Monica could hear the grunts as they moved the boxes onto… what? She heard squeaking and immediately recognized the sound. It was the gurney with the rusty wheels. It was where the doctor “fixed them up,” got them ready to go “back in the game” after a “client” had beaten the ever-living shit out of them. Of course sometimes the doctor did the beating, then all he had to do was lift them from the floor to the gurney, making his job that much easier. She hated him. But she feared him more.

“Take the girls in ten, nine, six, five, four and… one,” the woman said.

Monica’s eyes flew open. She was in cell number one. She squinted, willing her eyes to get used to the darkness. Something’s wrong. Her heart started to beat faster. Someone was coming to help them. Hurry. Please hurry.

“Cuff their hands behind them and take them out one at a time,” the woman snapped. “Keep your gun on them at all times and do not let them get away.”

“What do we do with the others?” It was a deep voice. The doctor’s guard.

“Kill them,” the woman said flatly, without hesitation.

I’m in cell one. She’s going to put me on a boat and take me away. Away from the help that was coming. I’ll fight. By God, I’ll get away or die trying.

“I’ll take care of them.” It was the doctor, whose eyes were so eager. So cruel.

“Fine,” the woman said. “Just don’t leave their bodies here. Dump them in the river. Use the sandbags behind the generator. Mansfield, don’t just stand there. Get those boxes and girls on the damn boat before we have cops crawling up our asses. Then bring the gurney back for the good doctor. He’ll need it to get the bodies to the river.”

“Yes, sir,” Deputy Mansfield sneered.

“Don’t get smart,” the woman said, her voice fading as she moved away. “Move.”

Silence hung in the air, then the doctor said quietly, “Take care of the other two.”

“You mean Bailey and the reverend?” the guard asked in a normal voice.

“Sshh,” the doctor hissed. “Yes. Do it quietly. She doesn’t know they’re here.”

The other two. Monica had heard them, through the wall. The doctor’s office was next to her cell, so she heard a lot. The doctor had beaten the woman he’d called Bailey for days, demanding a key. A key to what? He’d beaten the man, too, demanding a confession. What did he want the reverend to confess?

In a few seconds Monica forgot about Bailey and the reverend. Shrieks and sobs filled the air, louder even than the blood pounding in her ears. The screams scraped at the inside of her mind as one girl was dragged away, then another, then another. Stay calm. She had to stay focused. They’re coming for me.

Yes, but they have to unlock the chain before they cuff you. For a few seconds, your hands will be free. You’ll run, scratch, claw their goddamn eyes out if you have to.

But even as she tried to bolster her courage, she knew it was useless. Before the last beating she might have had a chance. And once she got out, then what? They were miles from anywhere. She’d be dead before she got to the hallway.

A sob rose in her throat. I’m sixteen and I’m going to die. I’m sorry, Mom. I should have listened to you.

Crack. She flinched at the gunshot. More screams, terrified, hysterical screams. But Monica was too tired to scream. She was almost too tired to be afraid. Almost.

Another shot. And another. And another. Four shots so far. She could hear his voice, the doctor. He was taunting the girl in the next cell.

“Say your prayers, Angel,” he said, laughter in his voice. Monica hated him. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to see him suffer and bleed and die.

Crack. Angel was dead. And four others.

The door flew open and Deputy Mansfield stood in the opening, his face hard and hateful. He was on her in two strides, unlocking the chain that held her to the wall, none too gently. Monica squinted at the light as Mansfield yanked the shackle from her wrist.

She was free. So fucking what? She was trapped, just the same.

“Come on,” Mansfield grunted, dragging her to her feet.

“I can’t,” she whispered, her knees giving out.

“Shut up.” Mansfield jerked her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a doll. At this point, that wasn’t too far from the truth.

“Wait.” The woman was in the hallway, right outside Monica’s door. She stood in the shadow, as she always did. Monica had never seen her face, but still she dreamed of the day she could claw the woman’s eyes out.

“The boat’s full,” the woman said.

“How can it be?” the doctor asked, from out in the hall. “It holds six. You took five.”

“The boxes took up a lot of the space,” the woman answered, her tone short. “Vartanian will be here any minute with the state cops. We need to be downstream before he gets here. Kill her and get the bodies out of here.”

So it’ll be now. No need to run or fight. Monica wondered if she’d hear the gun fire or if she’d be dead instantly. I won’t beg. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“This one’s not that bad off,” the doctor said. “She can still work for months, maybe a year. Toss some of the boxes overboard or burn them. But make room for her. Once I break her, she’ll make the best asset we’ve ever had. Come on, Rocky.”

Rocky. The woman’s name was Rocky. Monica committed it to memory. Rocky moved closer to the doctor, so that she emerged from the shadows and Monica had her first look at the woman’s face. Monica squinted, trying to block out the spinning room as she memorized every feature. If there was a life after death, Monica would come back and haunt her until the woman was a drooling lump of insanity.

“The boxes stay on the boat,” Rocky said impatiently.

The doctor’s mouth twisted in contempt. “Says you?”

“Says Bobby. So unless you want to tell Bobby why you left incriminating records behind that would ruin us all, you’ll shut your mouth and kill this bitch so we can get out of here. Mansfield, come with me. Granville, just do it and hurry. And for God’s sake, make sure they’re all dead. I don’t want them screaming as we chuck them in the river. If any cops are close, they’ll come running.”

Mansfield released Monica and her leg buckled. She dropped to her knees holding on to the dirty cot for support as Mansfield and Rocky left the room, leaving her staring at the end of the doctor’s gun.

“Just do it,” Monica hissed. “You heard the lady. Hurry up and do it.”

The doctor’s mouth turned up in that cobra smile that turned her gut to water. “You think it’s going to be fast. You think it’s going to be painless.”

Crack. Monica screamed as the pain in her head was drowned out by the burning in her side. He’d shot her, but she wasn’t dead. Why am I not dead?

He smiled at her as she twisted, trying to make the pain stop. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since the day you got here. If I had time, I’d slice you to ribbons. But I don’t. So say good-bye, Monica.” He lifted the gun, then jerked his head to one side, his face darkening in rage at the same moment another shot rang in her ears. Monica screamed again as fire burned across the side of her head. Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited for the next shot. But it never came. Blinking back tears, she opened her eyes.

He was gone and she was alone. And not dead.

He missed. Goddamn him to hell, he missed. He was gone. He’ll be back.

But she saw no one. Vartanian will be here any minute with the state cops. The woman had said this. Monica didn’t know anybody named Vartanian, but whoever he was, he was her only chance at survival. Get to the door. Monica pushed to her knees and crawled. A foot. Another foot. Get to the hall and you can get away.