He pulled the drawing she’d done for him forward again, running a finger over the rabbit, stroking it much the way he’d stroked her. He’d planned it. What he’d say, what he’d leave; and she’d understood. She’d risen to the occasion, just as he’d hoped she would. He was still riding the high, and now that the small amount of liquor he’d consumed was taking effect, he couldn’t help closing his eyes as he replayed the scene in his mind. What had she felt the moment she realized what he’d left for her? Hope? Excitement? Fear? Yes, certainly all those.
Her heart had certainly been beating triple time as she’d surreptitiously slipped the small piece of the graphite from its broken casing. She’d hid her fear behind her hatred. Please don’t notice, she must have prayed. The piece of graphite had to have been small, but if whoever cleaned up the room reconstructed the pencil, they’d surely notice a small piece was missing.
But they hadn’t. She’d have lost something if they did. Something vital. Something that would negate that vow to leave whole. The contestants had rules, too, though they didn’t know what they were. He opened his eyes. And there she was, looking completely intact. He watched her for a moment, recalling how angry she’d been when he’d elicited that moan of pleasure. He understood. He’d been angry once too.
He took in a deep breath. He needed to think. What to send? It might be their last chance before the rules of the game changed. The longer the contestants held out, the longer the devils had to use them and the more money could be made. But eventually, that wouldn’t be enough for them. He sensed their restlessness.
He smiled as the possibility of something specific to send the boy came to him. If he understood how to use it . . . what perfect poetry. Beautiful.
Violent. But beautiful.
The door to the room Noelle was in slid open, and the boy was shoved back through it and returned to his cage, the metal door slamming shut.
“Hey, limp dick,” Noelle yelled at the man in the red shoes. The man hesitated, turning, and the Collector leaned closer to the screen as he watched this interesting turn of events. “Why’d you get this job? Do you know what your position is called? Lackey. Because you obviously lack balls. You must lack money, too, or you’d have one of us up there, wouldn’t you, lacking balls?”
The Collector let out a soft chuckle. Smart. Very smart. Make the man angry. Prod him into doing something unwise, and take advantage of it. But how? What do you have up your sleeve, little rabbit? What had she and the boy discussed that he had missed, either because he hadn’t been watching or because he didn’t know the songs they sang well enough to discern their secret language?
The man with the red shoes walked to her cage, then stood in front of it, and Noelle stared defiantly up at him. “Hi, limp dick,” Noelle said, and the Collector saw by the set of his chin, even in profile, that Noelle had already infuriated him. The task was made much easier now that she and the boy had stuck to their guns in regard to sacrificing the other. The man with the red shoes had bid on the position because he expected to carve two people up. He’d expected to use those electric tools sitting on the counter, and yet there the devices sat, nary a drop of blood or tissue on their sharp, shiny blades. How disappointed he must be that his job had come down to merely escorting the captives to and from their cages for others to enjoy. For others to abuse and draw blood from. And Noelle was picking that wound. The Collector made a tsking sound, but he didn’t take his eyes from the screen. He was riveted. “What are you, the local eunuch?” she asked.
The Collector chuckled again as the eunuch removed the Taser from his jacket pocket. Noelle’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the bars to the cage, not cowering, not moving back an inch. “I’m surprised you can even shoot that straight,” she said. “Are you sure you can? Maybe hitting Evan was a one-off, eunuch.”
She wanted him to tase her. Why? What was she hoping to achieve? It only took her spitting at him and calling him a eunuch again for him to take the bait. He shot the barb, and Noelle dodged, going in the other direction. The man let out an enraged grunt and shot the barb again, and Noelle went down, the side of her face slamming against the bars and then the floor. “Eunuch,” she slurred, even as her muscles twitched, her body rigid with what must be indescribable pain. And yet . . . she seemed to be trying so hard to keep her head lifted . . . focused on the man’s chest.
The man with the red shoes punched in the code to her cage and opened the door, grabbing a still-immobile Noelle by the hair and punching her square in the face. The boy yelled and rattled the bars in his cage, looking like a wild animal. A nice show. The players must be enjoying it. He knew he was. The eunuch tossed Noelle back inside as though she were a rag doll and slammed the door. “A new phase starts in the morning,” he growled. “The choices get bloodier.” The Collector could have turned on the camera behind Noelle’s cage so as to see the man’s face, but there was no need. Even from behind, he could tell the eunuch was sneering, eyes shining with malice. Ah, yes, the stakes would rise in the morning. He supposed the man wasn’t supposed to let the boy and the girl in on that little secret. But he was clearly too excited to stop himself. After all, finally, they’d be given a choice that would lead to him slicing off a piece of them either way.