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Rhonda Kazembe was fourteen years old. She was of sound mind and body, and was almost ready to graduate high school early, after she had skipped the third grade. Her hair was braided down past her shoulders in a rather intricate style that had taken her hours, and that she was quite proud of. She lived in a big house with her sister and Mr. Benedict and their Milligan.
These were all things she knew as fact.
Another fact: she was in a hotel room somewhere a few hours out of Stonetown, awkwardly tied to a desk chair with her arms pulled behind her. Some men in suits with a black car had been the ones to wrestle her off the street. And those same men had left her in this room and gone into an adjoining one to plan. She could hear the murmurs of their hasty, whispered conference through the crack in the door.
Rhonda Kazembe was fourteen years old. And she was scared.
The men came back into the room, filing in one after another through the narrow door frame.
"Hello there, dearie," The leader of the group gave her an oily slick smile. "I'm so sorry we had to keep you waiting for so long. There were just a few things that we had to discuss with our boss. How have you been enjoying your stay?"
Rhonda jerked her head back as he leaned forward menacingly, giving a cursory pull against her restraints even though she knew it wouldn't make a difference. She tried to think through the books she had been reading about magicians and escape artists, but most of them required an assistant or trick rope. And she was alone.
"Now, now," The man purred, patting her on the head with a condescending air, "We're hardly trying to make this difficult on you. In fact, you are completely in charge of how your stay with us goes. You're used to figuring things out, right, sweetheart? This shouldn't be too hard, then: you answer our questions, and we won't run into any problems."
Ducking her head in revulsion, Rhonda snarled at him. She spat, aiming for his shoes, but not really caring so long as it distracted him from how much she was shaking.
The man nimbly moved aside, clicking his tongue. "Oh, such a shame. What a misbehaved child you are. And here I had heard you were pretty smart." He sounded disappointed, overly casual, and far too familiar for someone who had snatched her up and brought her here against her will. It was almost as if he had grown bored with the interrogation, and was looking forward to livening things up.
He nodded his head sharply in her direction, and two of the other men who had been flanking him moved toward her. One knelt down to ensure the ropes were still bruisingly tight against her wrists, and once he backed away the other gripped the back of the chair and titled it, leaving her feet hanging and unable to touch the ground.
The leader took advantage of her momentary disorientation to reach out and cup her chin, holding her mouth shut with long, wiry fingers. She twisted as much as she could, but to no avail. He turned her face and forced her to look at him, like a parent trying to speak to a particularly petulant child. She glanced up at the ceiling, focussing on the water spots dappling the paint rather than looking the man in the eye. He tightened his hold, fingernails biting into her cheeks and cutting easily into the soft skin.
“Now, Miss Kazembe,” Rhonda tried not to flinch at the use of her real name, but she saw him grin nonetheless, “Are you going to be a good little girl and answer our questions, or are we going to have to get serious?”
Even though he was still holding her mouth shut, Rhonda didn’t think she could speak if she had wanted to. The hatred and spite welling up in her throat was suffocating any words, clouding her mind for anything except for how much she despised this man.
“Oh, I think I’ll take that silence as a yes, hmm?” He cooed, puppeting her so as to force a nod. “Well then, that’s great news! What do you say, boys?” He released her aching jaw, spinning to look at the rest of the men while clapping his hands. The man holding her chair at an angle suddenly released it, making her teeth clack together painfully when the front legs hit the ground.
Rhona took a moment to swallow and allow herself a single deep breath, and then she steadied her voice as much as she could before she spoke. “I will never answer any of your questions,” She hissed, full of vitriol, “You are all cowards and liars. Kidnapping and threatening a child because you can’t figure out how to get information on your own? Pathetic. There’s a reason public libraries exist.” She spoke sarcastically, mind racing all the while as she tried to figure out how she could rescue herself from this mess.
Milligan had taught her some self-defence techniques, but she was pretty sure none of them would work with her arms currently tied to a chair and firmly secured behind her. Still, there had to be something she could do. She refused to be held at these men’s mercy a second longer than she had to.
The same man laughed cruelly, moving to caress her cheek. She tried to bite him.
“Oh ho! A little tiger in a cage, hm? How about this, kitten? Every time you don’t answer a question, there will be consequences.” He slapped her hard enough that her head jerked to the side with the force. “Every time there’s any disrespect” —Another slap— “Any lip from you” —He put a hand around her throat, pinning her back against the chair— “I assure you, there will be hell to pay.”
Glaring at him, Rhonda tried to think. She knew, she knew, deep inside her, that the best option was to obey. Sit still, be quiet, and wait for her family to find her. But the adrenaline was buzzing in her veins and she could feel her skin crawling with every second she remained trapped and helpless.
Rhonda Kazembe was not helpless. Not ever. She made her own way in the world and she wasn’t about to stop now. She took the fear and squeezed it tight in her chest, willing herself to push it down, down, down until it was just a burning coal in the pit of her stomach. She could do this.
“So, kitten,” The man smiled at her, baring his teeth, “How about you tell us about your family, hmm? Maybe starting with dear old dad,” He leered at her, eyes darting as he scrutinised her reaction for clues. “Or that other man who lives with you. You know, I could never be sure which was the parent and which was the spare.” He laughed a little. “Perhaps it’s the girl. An older sister? I never cared for my siblings, but suppose you do?”
He leaned in close, whispering in her ear, “Everyone has a weak spot, you know.”
Freezing, Rhonda held her breath. She would not reveal information to this man.
Then the man pulled back, looking disappointed once again. He wore an exaggerated frown, like a sad clown in a business suit. “Alright then. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
“I just worry about her,” Number Two said. She was pacing back and forth in the front hall, glancing up at the door every few seconds.
At nineteen years old (Almost twenty, thank you very much), she took her responsibility as the oldest child in the Benedict household very seriously. (Not that she was a child, necessarily. But, Milligan and Mr. Benedict still considered her one.)
Either way, the only person she could spend her days looking out for was her little sister, and so she was obligated to worry when Rhonda hadn’t come home by the curfew that was set for her. (Rhonda had never needed a curfew anyway, because she was always home before late. Up until now.)
“She may have gotten caught up reading, or chatting with a friend,” Mr. Benedict said from the armchair where he was watching her pace. “Afterall, it has only been a few minutes.”
“But Rhonda is never late,” Number Two said, twisting her hands. “Not ever. I think something must be wrong.”
“Well, if you feel that strongly about it, my dear, Milligan can take you in the car to meet her halfway and pick her up. I will stay here in case she arrives.”
The men were rough, but Rhonda kept her lips sealed through their interrogation. They hadn’t laid a hand on her, other than the leader, but it was still very frightening.
His hair was mussed and his suit was rumpled, mostly from the agitated gesticulating that had taken place. He seethed with a barely contained anger, undulating just beneath his skin.
“When is she going to break?” He muttered, pacing in front of her. “I know it’s only a matter of time, but when? It can’t take too much longer, it has to be soon. What is the final straw for this girl?” He whirled around to face her, wrapping his fist in the front of her sweater. “Tell me. What are you hiding?”
Rhonda merely stared over his shoulder, refusing to look the man in the eye.
He reached out and slapped her once again, more force behind it as his anger began seeping through the carefully crafted facade. Taking a deep breath, he made an attempt to compose himself. “For the last time, I need you— No, no. You will tell me—”
Another of the men entered the room, whispering something in his ear. The man grimaced, then glanced at Rhonda. He smiled slightly. “Well then, we might as well leave them a message.”
Rhonda watched as he stepped around her, listening as he began rummaging around in something, a dawning horror creeping over her. Whatever this man had planned, it was not going to be good.
Grinning wolfishly, he sidled back into her view, holding a small silver device in his hand.
“Now,” He said, “We’re not strictly supposed to use these yet; they’re still in development. But, I think that the boss would approve of this as a special case.”
The next thing she knew, Rhonda felt as though a very small, though painful nonetheless, bolt of lightning had shot through her. She could feel her skin burning where the metal of the wires had made contact, and she knew that it would leave blisters.
“Nice to meet you, kitten. I look forward to working with you in the future.” He smiled smugly and gave a playful salute, before disappearing out the door. He was quickly followed by the other men.
Rhonda sat there, breathing heavily as she listened to their receding footsteps. There was something not quite right about the way the men had retreated, almost as if they were afraid of something. She felt the hairs raise on the back of her neck, apprehension pooling in her stomach.
A muffled bang echoed from down the hall, and Rhonda jumped.
“Rhonda?” A voice called, and she felt every ounce of anxiety in her vanish.
“Number Two!” She screamed. “Pen! Pen, I’m in here!”
There was a rush of feet, and the door was slammed open. Standing there, light creating a halo around her frazzled red hair, was Number Two.
“Rhonda!” Her sister burst into the room with all the intensity of a raging bull. “Rhonda.” Their eyes locked and Number Two started crying. She ran over to Rhonda, cupping the side of her face with a hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Rhonda. Rhonda, what happened? Are you okay? That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. Oh my word, what did they do to you? Who did this? I’ll kill them. Tell me and I’ll kill them. I’d go to jail for you, Rhonda. Oh, I was so scared.” She was rambling, panicked, as she began tugging futilely at the knots.
Rhonda winced, trying to hide it.
“Milligan!” Number Two shouted over her shoulder, voice desperate and rough with still more unshed tears. “Milligan, I need a knife!”
Milligan appeared in the doorway, a silent silhouette, and marched across the room, pocket knife already in hand. He calmly knelt down and began sawing carefully at the ropes.
“Rhonda,” He said quietly. “Do you know who kidnapped you?”
It was at this moment, with her family finally within reach, that Rhonda broke. She began crying, tears slipping out between nearly inaudible gasps.
“I— I don’t know,” She sobbed. “It— It was a group of men. In black suits. I don’t know who they were. I— Oh, Milligan. Number Two. I was scared. I was really scared. I didn’t know what to do—”
Milligan finished cutting through the ropes and the sudden release of tension sent Rhonda toppling into Number Two’s waiting arms. She realised she was shaking.
“Thank you.” Was all she could manage.
Number Two was going to commit a murder.
She wasn’t exactly sure who was the victim yet, but whoever they were they deserved it for daring to hurt her baby sister. They were almost home now, and Rhonda still had yet to stop shaking. Whatever those men did, it hurt her. Maybe not badly, but bad enough. And it scared her.
Number Two was seething with righteous fury, anger bubbling up inside her. She was sitting in the back seat of the car, arms wrapped tenderly around her little sister and using a hand to rub her back. “We’re almost home,” She whispered. “Almost there.”
When they did get home, Mr. Benedict was waiting on the porch. His face was set in a grim mask of fear and worry, and only slightly did he relax upon seeing Rhonda stumble out of the car, Number Two close at her side.
“Rhonda!” He called, but Milligan was leaping out of the driver seat and rushing to his side before he could collapse. After a few seconds he was back up again, and hurrying toward his daughters, Milligan close behind.
“Oh, Rhonda.” Mr. Benedict was crying too, and he reached out to pull her into a hug. “I’m so sorry. I should have listened, I should have come to check on you. Number Two was right. I’m so sorry, my dear girl.”
Rhonda sobbed quietly into his shoulder, muscles rigid with fear finally relaxing as she felt safe for the first time in hours. “It wasn’t your fault.” She forced out. “Please don’t apologise. Please. Just— I just— Can we go inside?”
“Of course we can, love.”
Huddled together, supporting one another as they moved up the steps, the family went inside.