Free Coffee by gren blackall Page A

for a few seconds for her face to turn
bright red, then let go with a shove and stormed out. Etty choked
for breath, holding her neck.

    

    A
paralyzing stillness overcame her. She stayed flat on her back,
eyes open but unseeing. Buzzing in her ears shrilled, blocking all
sounds but her own short breaths. Incoherent thoughts whipped past,
a spiraling confusion of horrible images.
    Thirst
finally pulled her back. She jumped down and buried her head in the
sink to drink from the faucet. Cool wetness rolling down her
parched throat sent a wave of revival.
    She
walked to the toilet and inspected the seat for scum, but found it
clean and white. She turned her back to it, and stood for some time
deciding whether to use it. It occurred to her there may be video
cameras. Were there other rooms filled with Bart and his friends
laughing and watching her every move? The thought disgusted her.
She squinted and slowly turned her head, inspecting each corner,
every light, every switch, anything that might be a device. She
even checked inside the bowl. Unsure, she unbuttoned and removed
her outer shirt, still leaving on an undershirt and a turtleneck,
and draped it over her lap as she sat. She wiggled down her jeans,
never leaving any skin exposed to the room. “You’ve had
your last show!” she said to the walls. She cupped her head
in her hands, elbows on her knees while relieving herself.
    Once
the modesty ritual was reversed, she walked to her bag and pulled
out her hairbrush. She changed her mind about leaving her hair
mussed, and began brushing in slow strokes down one side. They had
no mirror, but she liked the feeling of the brush tugging at her
hair. It allowed her a little escape, a tiny window into her former
self. She thought of the dirty round mirror in the bathroom at her
apartment. She thought of her mother combing her hair when she was
young, stroking while speaking softly. She wondered what Knut and
Warren were thinking - had they realized yet? What day was it? The
breakfast food implied morning, but how many days had she been
unconscious? How long was she laid out like a sex toy, unable to
defend herself from their prodding fingers and freely wandering
eyes? Nausea swirled in her chest.
    Sounds
of people tinkering with the combination lock aroused her. She sat
up, bracing herself for another encounter. Bart entered first, this
time followed by a tall 50ish man dressed in a quality business
suit. As soon as the man spoke, Etty knew he was the one who had
called her, the man behind the whole kidnapping ruse.
    “Good
morning, Miss Bishop,” he boomed with his heavy Texan accent.
“Glad to see you are up and about.” He extended his
hand, but retracted it almost immediately, seeing Etty’s sour
expression.
    Etty
had nothing but evil thoughts - jumping on his face and gouging his
eyes out with her fingernails, kicking him in the groin until he
coughed blood. She was afraid to speak, fearing she would break
down, scream, cry, and lose control. Knowing this would accomplish
nothing, her only option was to remain still.
    “Our
first order of business is to get you out of this cell like room and
into something a whole lot more comfortable.” Etty breathed
through clenched teeth, watching with half opened eyes. “Now,
I’m well aware that things up to now have been discomforting
for you. You’re in a strange place, with strange people, and
I imagine you’re still sporting one whopper of a headache.”
He looked into her eyes, wondering if she was even registering.
“Miss Bishop, this may seem hard for you to believe at this
moment, but I honestly think you are going to enjoy this place.
Bart here will collect your things, and show you to one of our best
condos in the West Wing. You can shower, take a nap, stretch out
for a bit. Bart can also show you to our Rotunda Mall, where you
have an open account, on us, to buy new clothes, eat some food, even
get some things for your condo to make you feel at