Flood

Goldor still spoke quietly, in control. “If you move or try to pull out the wires I’ll hold the trigger down for a long time. Do you understand me?”

I groaned something that Goldor took to mean that I did, and he walked even closer to me. I couldn’t raise my head, all I could see were the polished tips of his boots. He turned to Flood-she was standing there with her mouth open. “Get over here,” he said, and Flood walked over. When she was standing next to him, Goldor bent down and spoke to me, clearly and distinctly, like you would to someone who’s not too bright:

“Mr. Burke, you will crawl over to that black chair, and you will do it slowly. Your hands are not to come anywhere near the darts. And when you get there you will back into that chair until you are seated and facing me. Do you understand?”

I muttered something-he hit me with a short blast and I could feel him smile when I screamed. My own voice frightened me, so high-pitched and thin. I bit into my lower lip until I could feel the blood run-some of it came out when I muttered “yes.”

Goldor moved in and I crawled ahead of him. He stayed close, never letting the wires get taut, pausing only to tell Flood, “You stay there,” like she was a dog he was training, and I backed into the chair until I was seated, facing him like he wanted. I could feel the blood in my mouth but I couldn’t taste anything-each time my muscles contracted the pain shot around my nerves. Goldor took my right hand and put it on the arm of the chair. He reached down and snapped something with one hand and I felt myself strapped down. He did the same with the other arm, then stepped back and jerked the darts out of my body. I lurched forward like I was trying to come out of the chair at him and he smiled, stepped toward me and backhanded me across the mouth. I felt the pain still going through my guts, and I felt the fresh stabbing in my mouth where he’d hit me. Yes, and I also felt the fat lipstick cylinder slap into my right palm. My brain was screaming at me, “You have to live!” but I didn’t fire my one shot-I’d have to get him up close to be sure.

I slumped back in the chair like I was finished, watching him through half-closed eyes. If he came back with something to finish me off I’d have to talk fast, get him next to me, fire my shot, pull what would be left of my hand out of the straps, get the hell out somehow…

I must have gone under for a couple of minutes. When I came around, Goldor was sitting on what looked like a padded bar stool and Flood was standing in front of me. She looked dazed. Goldor was saying something to her. I tried to focus on his words and managed to catch the tail end…

“… and there’s another reason for you to listen to me. Your friend isn’t hurt badly. When this is over he will be able to go away with you. I know what he wanted, and I know how to deal with him. I understand. Listen to me. He told you he’d get you a part in one of my movies, didn’t he?”

Flood didn’t respond, just stood staring at him, but Goldor went on like she had agreed. “He told you he’d make a lot of money, didn’t he? Told you a lot of beautiful girls start out this way, true? Oh, I know him, I know people like him. They have no sensitivity, no understanding of how things really work. But I can’t help you unless you let me help you. I want to help you, Debbie, but you have to talk to me. Do you see? Do you?”

Flood seemed to be struggling for control, trying to answer Goldor’s soft-voiced stream. “Yes. But I don’t-”

“Listen to me. Listen to me, little girl. Those movie parts are not for a beautiful young woman like you. This man is nothing more than a flesh merchant. He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“Yes. We were going to-”

“I know. I know. I know only too well. He doesn’t have a job, does he?”

“He’s a writer,” Flood said with an appropriate trace of defiance in her voice, but still very shaky.

“He’s no writer, my dear. He’s a bad man.”

“You hurt him,” Flood moaned in a sad little girl’s voice.

“I didn’t really hurt him, my child. All I did was show him who is the master of the situation, that’s all. He has to understand. Let me ask you-is the truth evil?”

“Well, no. No, I guess it’s not.”

“Of course not. And, Debbie, understand this… pain is truth. Pain can not lie-pain is, you understand? Pain is what it is and nothing more. It can start and it can stop, but it is always real. Pain is truth, and truth is good.”

“But-”

“Listen to me,” said Goldor, his voice getting quieter and stronger at the same time. A doctor’s voice, a father’s voice, a voice of truth and wisdom not to be denied. “I can show you the truth, and I can make you what you want to be with that truth. Your miserable little boyfriend sits there and he has no pain now. I took his pain away, even as I speak the truth to you right now. He has no pain now, only truth. And the truth is that he didn’t want you to be in the movies, only to make money for himself. He came here with you to display you, to exhibit you to me as though you were a dog or a horse. That is the truth. That is the truth, isn’t it?” he said, leaning forward on the stool.

“I don’t know”-Flood’s voice was a whine now-“I don’t know why he-”

“Yes, you know. Get past what you don’t know-get to the truth. Listen to me, Debbie. You want to be in the movies, don’t you? You want to have nice things, you want to be somebody, don’t you? Wouldn’t you like to live in a house like this someday?”

“Oh, yes. I mean…”

“And I can do all that for you. That is the truth too. But you have to see the truth, experience the truth for yourself. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”

“What are you going to do?” Flood asked, fear and suspicion in her voice.

“I am going to ask you some questions. And if you tell me the truth, I will show you the truth. And you will get what you want. Yes?”

“Yes,” said Flood, in a doubtful little voice.

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty.”

“Where were you born?”

“In Minot, North Dakota.”

“How long have you been in the city?”

“It was a year last month.”

“Have you ever been a prostitute?”

“No! I never-”

“That’s all right,” said Goldor in the same therapist’s voice, “just keep telling me the truth, Debbie. What kind of work do you do?”

“I’m a dancer.”

“And where do you dance, Debbie?”

“In… in bars and-”

“Take off your sweater,” Goldor ordered, still with his soft voice. And Flood mechanically reached to her waist and pulled the jersey over her head, stood there in front of him. Her breasts trembled in Goldor’s orange lights of pain and I could see a droplet of sweat fall over one of the high ridges and slide down toward a nipple and I knew that just surviving this wouldn’t be enough for me now.

“Yes, I can see what kind of dancing you do, my child. Have you had any work done to them?”

“What?”

“Silicone, uplifts, surgery… you know.”

“Oh. No, never. I wouldn’t ever…”

“I see. And do you like pain, Debbie?”

“No!” said Flood, her voice going frightened and breathy.

“You answer too quickly, little Debbie. All girls like pain sometimes. I don’t mean pain like your miserable little boyfriend over there. I mean pain where you get something for it, where you learn something. Pain liberates, you see? It sets things free, makes things happen. Good things, rich things…” Goldor’s silk-and-cream voice was quite an instrument.

“You have good things inside of you, we all do. Some are bad things, some are good. But when they stay inside of you they all hurt you. They stop you from being yourself, you see? They hold you back, they keep you from the wonders that should be your own. I know you, I