Chapter 9: The Family Reunion
The days between Tuesday and Friday were a fugue state of dread. I went to work. I sat in meetings. I moved numbers around on spreadsheets. But my mind was stuck in that basement, tasting bile and betrayal.
Sarah was happier than I had ever seen her. She hummed around the house. She touched me constantly—a hand on my neck, a squeeze of my thigh—reminding me of her ownership.
Friday evening arrived like a funeral procession.
"Go get her," Sarah said, checking her lipstick in the hallway mirror. "And make sure she's wearing the red dress. Daddy insisted."
I walked up the stairs to my mother’s room. I knocked.
"Mom? It's time."
She opened the door. She was wearing the red dress. It was tight, low-cut, revealing the aging skin of her décolletage. She looked beautiful, but in the way a wax figure looks beautiful—lifeless and artificial.
"Do I look okay?" she asked, her voice hollow. She turned around so I could inspect the zipper.
I felt like vomiting. I was checking my own mother for defects before delivering her to her abusers.
"You look fine, Mom," I whispered. "Let's go."
Sarah drove us. I sat in the back with Mom, silence stretching between us. Sarah chatted brightly about the weather and the "lovely dinner party" her father was hosting.
When we pulled into Robert’s driveway, two other cars were already there. A black Mercedes and a silver sedan. I didn't need to see the license plates to know who they belonged to.
"Okay, change of plans," Sarah announced as we parked. "Carol, you wait in the car for a moment. I need to get the... entertainment ready."
She opened my door and dragged me out.
"Come on, pet," she hissed. "Quickly."
She marched me into the house, bypassing the living room and heading straight for the "studio" behind the wine cellar.
The room was set up differently tonight. The medical table was gone. In its place was a large, plush velvet sofa. And in the corner, shrouded in shadow, was a large wire dog cage. It was small—designed for a German Shepherd, not a grown man.
"Strip," Sarah ordered. "Get in."
I did it without a word. I stripped naked and crawled into the cramped wire box. My knees pressed against my chest, my shoulders hunched. The metal bars were cold against my bare skin.
"Good boy," Sarah smiled. She grabbed a heavy, thick wool blanket from a shelf and threw it over the cage.
The world went black. The air instantly became stifling and hot.
"Not a sound," she whispered through the bars. "You listen. You learn. And you wait for your cue."
I heard her footsteps recede. The heavy door opened and closed.
I was alone in the dark.
Ten minutes later, the door opened again.
Voices.
"Fantastic setup, Bob. Really top tier."
My blood ran cold. That voice. Gravelly, smug, smelling of cigarettes and cheap cologne even through the memory.
Gary.
"And the lighting is perfect," another voice chimed in. Smoother, sharper. Steve.
"Glad you like it," Robert’s voice boomed. "Sarah helped with the design. She has a real eye for it."
"She's a chip off the old block," Gary laughed. "So, where is the guest of honor? I haven't seen Carol since the 2002 Christmas party. She was a wild one back then."
"She's just outside," Robert said. "Sarah is bringing her down."
I curled into a ball in the pitch black, shaking. They were talking about my mother like she was a vintage car they were taking out of storage.
The door opened again. The click of heels on concrete.
"Here she is," Sarah announced proudly.
"Carol!" Steve shouted. "Look at you! You haven't aged a day."
"Hello, Steve. Gary," Mom’s voice was barely audible. Small. Terrified.
"Don't be shy, darling," Gary purred. "It's just like old times. Remember? The garage? The back of the van?"
"I remember," she whispered.
"Good. Then you know the drill," Robert said, his voice cutting through the nostalgia with icy authority. "Dress off. On the sofa. The boys have been waiting a long time."
What followed was an audio nightmare that seemed to last for hours.
I lay in the dark, my hands over my ears, but I couldn't block it out. The sounds were magnified in the darkness. I heard the zipper of the red dress being pulled down slowly. I heard the rustle of silk pooling on the concrete floor.
"Turn around," Gary commanded. "Let's see if the years have been kind."
I heard a soft whimper. "Please... just get it over with."
"Tsk, tsk," Robert scolded. "Where are your manners, Carol? We don't rush here. We savor."
Then came the sounds of the men. The heavy thud of belts hitting the floor. The shifting of fabric. The wet, slick sounds of skin slapping against skin as they descended on her.
"Open wider," Steve grunted. "You used to take more than that. Don't tell me you've tightened up."
"She's just out of practice," Gary laughed. "We'll stretch her back out. Hold her arms, Bob."
I bit into my own hand to stop myself from screaming as I heard my mother stifle a sob. She wasn't fighting them—she knew better than that—but the sheer physical toll was audible. I heard the cushions of the sofa creaking rhythmically, faster and harder, accompanied by the wet, slapping sounds of her body being used with brutal intensity.
"That's it," Robert encouraged, his voice sounding like a director on a set. "Look at the camera, Carol. Chin up. I want to see the tears. The users love the tears."
"Please," she gasped, her voice ragged. "I can't breathe."
"You don't need to breathe," Sarah’s voice cut in, cold and amused. "You just need to swallow. Open your mouth, Carol. Gary is ready for you."
The sounds of her gagging filled the room. It was a wet, desperate sound, the sound of a woman being reduced to a receptacle. They passed her around like a piece of meat. I could hear them swapping places, giving instructions, critiquing her performance as if she were an object they had bought.
"She's still got the throat for it," Gary grunted. "Deep. Just how I like it."
"Make her squeal," Steve urged. "Twist it. Yeah, like that."
I heard a sharp cry of pain from my mother, followed by a harsh slap.
"Quiet," Robert snapped. "Only happy noises, Carol. Or do we need to get the gag?"
"No," she wept. "No gag. Please."
"Then perform," he ordered.
It went on for an eternity. The smell of sweat, musk, and sex began to drift into the cage, suffocating me. I listened to my mother being broken down, piece by piece, her whimpers turning into exhausted, rhythmic moans of forced compliance. She was doing whatever they told her, degrading herself completely to survive the night.
"God, that was good," Steve exhaled finally, his voice thick with satisfaction. "Just like the old days. Maybe better."
"She's messy," Gary laughed. "Look at her. Covered in it."
"Not quite finished," Robert said. "We're missing one element."
"Oh?" Gary asked.
"The legacy," Robert said. "Sarah? Unveil the centerpiece."
I heard footsteps approaching the cage. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The blanket was ripped away.
The sudden light blinded me. I blinked, cowering in the cage, naked and curled up.
When my vision cleared, the first thing I saw was Mom.
She was slumped on the velvet sofa, legs splayed open, utterly exposed. Her makeup was smeared across her face in dark streaks. Her chest was heaving. She was covered in their fluids—slick, white, and humiliating—glistening under the studio lights. She looked broken. Used.
She stared at the cage. Her eyes went wide.
"No," she whimpered, pulling her knees together in a futile attempt at modesty. "No, please. Not him."
I looked past her.
Standing over her were the three architects of my destruction. Robert, looking smug, adjusting his camera. And there they were. Steve and Gary. Older, greyer, fatter, but with the same cruel eyes.
They stared at me in the cage.
A slow, delighted smile spread across Gary’s face.
"Well, well, well," Gary chuckled, leaning down to peer through the bars. "Look who it is. Little birthday boy. All grown up and still locked away."
"We told you it was a family reunion," Sarah said, walking over to slip her arm through Gary’s, looking at me with pure venomous joy.
"Hello, son," Steve grinned, unbuckling his belt again. "Your mother is a little tired. Why don't you come out and show us if you're as good as she is?" |
