Buddy, please, it hurts too much please stop please …
Her own voice, fourteen years old. Hurting. Terrified.
Buddy, please stop I’m bleeding I can’t—
Callie threw Sidney off of her. The sound was coming from the speakers.
Shut the fuck up Callie I said hold the fuck still.
Buddy’s voice was everywhere, booming from the speakers, echoing around the sterile, white room. Callie grabbed the remote off the coffee table. She frantically pressed the buttons, trying to stop the sound.
Fucking bitch I told you to stop struggling or I’ll—
Silence.
Callie did not want to turn around, but she did.
She did not want to look at the television, but she did.
The stained shag carpet. Streetlight lasering around the puckered edges of the orange and brown drapes. The tan club chairs with sweat-stained backs and cigarette-burned arms. The orange couch with its two depressing indentations at opposite ends.
The sound was muted, but she heard Buddy’s voice in her head—
Come on, baby. Let’s finish on the couch.
What was happening on the television did not mirror the memories inside of her head. The video twisted them around, turned them into something sleazy and brutal.
Buddy was silently grinding into her fourteen-year-old body, his massive weight pressing so hard that the frame of the couch flexed in the middle. Callie watched her younger self struggle for freedom, scratching out, trying to fight him off. He grabbed both of her hands in one meaty paw. With his other hand, he ripped the belt out of the loops in his pants. Callie was horrified to watch him bind her wrists with the belt, flip her over, and start raping her from behind.
“No …” she breathed, because that was not how it had happened. Not once she got used to it. Not once she learned how to finish him with her mouth.
Sidney asked, “Do you still like it rough?”
Callie heard a clatter of sound. She had dropped the remote. It lay on the floor in pieces. Slowly, she turned. All of the beauty had drained out of Sidney’s face. She looked as hard and merciless as Andrew.
Callie’s voice shook when she asked, “Where is the tape?”
“Tapes,” Sidney said, her voice hard. “Plural. As in more than one.”
“How many?”
“Dozens.” Sidney put her fingers in her mouth, making a loud smacking noise as she sucked the taste of Callie off of them. “We can watch more if you want.”
Callie punched her in the face.
Sidney stumbled back, stunned by the impact. Blood poured from her broken nose. She blinked like a stupid punk bitch taking her first hit on the playground.
“Where are they?” Callie demanded, but she was already walking around the room, pressing her hand against the walls, trying to find another hidden cabinet. “Tell me where they are.”
Sidney collapsed onto the couch. Blood dripped onto the white leather, pooled onto the floor.
Callie kept touching the walls, leaving blood prints from her own wounded hands. A door finally clicked open. She saw a sink and toilet. She pushed another door. Heat poured off a rack of electronic equipment. Her finger traced down the components, but there was no VCR.
Sidney asked, “Did you really think it would be that easy?”
Callie looked at her. She was standing up, hands at her side while blood flowed down her face and neck. Her white shirt was turning crimson. She seemed to be recovered from the sudden punch to the face. Her tongue licked out, tasting the trickle of blood from her lip.
She warned Callie, “It won’t be so easy the next time.”
Callie wasn’t going to have a conversation with the bitch. This wasn’t the end of a Batman episode. She stalked into the kitchen. Without thinking, her hand found Linda’s kitchen knife.
She continued through the house, passing a powder room, then a home gym. No closets. No cabinets. No video tapes. Next room, Andrew’s office. The desk drawers were narrow, filled with pens and paper clips. The closet was stacked with paper and notecards and files. Callie used her arm like a shovel and swept everything onto the floor.
Sidney said, “You’re not going to find them.”
Callie pushed past her, stalking down another long hallway with more bondage photos. She could hear Sidney trailing behind her. Callie knocked the frames off the walls, sending them shattering to the floor. Sidney yelped as she stepped on broken glass. Callie kicked open doors. Guest room. Nothing. Another guest room. Nothing. Master bedroom.
Callie stopped in the open doorway.
Instead of white, everything was black. Walls, ceiling, carpet, silk sheets on the bed. She slapped the wall switch. Light flooded the room. She scuffed her boots across the carpet. She ripped open the bedside drawers. Handcuffs and dildos and butt plugs fell onto the dark floor. No video tapes. The television on the wall was almost as tall as Callie. She looked behind it, pulled at the wires. Nothing. She checked the walls for secret panels. Nothing. She found the walk-in closet. Black cabinets. Black drawers. Black as the rot inside this fucking house.