The Woman They Kept Read online

  “What would you like it to be?” She tried to slide down onto his lap again and he smiled at her before placing her back on the armrest. She pouted and pulled one of his hands to the inside of her thighs. Gideon pulled his hand away and took out a photograph.

  “Have you seen this woman?” he asked. The photograph was worn at the edges and folded in half, showing a blonde haired girl laughing with her arms around someone that was out of the picture. Her face was full, her cheekbones high, her smile large and her teeth slightly crooked but white.

  The girl on the armrest studied the photograph with one hand while trying to rub her other against the fork in Gideon's pants. “She looks too expensive to work here. Try the Bloom house, he caters to a more expensive clientele. There's a problem with the expensive ones, though,” she said.

  “What's that?”

  She turned her head downwards and stared at him with big, watery eyes, pushing her breasts together with her forearms and leaning close to him. “They won't let you do the things to them that I would. Would you like to come inside me? It'd only be twenty more, you wouldn't even have to wear a rubber.”

  Gideon pushed her away and stood, eager to be away from the small but persistent woman. He began to walk toward the stairway when something grabbed him, he looked back and the woman was holding his hand. “Please,” she said, her eyes quivering with what might have been fear. “I can't get a drink and not bring anything back to the house. They'll make it bad for me. Let me do something for you, anything.”

  From the cage Gideon saw the final seconds of the fight as the man swung a hard right into the wolf's jaw with one hand and following with a karate chop to the throat. A high pup-like whelp went out from the wolf and it collapsed to the ground. The fighter raised a foot high to finish it off and Gideon turned back to the girl. She looked young, and frightened, a shiver running down her arms. He pulled out another few notes and gave them to her.

  ...

  It was still early enough in the night to get out to the Bloom house, so Gideon took the rail again. As he watched the city once again pass under him he wondered how many places in Kitswitch were involved in this. Hopefully not more than two.

  The houses grew larger as he neared his destination. By the time the rail stopped he was in a section of the city where every house had a wrought iron fence around it, sometimes taking up the entire city block. He walked until he got to the Bloom house, daunted by the impressive amount of security cameras mounted around the place. There was one right on the front gate with a button under it that said, 'Push to talk.' Gideon pressed it.

  “I've been directed here for a bit of business,” he said into the box near the button. There was no reply, but there was a buzz and a snap of the gate opening. He entered the complex and the gate shut behind him, a sudden hum coming from it that dimmed the lights from the path.

  He walked the stone path that cut through the grass. The house was Gothic, the roof peaking sharply into the air and peppered with stone gargoyles glaring down, the windows arching high, giving the place a very foreboding feeling. If Gideon were a child he would think that the house was haunted.

  A short man met him on the steps of the house, he wore a set of gold spectacles that he pulled off and polished as Gideon approached. His hair was combed back in a pronounced widows peak almost as sharp as the spires coming out of the roof. He did not smile as Gideon approached.

  “Hello, my name is Bertrand. You have come to see our wares?” he asked cordially, bowing slightly as he spoke.

  Gideon nodded and Bertrand opened the door for him. The doorway opened up to a cavernous hall, their footsteps echoed loudly as they walked. There were couches around for sitting and the corners of the room all had statues of various Abrahamic figures, cherubs and demons, carved in great detail. There was a second floor that twin staircases ascended to, but Bertrand took Gideon to a side door instead, holding it open for Gideon. It led to a small room with a pair of golden doors on one wall. Bertrand pulled out a key from his pocket and fit it into a keyhole next to the doors and the sound of an elevator approached. When it opened Gideon hesitated for a moment.

  "You guys are pretty lax on security here, aren't you?" Gideon said before stepping into the elevator.

  "Are we?" Bertrand said with a smile as he joined him. On the inside of the elevator there were no buttons, just a pad that Bertrand placed his thumb against. "I think you'll find that we are more than well equipped for our purposes."

  Gideon had no clue as to how far underground they were going, though they seemed to be traveling quickly. “Are you Bloom?” Gideon asked as the elevator descended.

  “No sir. There is no Bloom. I am simply a middle man for someone who would rather not put his face forward. It is safer this way.”

  “For him anyway,” Gideon said. Bertrand simply smiled at him.

  The elevator doors opened to a room equally as cavernous as the great hall, but instead of the floor the majority of the ground had been gutted out and filled with water, creating a pool that looked like an underground lake. There was a walkway all around the outside and the water looked clean and cool. Bertrand pressed a few buttons at the control panel.

  “It should just be one moment, sir.”

  All around the wall panels illuminated with the sudden glow of red neon, each seeming to have its own light source.

  “Feel free to inspect the wares, sir,” Bertrand said and he stood with his hands folded at his waist.

  Gideon took a slow walk around the perimeter. Each glass panel was actually a window to a small room with a bed in the back, and standing right in front of each window was a girl, the youngest he saw he guessed was around eighteen, the oldest maybe twenty-five. They were dressed minimally, there were all colors of skin and hair beckoning to him as he walked past the windows. “Where do they come from?” he asked.

  “Beg pardon, sir, but it is considered impolite to ask. Suffice it to say that they did not come from Kitswitch. They are well fed and cared for here, and each is well trained. All have been checked medically. If you like, the woman there has never been used, she is our prized asset. A virgin, sir,” Bertrand said, pointing to the youngest girl Gideon passed. Her face was round with baby fat and her hips were only starting to curve.

  “How much do you charge for a night?”

  Bertrand made a small tisking sound. “The man I represent is not a pimp, he does not whore women out. He sells them, we do not take them back when you are done. What you do with them is your own business.”

  Gideon suppressed a lump that was forming in his throat. The girl, the virgin whose window Gideon was standing in front of, tried to dance for him, awkwardly shaking her hips from side to side in a crude imitation of the other women. She licked at her lips and Gideon turned away and pulled out a photograph. “I am looking for a particular woman, it doesn't look like you have her here. Do you recognize her?”

  Bertrand took the photograph and studied it for a long time, his face scrunched in concentration. “I cannot help you, the woman has never been in our employ.”

  Gideon's face fell. He thought he would be used to hearing that by now, but each time weighed on him. How long would he be doing this?

  “My only advice would be to follow the track, though,” Bertrand leaned in close and whispered, “I would be very careful about how you ask these things. Others in our line of work may not be as polite as I am.” He smiled then, and it was not the smile of a man showing wares. There was something vaguely paternal about that smile.

  Bertrand guided him back to the elevator, and as he was leaving the young girl dropped the act of seduction and simply waved to him. Gideon had to look away.

  ...

  He was on the road to Elsinore before he allowed himself to process anything, weav
ing over the shifting earth and between abandoned transports. There were no storms, no acid rain nor gusts of wind to blow him off the road, all he had to worry about was the trash that blew by like tumbleweeds and the skeletons of buildings from long ago. The trash was terrible, with mounds of it built up between bubbles. Most places simply pushed all their garbage far enough away for them not to be a problem. In a way, he was thankful for that. The trash did not allow him to concentrate on any one thing for too long.

  Bertrand had not been the first person to allude to the track. It was always the same advice, follow the track, follow the track. In everyday terms the track was simply the path that led from bubble to bubble used by large transport vessels or, more rarely, by little motorcycles like Gideon's. There was more than just food on some transport vehicles, though, and that was what the track really meant.

  Gideon accelerated around a corner and allowed all those thoughts to fall behind him. This was the most relaxed he felt these days, he reached a curious state of nirvana when he was gunning along the dirt trails and dodging piles of trash. He couldn't let his mind think about any one thing for more than a few seconds or he would make a wrong mistake and be left for dead out here between bubbles. The time between cities was his vacation, dodging puddles of acid or oil and rusted hunks of metal.

  After a day of riding his back was sore and his forearm was cramping. He knew he would never get to Elsinore in one day. He parked at the top of a hill and set up his grey tent against an outcropping of rocks, making it appear as though his tent were just another misshapen rock amongst the landscape. A tin from his bag provided the meal for him that night, a little bunson burner heated the brown slush up and made it slightly more appetizing. From the outcropping he could see the road stretching out jaggedly below him on the horizon, a thin brown line against a sea of grey and black.

  The stars came out overhead, shining brilliantly. A breeze blew along his neck, sending a chill down his spine. He rubbed at his arms and pulled his biometric suit close. Though he knew it was stupid, he packed the used tin back into his bag. With piles of trash all around him, no one would ever notice him adding to it, but he found he just couldn't.

  The thoughts came to him then, strongly. All the things he had been able to let slide right over him while he was navigating through the hills and valleys away from Kitswitch. His breath caught in his chest as he thought of the girl waving to him, the woman who he had paid, the old man with his wedding ring. He thought that he was desensitized to this by now, but he wasn't. Every night he tried to get as close as he could to exhaustion, it made it easier, but some nights he had more energy than he liked. A solution lay hidden in the bottom of a compartment mounted to the side of his motorcycle. He tried to save it for nights like these. He fished out a small flask and took a tentative sip.

  This was no regular drink. It was alcohol mixed with powerful sedatives. A single drink from the flask was usually more than enough to quiet things down enough to fall asleep. He closed the flask back up as the liquid burned his throat. After a while his vision softened around the edges, his thoughts quieted, and he was able to crawl into the tent and fall asleep.

  ...

  The low rumble of an engine startled him awake. It was still dark and a chill was in the air as he stuck his head out. Below him on the road a set of headlights plodded along while the whine of several small motorcycles accompanied it, swarming around a large transport caravan like flies buzzing a pack animal. Riders.

  Gideon had heard rumors that transport caravans were starting to hire riders for protection along the roads, but it was possible that whatever clan of riders this was simply owned the bigger vehicle as well. He kept low and pulled his revolver from his pack and checked to make sure that it was loaded.

  As the caravan edged closer and closer to the outcropping where Gideon hid he held his breath, knowing it was ridiculous but not being able to help himself. The fear he felt was very primal, sitting low and heavy in his gut, making his legs tremble and sweat break out in beads on his forehead. If they continued on the road they would pass under Gideon in a few moments and then he would be safe. They were close enough that if they were to look up at the outcropping above them they would see him.

  The low rumble of the caravan was cut and Gideon's heart fell. They were camping down below him. The motorcycles all lined up to one side of the caravan and people filed out.

  Floodlights were set up around the perimeter of the encampment, giving Gideon a little more shadow to hide in and allowing him to see their group better. There were seven riders who had lined up their motorcycles around the edge of the caravan and one great fat driver who stepped out from the transport wheezing and lumbering his way along. The riders were dressed in leather armor and wore helmets with gas masks attached to the front. There were no markings that Gideon could see that indicated which clan of riders they were from.

  The driver opened the back of the caravan and led several huddled figures out to sit by a fire one of the riders was making. The figures were all chained together, clinking as they moved.

  When the fire began to hiss and pop their faces came into view. They were young women, somewhere between eighteen and twenty, and though they were covered in dirt and filth, some even having straw clinging to their hair, they were all very beautiful. Gideon's heart raced as he tried to get a good look at each of their faces. He frowned. Rolanda was not among them.

  The fat man slopped some sort of paste into bowls and passed them out to the women. They grimaced but wolfed it down eagerly, shoveling it with their fingers up to their mouths and finishing it quickly. Even from the height he was at Gideon could see how skinny the girls were.

  “Pandam, I know we already got dinner,” one of the older girls said, she had a fiery mane of red hair that stuck out in kinks. “But is there enough for us to just have a little bit more?” She looked up at him with large, pouting eyes.

  Gideon watched in fascination as the fat man, Pandam she had called him, smiled sweetly down at her and stroked her cheek. The smile never faltered as he raised his thick hand and brought it down swiftly with a sickening sound across her face. “Krissen, dear. You know enough that there's a better way to ask.”

  Krissen's face fell and she hesitated a moment before nodding. Pandam disconnected her from the chain and led her to the back of the caravan. The other riders smirked and leered at the remaining women as the caravan began to rock back and forth with a low moaning emanating from it. The youngest looking of the women, a dark haired girl dressed in rags, began to cry quietly.

  After a few minutes Pandam exited out the back of the caravan, struggling to buckle the top of his pants over his bulge and a red flush on his face. Krissen limped out after him, keeping her head low. Even in the meager light of the fire Gideon could see red hand prints around her neck. She sat back down with the others and was re-chained. The other girls didn't look at her.

  “Well, since Krissen has learned how to properly ask for treats, all of you shall get a second helping.” He smiled largely as they passed their bowls back to him and he placed a spoonful more into each of them. “Listen well, ladies. If you want to make your life easier, learn to use your assets, it's the only thing you have in life to make things better for yourself.”

  After a while the encampment settled down and the riders took turns watching the girls while the others slept. Gideon kept his revolver close to him the whole night and woke at every little sound. His drink had long since worn off.

  ...

  The road was slow going from there. Gideon was forced to stop every time he heard the low rumble of the caravan. He couldn't take the chance to pass them, the riders were well armed and there was no alternate routes he could take. It was either go slow or don't go at all.

  His motorcycle putted along at a few m
iles per hour. Luckily the weather held, large caravans might not have to worry about the rain or the dust storms, but he sure did.

  A little after noon he stopped and camped between two large slabs of rock that jutted upward together against each other like two hands joined in prayer. Gideon wasn't a religious man, but he figured it couldn't hurt to have a little help now and again. After he turned off his engine and set up his tent he built a fire. He wasn't cold and he didn't need to heat his food, but it was something to do. A bare tree had fallen just outside the rocks, Gideon broke one end of it up for his kindling.

  It was worthless, just sitting there, but what else could he do? He eyed the compartment mounted on his bike before averting his gaze. It wouldn't do to get stoned midway through the afternoon. There was the possibility that someone would come along, and there wasn't anyone he wanted to meet out here, but that wasn't the only danger. He had heard rumors along his travels about the animals between bubbles, he had heard that some animals adapted to this toxic environment, thrived even. Gideon wasn't blessed with the best imagination in the world, but even he could see how a five foot long cockroach would be terrifying. Still, what were the chances that anyone or anything would come across him?

  He took out the flask and uncapped it. The sun was glaring green through the gas clouds overhead. It couldn't hurt to just sleep the rest of the day, could it? It's not like he would be able to travel any faster to Elsinore. He took a drink, and then another, deeper one. Soon he was snoring lightly on the tree trunk, oblivious to everything around him.

  He woke to his windpipe being crushed and a man kneeling on his chest.

  Chapter Two