Prologue

 

 

There were sixty links in the chain. Kim had counted them several times, following them back until the last link was swallowed into the concrete floor. The other end of the chain was padlocked to a shackle around her ankle. Each link was an inch of freedom. She could reach the seatless toilet when she needed it, the bare mattress she slept on, and the slot in the wall where food appeared twice a day. A ten-foot circle was her world.

Overhead, a bare bulb burned constantly, and two video cameras watched her every move. She wasn't alone. Boredom and fear were constant companions.

She knew the isolation was meant to break her. As a reporter, she had heard enough of brainwashing techniques to know loneliness and uncertainty are potent weapons against the will. Knowing this did nothing to lessen its effect upon her.

There was a spigot in the corner, which she used for drinking, and washing. She bathed often, fearing that a lack of cleanliness was the first sign of surrender, and she was determined not to give in to despair.

The food was a monotonous gruel, which always left her hungry. It came on a tin plate without a spoon. The first day she only picked at it. The second day she ate it all. The third day she licked the plate, not caring if the cameras overhead saw her lapping like an animal.

At first she had calmed herself with thoughts of the story she would write after she escaped. "Domain, Coterie of Kink", the headline would read. Later she amended the headline to say "My Vacation in Hell".

It was impossible to know how long she had been there, but she estimated three days had passed when she heard footsteps in the hall. Cautiously, she approached the door to the limit of her chain and peeked through the tiny, barred window into the hall. Three men went by, striding purposefully, wearing the brown uniforms of guards. She heard a key rattling in a lock, and a female voice whimpering softly.

The men returned, leading a naked girl on a leash. Her hands were bound behind her and cinched up high between her shoulder blades with a strap connected to her collar. One man held the leash. A second held one of the girl's elbows and propelled her along. The third man walked behind with a leather strap. When the girl balked, he would strike her unprotected rear with the strap to urge her along. As they passed by, the girl turned her head and looked into Kim's cell, then the strap connected again, making the girl face front and step smart. The guards made crude jokes as they marched her down the hall. A door slammed.

The screaming went on for days.

From time to time there would be a pause in the screaming and Kim would hear other things, the creak and clank of some dreadful machinery, barked demands and whimpered capitulations, wet rhythmic sounds that went on and on. Then the screams would start again.

Kim heard it all. Putting her hands over her ears could not shut out the sound, so she gave up. She kept remembering the brief glance she had of the beautiful, tear streaked face and the horror in those eyes.

I won't be able to sleep, she thought, then chastised herself for her selfishness. A girl was being tortured in that room. She had no right to complain about noise. She did sleep, and woke to more screams when the food arrived.

She had never felt so alone, vulnerable, and naked.

There are many ways to be naked, she reflected bitterly. Being naked in the bath is a comfortable thing. Being naked with a lover is sensual. Being naked with a doctor is clinical. Now she was naked for a new reason. Clothing is an armor protecting us from the eyes and hands of others. A naked woman knew no privacy and kept no secrets. She had no shield against the whip. Kim shivered under the camera's unblinking gaze.

She heard steps again in the hallway, the men passed by and returned with another girl. This time Kim couldn't see her face. She was slung over a guard's shoulder like a grain sack. Her bound hands dangled over his legs. Her bound legs were wrapped inside his right arm. His left hand was busily burrowing into her loins.

Kim ate seven meals before the screaming stopped.

In the silence that followed, she heard footsteps. This time she knew that they were coming for her.

Chapter One

 

"I need to talk to someone."

Kim Victor looked up from her typewriter at the voice, irritated at the interruption. She could feel the delicate threads of her last, unwritten sentence separating.

It was one of the girls from the back of the newsroom. Kim wasn't sure what she did, obituaries or something. She was one of those invisible worker bees who speak to others only when their job requires it, go directly home at the end of the day, and make no lasting impression on those around them. Kim struggled to remember her name.

"I'm Charlene Weaver," the girl offered helpfully. "You don't know me; nobody does. I've never asked for help from anyone, but I need help now. I know you're very busy right now, but could you come to my place tonight to talk?" The speech sounded rehearsed.

Kim looked skyward, as though seeking help from heaven, then flashed her famous "just kidding" grin and asked, "Why me?"

"I know, it's not fair to ask." Charlene looked down and started to turn away.

"Wait a minute," Kim stopped her. This was a girl who expected rejection. She would have to be handled like an egg. "Where do you live?" she asked, wondering if it was concern or curiosity that prompted the question.

It was a small apartment, Spartan as a monk's cell. Charlene's personality had made no impact on the place. Kim sat in one of two living room chairs. Charlene knelt on a cushion at her feet, explaining cryptically that she was more comfortable that way. Kim had coffee. Charlene had none.

"I'm avoiding caffeine," she said.

Kim looked at the girl on the floor, discovering that she was pretty. Somehow she had managed to go unnoticed by all those predatory males down at the Herald, or maybe they had noticed and her shyness had turned them away. Office romance seldom went unobserved, but Kim had never heard Charlene's name mentioned by any of the office gossips.

She remembered how much of a stir her own break-up with Larry had caused. The stares of pity from her friends had been bad enough. The opportunists circling to offer her "comfort" had been worse.

Charlene stared at her own clasped hands as she spoke. Kim thought that she looked as though she were praying or confessing.

"I'm a very shy and submissive person in all ways. I don't have many friends, and none of them are close. My father died when I was a child. My mother died last year. I'm alone most of the time. I had a brief affair with a married man about a year ago. The details of the affair are not important, but the man I was going with introduced me to a friend, and the friend told me about a place called Domain."

"Domain?" Kim interrupted, her reporter's instincts aroused.

"It's a secret place, not a religious cult, but they're jealous of their rituals there. I met one of their representatives, and he explained to me what Domain was about. After a time I asked to join them. I was interviewed and tested. When they were satisfied with me, I was given a month to put my affairs in order before going with them. I suppose they also wanted to give me time to change my mind."

She shuddered slightly and muttered to herself.

"Excuse me?" Kim prompted. She was intrigued and longed to be able to take notes.

"I was going to be a Class A."

"I don't understand."

Charlene shook her head. "I've told you too much already. Believe me, some things are better left secret. I know your reputation as a reporter. You won't let go until you have the truth. That's why your column is the first thing people read when they pick up the paper."

"The second," Kim amended, "they read the comics first."

Charlene smiled, then sobered again. "I only told you about Domain so that you would understand my problem. I promised myself to these people. They were going to come for me on Saturday. Now I want to break that promise."

"Why?"

Charlene put her hands to her mouth. It was the gesture of a child bursting to tell a happy secret. "I'm in love."

"Aha!" Kim laughed. "Is it anyone I know?"

"No," said Charlene quickly, "but you should. He's a very special man. He seemed like an old friend the first time that we met. I never felt wanted and needed before. I realize now that I was looking for this when I promised myself to Domain. I had to belong somewhere."

"Well, it doesn't sound as though you need help making up your mind," Kim laughed. "I don't see that you have any problem at all."

Charlene stared at the floor. "Only one, I feel it's my duty to let Domain know I've decided not to come. My fiancée wants me to leave with him for Brazil on Thursday. I've no way to contact Domain. They are so careful with their privacy they wouldn't even give me a phone number to call. Someone will be here to pick me up on Saturday, and I've no way of telling them not to come. I can't just leave a note on the door. I'm afraid they may believe that I've betrayed them somehow."

Kim said, "So the only way to handle it is for me to be here on Saturday morning to make apologies and explanations for you."

Charlene nodded unhappily, "It's too much to ask."

Of course, Kim didn't think it was.