and I’m on the edge of passing out, but the sting from a hard smack to my cheek has my eyelids springing open.This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“Stay with us. He’s almost done,” Travis says loudly in my ear. No sooner than the words leave his lips, the needle is pulled from my arm and a bandage covers the hole.

A quick glance at my pupils with a small flashlight, and the man who stole from me utters an order, “Take her to the waiting area to lie down, then grab some juice and snacks from the newsstand. You know where the key is.”

“Yes, Sergeant.” Travis bends and lifts me into his arms while muttering, “I’m not sure how I get stuck with all the grunt work.”

“Because I’m your superior and the last time you attempted to draw blood, the body ended up in the pile with others that motherfucker tried to save,” the sergeant states, matter-of-fact. “Now hurry up or you’re going to lose another.”

Travis’s face is a blur when I glance up at him as my consciousness begins slipping away. Realizing as much, he picks up his pace, hurrying out into the terminal where he places me gently on a modestly cushioned bench and sprints away.

The room is spacious and every noise from chatter to distraught cries from many women echo through the space instead of the normally quiet rumble of conversation. It’s the last thing I hear before blackness consumes me.

“Here, drink this,” a woman instructs as she shakes me awake and shoves a cup to my lips. I push her hand away and open my eyes just enough to peer through the lashes. “It’s only apple juice. It’ll help bring your blood sugar back up.” Her voice is soft, kind even.

Hesitant, I allow my eyes to adjust to the bright light of the room, then sit up so I can better understand where I am, but the sudden movement causes my head to spin-as does the room-and I feel as though I’m going to lose the contents of my stomach.

“No, no. Lie back, it’s too soon for you to move.” She guides me back with a hand on my shoulder, but in this moment, I’m not very trusting of anyone and instead shake my head, pushing her away once again. Her soft brown eyes look at me curiously, as though she’s offended at my refusal, but then she offers me a small smile.

“Drink the fucking juice or I’ll pry your jaw open and force it down your throat,” a stern voice orders from across the room, cutting through the otherwise quiet space. I turn my head toward the sound and lock eyes with one of the soldiers from earlier. He’s the one who stole the very blood from my body. I glance his way long enough to memorize every curve, line, and shape of his face and think to myself, If we ever get out of here, he’ll be the first one I kill.

“Sergeant Carisi!” the kind woman reprimands the soldier. “She’s been out for a couple of hours and never should’ve been moved so quickly, especially after the amount of blood you took. Just give her a moment.”

He huffs out a breath and turns on his heel, exiting the room. It’s odd how he doesn’t question her dig at his incompetence. Based on his reaction, it appears she holds the cards in whatever game is at play here. With a gentle hand at the back of my head, she takes advantage of my distraction and uses her hold on me to bring my lips to the cup. “Don’t mind him. Beneath that tough exterior is a heart of gold.” Her comments make me wonder if she’s trustworthy because I’m not sure there’s one bit of gold in that man’s heart. For now, I’ll keep my guard up.

“What does he need the blood for?” I ask, finally giving in to the cup resting patiently on my lips by taking a few very small sips to ensure it really is apple juice.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she says, patting my leg while rising from her place on the coffee table. “Try to stay still but keep drinking. If you need more, I’ll be right over there.” She points toward a counter where a microscope sits.

Once she has her back to me, I scoot up on the couch and take a big swallow, watching her out of the corner of my eye. The cool liquid feels and tastes good going down, and after a few minutes I don’t feel as weak, though I am still exhausted. The sweetness of the fruit sugar lingers on my tongue, and I close my eyes, relishing in how good it is. It’s been months since I’ve had something so sweet to drink.

As our time here closed in on six months of isolation, the soldiers had shown up in gas masks and protective gear. Taking control of the food and supplies, they’d rationed most everything based on their own calculations and schedules. Water was freely available, as was an overstock of peanuts and cookies normally served on planes, but any other drinks and foods were only accessible during meals.

I swallow down the rest of the juice, knowing I’ll not be asking for more, not from her or either of the two soldiers from earlier. And although it has helped some, I’m still feeling weak, so I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Shrill screams of a woman startle me awake and I shoot straight up off the couch, disoriented and weak. When my vision clears, and I see the source of those screams being carried through the very room where I’ve been asleep, I lift a hand to my mouth. She kicks and screams as Travis struggles to keep a hold on her as he heads toward a door in the back.

The woman who’d given me juice earlier stands calmly as they approach her, she’s not fazed in the least at what is taking place right before her very eyes. It’s as though she’s seen this happen more than once. Maybe she has. Maybe this happens when someone goes crazy from the isolation we’ve been subjected to for so long.

Seeing her hysteria reminds me of some of my own thoughts when being here becomes too much. Those thoughts where taking my own life sounded better than what I’m living now. Elijah had always been my rock, the one who’d talk me off of the ledge. She must have no one. And although I can’t remember everything Elijah had said to ease my mind, I feel I need to say something. I step forward. “Where are you taking her?” No answer.