Chapter 1
Clarice
I swear the clock stopped moving an hour ago. It’s eight at night and I have to close the store at nine. Book stores always closed at nine it seems and the small store Cabot’s Collections was one to follow the same trend. It’s been a slow night with barely anyone coming in and I’ve only made one sale. My shift started at three this afternoon and it breaks my heart to know that no one really bought much.
I’ve been working here for the last four years while working on my business degree. My dream is to open a bookstore of my own back in my hometown. The small city only has a few corporate stores one town over. Those stores all have the standardized book shelves with all new books sitting waiting for someone to pick them up. To me they seem impersonal and I feel like just another cog in the business’s wheel. I want my store to be an experience where you can not only find something new, but something old. I want people to feel like they could spend hours roaming the shelves looking for just the right book. And I wanted to share my love of reading with everyone and couldn’t think of a better way to do it.
Books have the power to change lives and I’ve always believed that giving the gift of change is something everyone needs in their life. There’s been times when I’ve been lonely or lost with what to do in life and books have helped me figure those things out. Whether you need help with a problem or just a good laugh, you can get it all from a great story.
I look down at my phone to see a text roll in.
Boss: Make sure you lock up tight. There have been some break-ins in the neighborhood.
I notice the time and see that it’s actually eight forty-five. I was right, the clock did stop moving.
Me: I will. Have a good night.
I’ll have to remember to bring some batteries tomorrow to change out the clock. I lock the front door and pull the drawer from the register. I laugh to myself as I count the money, noticing that I’ve not even used any of it since the one sale used a card. It feels ridiculous to have to recount all this, but my boss will check the cameras to make sure that I did as he asked.
If things don’t pick up around here, I don’t know how long Cabot’s is going to be open. It cost more money for them to pay me tonight than we made. I love my job, but sometimes I feel like I’m taking advantage of them. I’m not making them any money. Every time I bring this up I’m dismissed and told not to worry about it. The owners don’t seem at all concerned with making any money off the place.
I’ve never met them, just the manager Jeff. He works here throughout the day and is about as personable as a cactus. He’ll answer my questions with another question and never give me an answer. I’ve just started deciding on my own and hoping for the best.
As the clock hits nine, I have everything wrapped up and head out the door. I set the alarm system and lock the doors, checking to make sure the locks are engaged. Jeff said there had been break-ins lately, but I haven’t heard anything about it on the news. Then again, maybe the police are keeping quiet for now. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least. Everyone in this city seems to like keeping secrets.
It’s unusually quiet tonight as I walk toward my car. I had to park down the street a few blocks because of all the traffic and shoppers this afternoon. The area the bookstore is in has tons of shops and almost all of them do well. It makes little sense that the bookstore isn’t doing well. With all the foot traffic and the college located close by, they should make tons of money.
I can finally see my car sitting where I parked it earlier today. I’m finally relieved to be headed home to study for my financial accounting class. I hate the class with a passion and I feel like if I pass it’s only going to be just barely.
As my hand touches the door handle, something is put over my head, and I struggle. I try to scream, but whoever has me has put a hand over my mouth. I thrash around and try to move my head to bite the hand held over my mouth. Whoever has me is strong because I can’t move more than an inch with this tight grasp.
Panic is flooding my entire body and I’m fighting with everything I have and failing miserably. The more I thrash around the harder it’s getting to breathe, which causes me to panic more. I feel the person picking me up off the ground and I put everything I have into breaking free from this.
I hear what sounds like a van door opening and someone jumping onto the pavement. Then another set of hands grabs me and I’m hoisted up off the ground still trying to get free and scream. They are holding me so tight that I can’t move enough to get free.
“Stop moving if you don’t want to be thrown into the van!” an accented voice calls out.
The grip on my legs tightens to the point of pain and I cry out around the hand that still holds onto my mouth. All hope that I’ll get out of this flies out the window as I’m put onto the floor of what I assume is the van.
“Give her the shot. She’s gonna be a fighter.” Another voice calls out.
I feel the stick of a needle in my arm and everything fades away. I’m done for and I don’t even know why.
***
I’m cold. It’s the kind of cold that comes when you’ve thrown your blanket off and you feel the breeze of a fan from somewhere in the room. I reach for my blanket, wanting nothing more than to cover back up and go back to sleep. I feel like I’ve not slept in ages and I can’t seem to open my eyes.
I keep reaching for the blanket, but it’s not there. I shiver again and my hand touches my leg and it’s bare. I never sleep without some pajama pants, so why is my leg bare? I run my handover my stomach and chest only to find that they too are bare. Horror fills my soul as I finally understand that I’m completely nude.
“Get this one ready. She’s going on next.” I hear a woman call out from somewhere.
Fear grips me as I try to figure out what I should do. Do I let them know that I’m awake or do I pretend to still be sleeping? I don’t have time to decide as I hear a door open. I close my eyes and try to calm my breathing. Maybe I’ll be able to surprise them at some point?
Someone comes into the room and drapes something that feels like a sheet over me and then picks me up bridal style. The person walks calmly and I fight myself to not open my eyes. I hear sounds of voices but I can’t make out much. The more the person moves, the more I hear.
“And now gentlemen, the main event of the night. The virgin!”
