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skin and the
growth of hair on her legs. Her wonderful hair, braided to her
waist when she’d first arrived, fell below her hips in wild
disarray around her horrendously filthy face. The face in question
was pressed completely to the floor. Sweat, polluted water, and
blood mingled on her emaciated face, outlining her newly concave
cheeks. Her once glowing Texas tan was ghostly pale now and brown
hair sprouted from her legs like a man’s, pushing through the thin
material of her leggings; she could guess that she’d been there for
a few months at least. There seemed to be no end in sight.
    She felt nothing now, since she’d resigned
herself to the realization that she would die there, whether from
starvation, drowning, or a particularly cruel blow to the head. The
picture she hid was pressed into her flat chest, burning a hole
through her skin whenever her interrogator demanded it. She would
have given the picture, and the location of the others, if only to
bring an end to the infinite suffering, but she’d developed such a
deeply rooted resentment of the people holding her captive that she
would rather die slowly from starvation than give them the
satisfaction.
    Her tongue found the abyss in her mouth where
she’d recently lost two teeth from a particularly violent encounter
with her captor. The total was nearing five now that she’d lost and
another two that had chipped and cut up her mouth. Nevertheless,
she lived through each day with just enough slop to keep the breath
in her body and just enough will to keep swallowing it. She
consoled herself with the knowledge that she was losing weight
fast.
    She wouldn’t be going on very much longer,
whether she wanted to or not. Under her shirt, she could feel her
ribs pressing out from the rest of her, her breasts having
flattened almost entirely, and between her hips the skin sloped
inward. The athletic legs she’d once prided herself on back home
were crippled and void of all the strength she could have possibly
mustered. She was a shadow of her former self, nothing more.
    Don’t put me back in the tub. Don’t put me
back in the tub. Don’t put me back in the tub.
    Sighing, she rolled closer to the corner of
the room, wishing that if she could flatten herself against the
wall, she would disappear completely into the darkness. A low hiss
echoed through the cell from betwixt her teeth as her leg protested
and she collapsed against the ground again. A growl of frustration
fell into a tearless sob before she bit her lip to silence it. She
didn’t know where the blonde assassin skulked around most of the
time, but Janie knew that the woman enjoyed the sound of her cries.
The last time she’d heard the captive wallowing in self pity, the
older woman had dragged her out of the cell by her hair for another
hour in the ‘pool.’ She’d never cried again, even when she felt
like her leg was being crushed beneath a steady stream of
traffic.
    The scraping of metal on metal made Janie
scream and reel backward as she pulled herself toward the wall with
her hands. Her crippled leg dragged behind her despite the pain.
She caught her mistake immediately and threw her hand over her
gaping mouth. Her other hand wrapped tenderly around the back of
her knee, daintily propping it up to alleviate some of the pain, to
no avail, and waited for the invisible force in the dark that would
inevitably pull her up and drag her away. Shockingly, the muffled
cry filling the room from the shadow obstructing the light in the
doorway suggested otherwise. Still, Janie didn’t permit herself to
make a sound. A loud thump followed shortly after, and she
made out the faintest outline of something writhing on the
floor.
    She watched whatever it was for another few
minutes, as far from it as she could manage, until it finally
emitted a bitter snap . “Son of a bitch!” a masculine voice
finally screamed, throwing away what could have only been rope; a
thin, frayed piece slapped her in the face.