The only profitable conversations are with enthusiasts who have ceased being so—with the ex-naïve..Calmed down at last, they have taken, willy-nilly, the decisive step toward knowledge—that impersonal version of disappointment—EM Cioran
We wake at 5:30 to Kimmie screaming.
I throw off the covers and see Anna in her underwear. Anna's eyes are open and looking at me.
"If you want to wash your clothes..laundry's in there."
"What am I gonna wear while I wash them?"
I point to the cabinets opposite my bed.
"Sweatpants. T-shirts."
But Kimmie's screaming is so intense we both go as we are—me in sweats and a t-shirt, Anna in her bra and panties—into the crate.
Kimmie is railing against the clamps and has red-stage bruises on her wrists and ankles. And on her neck.
Anna sits on the rolling stool and puts her hand on Kimmie's forehead. She checks the heart monitor and puts it back down.
"Baby you're ok. Were you hallucinating?"
"I WAAAASSSSSSS BEEEINNGGG RAAAAPEED BYYY A BIGFOOTTTTTTT!!"
I step into the crate and stand next to Anna.
"Pulls at your heartstrings, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Does it pull at yours?"
"Of course it does."
"Then why are we doing this?"
"I learned to deal with that contradiction long ago. Just because something hurts me doesn't mean I can't do it. Just because something scares me, I can still move forward. You may be new to this concept."
Anna scowls at me intensely.
"Kimmie, do you know why you're naked?"
"No!!"
"The scopolamine has obviously worn off."
Kimmie says: "What the fuck is scopolamine?"
"Don't worry about it, it doesn't concern you."
"You're the guys I met at Betsy's Diner, right? Where the fuck am I? Are you some kind of sickos? You're gonna rape me and kill me right?—I watch TV."
"Actually I have a video I like to play for new residents—it explains the basics. Would you like to watch it now?"
"New residents??"
I hand Anna the remote control.
"I'll show you how to get it started, then you and I can have coffee while she watches."
A minute later, after I showed her where I kept my intro file, Anna pressed play and it started—the same recording I play for all my girls.
Welcome to my crate. You have unluckily found yourself in a shipping container in Pain, South Dakota. What you did before you came to the crate may have varied. But what will happen inside my crate is the same for you as for all who have come before you.
I left the crate and Anna put the remote control down on my workbench and followed me.
We went to the kitchen and I made coffee.
Anna said, "How can you concentrate with that going on?"
"With what going on?"
"That."
Anna pointed.
I realized she meant Kimmie's screaming.
"I just tune it out," I say.
"Did you tune mine out?" Anna asks.
"Yes," I say. "Do you want syrup in your coffee? I have flavored syrups. Check the counter."
Anna checks the counter and sees her options—French vanilla, hazelnut—I have everything.
"Those are all sugar free," I say.
"That means they have artificial sweeteners in them," Anna says. "See? Sucralose. That turns into formaldehyde in your stomach."
"So? Think of all the unnatural chemicals you've already got in your body."
"I'll pass."
We're quiet for a second and the sound of my voice on the crate TV comes through, playing the intro script for Kimmie.
Anna looks at me.
"You're gonna kill her, aren't you."
"I'm not going to be making her coffee in a month, that's for sure."
"Do you like her pussy?"
"You mean do I like her pussy better than yours?"
"I just mean do you like her pussy."
I hold up two mugs for Anna to choose from.
"World's Greatest Dad or I <3 Intercourse?"
"Oh my god you're someone's dad."
"I'm not. I'm not. I just thought it was funny."
"Ok I'll take World's Greatest Dad."
And I pour Anna a cup of my favorite coffee—Illy—truly the best in the world.
Anna takes a sip.
"So I have to help you torture her or else you kill me. Is that the deal?"
"If you like."
"Do I have to sleep with you?"
"You don't have to do anything. Want some breakfast?"
So I made Anna sausage and eggs—nice, big, Italian sausages—not those puny frozen ones—and we sat in my breakfast nook and talked about random things while we listened to Kimmie scream—definitely a screamer—and then together we went in and used the hose to clean up the slave and Anna even washed her hair (in place, with the neck clamp on) and I clipped her toenails, raped her a few times, and Anna insisted we put some color on her nails and she had some in her bag so she colored the dead girl's nails and then I asked Kimmie what her favorite movie was and this stupid little fuck rag said The Lion King so I downloaded The Lion King for $10 and put the motherfucker on repeat so she could watch it all night. The fucking Lion King.
I faced away from Anna in bed and she faced me. She reached out and touched my arm and by reflex I snapped away from her. I didn't mean to offend her but she startled me. During the day she had washed her bra and panties but instead of putting on one of the other outfits she was doubtless traveling with, she wore my boxers and a t-shirt from my drawer. I wanted to touch her, but I knew that doing so would cloud our relationship too much (in my mind). I felt like I could fall in love with her and that is a little fact that would never, ever leave my thoughts and enter Anna's mind. The irony is that my special girl didn't realize she had entered more dangerous territory than the chair—and the crate..and the sex..and the occasional torture—and that me making her coffee and us having breakfast in my kitchen didn't mean that she was any safer than she was when I first laid eyes on her.
I had decided not to kill her. What I told her in that regard was true. She could leave at any time. She could go wherever she wanted. But just because I had loosened the leash around her neck didn't mean I didn't have plans for the girl.
I did have plans for her.
But Anna was special.
And special people deserve special plans.