Читать книгу Aftermath - Lynda J. King - Страница 2

Kate Taylor lay on the pallet in her dark cell and stared upward, where she knew the ceiling was, struggling with the searing pain in her abdomen. During the last three sessions, the men had upped the abuse, increasing the pain until it consumed nearly her every moment. Each she had wondered if their plan was to kill the baby.

Red, rrrrreeeeeddddd; breathe the red in. Rrrrreeeeeddddd; breathe the red out. Pain transformed into energy that flowed into her belly and dispersed throughout her body. Holder had taught her this technique. Sometimes it helped.

She thought she was bleeding, but she didn’t know for sure. It wouldn’t matter, because she had no way to stop it. If they wanted to stop it, they would. If they didn’t, they’d let it happen. They were in control of her body, like they were in control of almost every other part of her life.

So far, they hadn’t reached her soul, but she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. Before she’d been brought to this place, she hadn’t thought much about her soul. Now she was certain it was the final battleground in the war with these men, and since she’d found out about the baby, she feared she was losing.

Another spasm rippled through her body, and she stifled a sob. She didn’t want them to hear. Rrrrreeeeeedddddd in; rrrreeeeddddd out. The welts on her back stung as she drew a breath. She shifted position, rolling onto her side.

The pain receded slightly, but the void was filled immediately with the questions. She often wondered what was worse, the pain or the questions? How could she POSSIBLY be pregnant? Women like her did not have babies, especially not their first baby at forty-two freaking years old.

Then there was the horrifying question of the father. She had been raped by so many men that she had no idea who the father might be. Some of them had been as brutal as possible, while others had gone a little easier. Maybe those men possessed a touch of humanity? Whose genes did this baby—her baby—have?

If they weren’t going to kill the baby by abusing her, what else did they have in mind? The Watcher—that’s how she thought of the commander because he only watched and gave orders, never participated—had said they’d decided what to do with the baby, but he hadn’t told her what. Were they going to force her to abort it? Force her to bear it in this hell hole? Force her to bear it, and then take it? The fact that she had absolutely no control of the baby or her body was eating away at her soul, and the Watcher knew it. They were winning.

As she had so many times before, she wanted to scream out: Where is the fucking Agency? Why has Holder left me in this place? I don’t deserve it, damn it. I’ve always been a good soldier. I’ve always done what he asked of me. Is he leaving me here for some reason? The son of a bitch has done it to others. But to me? I’m not like the others. How could he do it to ME?? Oh, my God, am I ever going to get out? I CAN’T take this much longer. Please, Holder, please get me OUT!

Her heart raced as she lost control of her breathing.

Kate! Stop, STOP it, she ordered herself. You CAN take it. You have to take it!

Suddenly the screech of the rusty bolt exploded into Kate’s brain. Fear contracted her muscles, setting off another wave of agony. She drew up her legs, curling into a ball. From the doorway the guard commanded her to come with him, but she didn’t move. Maybe this was the day she would refuse to obey. Maybe this was the day she couldn’t obey.

Angered, the guard came into the cell and hauled her off the pallet. She caught herself just before she fell to the floor. The pain intensified, but she managed to stand upright.

She stumbled out the door, automatically turning toward the room where it had always taken place. But the guard had gone the other way, and he was impatiently waiting for her. They walked the corridor, she balancing herself with a hand against the wall. Never having been in this direction, she had no idea what was coming, and her stomach churned with dread.

The guard stopped in front of a door, opened it and propelled her through. It was not what she expected. A female guard held clothing, a towel, and a bar of soap. After she ordered Kate to take off her shift, the guard handed her the towel and soap. Once she was naked, the woman looked down at Kate’s legs. Kate followed her eyes downward, her heart jumping when she saw the blood. The two women raised their eyes, and their gaze met. Kate hoped the other woman would help, but she only pointed toward another door. Kate opened it. On the other side was a shower room.

Oh, my God, a shower, she rejoiced. They’re actually going to let me take a shower? Immediately she was suspicious. What kind of trap was this? Kate had never been allowed to shower. Occasionally they decided she was too dirty to touch and gave her a bucket of water and a piece of soap. But…. What the hell, she decided. The idea of being clean for the first time in months was so intoxicating that she gave up trying to understand. She didn’t care what it meant. She just wanted to be CLEAN.

In typical East German fashion, water was dripping from several pipes, and the stalls were not clean, but it didn’t matter to her now. Stepping under one shower head, she turned the hot water on full blast. The water didn’t get very hot, more like lukewarm. No wonder people in this country want out, Kate thought with a grimace; nothing works right. Still, it was clean water, and she stood under the shower head, letting it flow over her battered body and take her away for a few minutes. Too soon it was getting cold, and she had to hurry. She lathered the soap as much as she could and worked on her hair. When she had gotten here, her hair had been short; now it was chin length. She hadn’t seen herself in a mirror in a long time, and she had no idea how she looked, but at least her hair was clean, sort of.

Last she washed gingerly between her legs. She hadn’t touched herself for some time, fearing she could make the injuries worse. When she brought her hand away, the lather was mixed with blood; the sight made her stomach lurch. Washing away the soap, she turned off the water and dried most of her body, then used the towel to wipe away the blood.

Clutching the blood-marked towel in front of her, she walked into the other room and looked imploringly at the female guard, still hoping she might offer to help. The guard coldly returned her gaze, gave the clothes she had been holding to Kate, and left.

With a start Kate recognized that these were the clothes she’d had on when she’d been arrested by the Stasi, a lifetime ago. She stared from the clothes to the door and back, her eyes wide with astonishment. Could it be? No, don’t think that, she warned herself; what if it isn’t true? It could be a trick.

The door opened again, and the guard returned with something in her hand, which she held out to Kate. It was an old-fashioned menstrual pad, the kind Kate had used when she was a teenager. Although she didn’t have the belt it was supposed to attach to, Kate was so grateful she almost threw her arms around the woman until she saw the look of loathing in her eyes. Kate backed off, and the guard turned and left again.

Kate sorted out her clothes. She’d been wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a jacket, along with underwear when she’d been arrested. Before they’d taken them away and given her the shift she’d had on ever since, she’d worn these clothes for a week. The clothes had not been washed, and they didn’t smell very good. The underwear was downright filthy. But they were HER clothes.

When started to put on her underpants, she was stunned to see the blood that had reappeared on her legs. She wiped herself shakily with the towel. If this wasn’t a trick, she’d better get help right away, or…. Well, she didn’t know what would happen. She pulled on her underpants, fiddling to make the pad stay in place and hoping that it would help for a while at least. She didn’t put on the bra because it would irritate the cuts on her upper body and back. Pulling up the jeans, she was startled to realize that they would fall on the floor if she didn’t cinch the belt tightly. The shirt and jacket also hung loosely on her body. She knew she’d lost weight, but not THIS much. Was the baby getting enough to eat, she asked herself? Kate knew more about guns than babies, but even she was sure this was not good.

All the time she was dressing, waves of pain continued to course through her body, and she was forced to stop to control her breathing and heart rate. Please, please, let this not be a trick, she repeated over and over.

The door opened, and the male guard told her to come with him. She followed him down the dark corridor, not back toward her cell, but the other way. Hope grew in her, and adrenalin gave her extra strength. She needed it, because the guard kept moving, down some stairs and along yet another, much lighter corridor. Her legs started to wobble, and she thought she wouldn’t make it when finally he opened one more door.

She walked through, and just like that, she was outside. Her eyes were blinded by the misty north German sunshine, the first natural light Kate had seen since she’d arrived. As she blinked and looked around, she recognized the smell, too; the smell of East Germany, a combination of soft coal fumes, Trabi exhaust, and who knew what other carcinogens. When she’d lived in Leipzig that smell had always assaulted her senses, but now she rejoiced because of what it wasn’t: It wasn’t the smell of the prison; of mold and damp and urine and feces…but especially of fear and pain.

A big, black Soviet car was parked in front of her, and the guard gestured to her to get in.

Sitting in the back seat, Kate fought back tears, not only from exhaustion and pain, but also because she was starting to believe the end was near. Leaning her head against the seat and fighting to relax her tense muscles, she concentrated on breathing the red in and pushing it back out.

Without realizing it, she dozed and only awoke when the car stopped abruptly. Out the window she could see the check point. Oh, my God, she almost shouted! Is it true? Willing herself not to cry, she sat until the door opened, and she was ordered out. On that warm July day in East Berlin she stood gazing across to the west, only a few feet away.

Someone told her to walk, and she compelled herself to put one foot in front of the other, heading west. The barrier was raised, and when she walked under, she passed her counterpart going east; each ignored the other. In front of her she saw Holder next to his big, black Mercedes, waiting. Thank God, oh God. It’s over. She believed for the first time.

When she thought back on the experience later, she shook her head, amazed how wrong she was. Only act one was over. The rest of the drama was still to come.