Mamzer that he was.
Searching her key ring, she found a key that looked like it might fit. It didn't, and neither did the next one, but finally she found one that did. She unlocked all the cuffs and tossed the chains behind her. Number One would have a tantrum when he found out what she'd done, but she didn't care; she couldn't be a party to such evil.
As though this tiny action could atone for all the evil she'd already done.
Her hands began to shake violently, and she knew that she could hold back her tears no longer. She began to weep, and once begun, she couldn't stop. "I'm sorry," she wailed to no one in particular. "I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt anyone; I never wanted to be a part of this." She was sobbing so forcefully now that she could barely speak coherently, but she rambled on regardless, needing to vent her frustrations in the only place where it was safe to do so. "God knows I certainly never wanted to become a pet whore to that khazeer shaygetz! He had no right to do this to me!"
His arms encircled her and she panicked, jerking away from him. Instead of releasing her, he held her tighter, pressing her against his chest. Only after several minutes did she realize that his grip, though firm, was gentle. One hand stroked her arm soothingly, and gradually, she found herself relaxing. "Thank you," she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
It was several more minutes before she noticed blindfold lying on the floor beside her; he must have removed it himself. She glanced up at his face and froze, staring into his wide, sea-green eyes.
His beautiful, familiar sea-green eyes.
If he recognized her, too, he gave no sign. His expression registered only concern, growing more intense as the color drained from her face. Even her steel blue eyes seemed to fade to grey. He released her as she pulled away, but instead of getting to her feet, she hunched her shoulders and shrank into a tight huddle, as though she expected him to hit her at any moment.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, clearly too terrified to speak at full volume. He had been kept blindfolded the entire time, but he could easily have remembered her voice; she had been the only woman present. "They made me do it. I didn't want to; it was against everything an ethical doctor stands for."
He merely looked at her, his face impassive. Finally, his hands moved with fluid grace. �You were one of the experimenters. The one who always apologized.'
She nodded reluctantly, and uncurled enough to respond in sign language. �Number One kidnapped me, saying he needed my medical knowledge, but he wouldn't tell me why. I didn't want to have anything to do with him, but I couldn't refuse, because -- my father, he --'. She stopped, embarrassed, then plowed onward. �My father made unwise choices early in his career,' she explained. �That information, made public, would ruin my father professionally and tarnish the family name. Number One threatened to release that information, and I... I wasn't strong enough to tell him to go to Hell.
�First it was just the bizarre biochemical experiments, and then the genetic engineering, and the cloning -- I never expected it to get so out of hand. He just kept demanding more. And he was always promising he'd release me after the next experiment finished, but he never did.
�Then he died during a fight with the Titans, and Number Two promoted himself. The first one had kept me here through blackmail, and I thought I would be free after his death, because Number Two didn't have access to that information. But what he can't have through threats, he simply takes by force. And still I am kept here.'
She wiped at her eyes with the back of one trembling hand, wincing at the stab of pain through her bruised face. It wasn't the only mark discoloring her pale skin; her neck was ringed with identical dark bruises, and her forearms were mottled with them. He suspected the rest of her body was similarly marred, though she was careful to keep her legs fully concealed under her long skirt at all times.
If he needed more proof that she was not willingly in league with the Wildebeests, he found it in her posture. She cowered before him, her eyes meeting his only when necessary -- a classic defensive pose adopted by victims of physical abuse. Even had he been the vindictive sort, he would have had a hard time being angry with her.
�I forgive you.' Her eyes darted to his face, disbelief plainly visible in her expression. She desperately wanted his forgiveness, but how could he offer it honestly, after what she had done to him? There had been a dozen experimental attempts to alter his biochemistry, and when those had failed, half again as many bone marrow extractions for the cloning project. All of it done without anesthesia, without analgesics, without research as to what the side effects might be. Her nightmares were still haunted by the sound of his harsh, voiceless screams -- and yet he could forgive her, when she couldn't even forgive herself?
A lock of hair had worked itself free of her bun, and he gently brushed it out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear to keep it out of her way. Her gaze had dropped to the floor the moment he had reached for her, but as he watched, it slowly returned to his face. She was still wary of any sudden movement that could herald violence, but at least he could talk to her now.
�How did you come to know sign language?' he asked, as much from genuine curiosity as from an attempt to win her trust.
She smiled shyly and put her hands to her ears. He couldn't see what she was doing, but she quickly held her hands out to show him the small devices that rested in each palm. Hearing aids.
"Congenital deafness," she explained, replacing her hearing aids one at a time. "I have a 75% loss of hearing in both ears. I learned sign language before I learned English -- or Yiddish, or Hebrew."
�I learned it when I was three,' he told her. �It was after I...' He paused. �... lost my voice.'
�I know,' she confessed. �Number One had a file on your medical history. It must have taken your parents a long time to --' Her hands froze in mid-sentence. "Time," she gasped, twisting her arm around to stare nervously at her watch. When she spoke again, her voice was little more than a trembling whisper. "I'm late. Oh God, he'll kill me." Her eyes closed as she fought to keep from crying yet again; a single tear escaped, trickling slowly down her cheek.
Whatever inner strength had sustained her until now finally expended itself. Her shoulders slumped in utter defeat, and the spark was gone from her eyes when she opened them once again. Even her voice had been flattened by despair. "Perhaps it's for the best," she conceded. "Death can't be worse than living like this."
�Wouldn't freedom be better than death?' he asked.
She scoffed. "Freedom isn't an option," she answered bitterly.
He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, and she looked at him questioningly. �It is if you'll allow it. Help me free us both.'
Hope flickered in her eyes. �How?'
He smiled. �Trust me.' His eyes met hers, and suddenly, he was gone.
A tingling warmth spread throughout her body. She had no word for the feeling, but it was everything she had lacked in her life for the past six months -- peace, hope, joy, love. It gave her the strength to get to her feet and leave the grimy cell, striding purposefully through the gloomy corridors to Number One's room.
Her footsteps slowed as she approached the door, tension twisting in her stomach. "Don't make me go back in there. Please don't make me go back in there."
Her hands moved of their own accord. �Don't worry. I'm with you. I won't let him hurt you.'
She wiped her sweating palms on her skirt and reached for the doorknob. The door opened silently and she slipped inside, scanning the room for Number One. He was bound to be angry, so it was imperative that she avoid him, if possible.
Maybe it would be possible after all; the room appeared to be empty. Thank God. She released the breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.
The door slammed shut as his arm wrapped around her throat in a choke hold. Behind her -- he'd been behind her, behind the door, standing in the one place she wouldn't be able to see as she entered. "Where have you been, little kike bitch?" he growled in her ear. "How many times do I have to teach you to obey me?"
Her mind was blank with terror. She couldn't have answered him if she'd wanted to, though it wouldn't matter if she answered or not; anything she did was an excuse to beat her. Control of her body slipped away, a prelude to fainting.
Only it wasn't. Her arms reached over her head and grabbed Number One around the neck, pulling him forward and down as she bent over. He released her, trying to catch himself, but he was lying on the floor before either of them registered what had happened.
He pushed himself to his feet, his race flushed with rage. "You dare --??" he sputtered. "I'll kill you for that, you whore!"
She whirled, her foot cracking him smartly across the jaw. Built like a linebacker, Number One didn't fall from the blow, but it slowed him down enough for her to land another kick, this time to the groin. Without his Wildebeest cybersuit to protect him, he had no more defense against that move than would any man.
Predictably, it brought him to his knees, cursing even more foully than before. He was far from helpless, though, and he caught her foot as she tried to kick him again. Twisting her leg, he brought her down and grabbed her wrist so hard that her fingers instantly went numb. She cried out in pain and he grinned, pulling her closer.
She straight-armed him with her free hand, breaking his nose, and pulled herself loose from his grip. Her feet pummelled him mercilessly, striking anywhere and everywhere until he lay on the floor in front of her, unconscious. For a minute she stood over him, panting from the exertion, and then she dragged him over to the bed. She couldn't lift him onto it, but she didn't need to; the floor was good enough for dirt like him.
Angrily, she tugged open his dresser drawer and removed two pairs of handcuffs. He'd used them on her often enough for her to know where he kept them. She locked one cuff on his wrist, looped the chain around the bedpost, and locked the connected cuff on his opposite ankle. Then she repeated the process with the other pair, hog-tying him to the bed.
A pair of socks served as a gag. The tables had turned; she had the power now, and she knew what she wanted to do with it. The same drawer that held the handcuffs also held a switchblade. He'd used that on her, too. She lifted it out and snapped the blade open. She would only have to use it on him once.
�No.' She frowned at her hand, and then at her feet, which refused to move forward. "He deserves it, Joseph," she snarled. "After what he did to me, he deserves all this and worse!"
He forced her to drop the knife. �Will that erase what he did to you?' he asked her. �Will you sacrifice our one chance at freedom so that you can waste time on revenge?'
Put that way, it did seem like she didn't have her priorities straight. Instead of arguing the point, she went to the closet and removed a duffel bag, stuffing some of Number One's clothes into it. They'd be too big for Joseph, but it was better than the rags he currently wore. Back to the dresser for underwear and socks; impulsively, she dropped to her knees and rummaged through the bottom drawer, smiling as she pulled out his lockbox. He had hundreds of dollars in cash stored here, which would be useful once they were outside.
Next she cleared out the bathroom, taking everything from toothpaste to nail clippers. The bag was beginning to get heavy, but there were only a few more items she would need to cram into it. She unlaced Number One's tennis shoes, yanked them off his feet, and shoved them into the bag.
Number One's Wildebeest suit was in a special closet. He had two suits, but she only needed one -- specifically, she needed the right glove. Not only was it the key to the lockbox, but it would be her ticket out of the compound as well.
With the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, she sped through the corridors, trying to look busy without looking suspicious. Reaching the kitchen, she darted inside, thrilled to see the sandwiches she'd made earlier still sitting on the counter. She wrapped them in plastic and stuffed them in the bag before continuing down the hallway. Her immediate destination was just around the corner.
And unguarded, as usual. There was no need to guard the armory; it was inaccessible to anyone without a Wildebeest glove as a pass key, and anyone with such a key had permission to use the weapons contained within. She smiled; she had just given herself the authority to raid the cache.
She dumped two energy pistols and half a dozen power cells into the bag, resealed the door, and took a deep breath. Everything up to this point had been mere preliminaries. Now came the real challenge: escape.
A hand fell heavily on her shoulder, causing her to jump. "Calm down, Jessie," the Wildebeest leered at her. "You act like you've got something to hide."
"I don't," she snapped, "but you will, when Number One catches you harassing me again."
He laughed at her, but he removed his hand from her shoulder. "What you need is a real man, Jessie. I could give it to you in a way you'd never forget."
"No, thank you," she replied coldly, "I already have enough horrors from this place that I'll never forget." She turned and walked away, but he followed her, making crude comments the entire time. Panic gripped her; would he ruin her escape? Could she get the gun out fast enough to kill him if she had to? And if she did, would she really be able to coldbloodedly pull the trigger?
Fortunately, she didn't have to find out. He wasn't really following her, only walking in the same direction for a short distance. With a final lewd farewell, he turned and went down a different corridor, leaving her alone near the exit. She glanced around to make sure no one was coming, then pulled Number One's glove from the bag and ran for the door.
The door slid open as she jammed the glove against the scanning pad and she stepped through into a dimly-lit, abandoned subway line, which promptly became that much darker when the door closed behind her. Unwilling to wait for her eyes to adjust, she began walking along the service walkway, using the handrail to guide her.
After several minutes, she was able to see well enough to walk unaided. Only then did she notice the intermittent ladders leading down to the tracks on her left. Without hesitation, Joseph steered her to the nearest ladder and she descended into the shadows.
�Why are we walking down here?' she asked, grimacing as she stepped on something slimy. Whatever it was, she didn't want to know.
�Look up,' he told her. She did so, biting her lip to keep from saying anything aloud. A Wildebeest was coming toward them on the walkway above, one hand holding a bag full of loot, the other clenched into an angry fist. As he approached, she could see that his mask was badly torn; his nose and part of his mouth were visible. She pressed herself deeper into the shadows and prayed he wouldn't notice her.
End, Part Two