Alice

The walls were grey. The sun was shining, not that it was particularly warm, but still, the walls were gray, and the screams were back, or rather, it got to a point where I couldn't ignore them anymore.

"Annie." I could hear someone calling my name, but the screams were too loud. They echoed in my head, bouncing and dancing around. Day and night, the screams never stopped, and despite hearing them over and over and over, they never did start to sound the same. Always different, a different voice, a different kind of pain. It was never the same.

"Annie." There was that voice again. I adjusted my eyesight from the window and turned to look at the voice. It was a tall man with a beard, not too rough but not groomed either. He had on a suit, not tailor-made; it wasn't form-fitting, but it suited him well. Next to him stood a younger man, his hair combed neatly to the side, a better suit on, but he was nervous. His hands fidgeted often, a habit I've seen others do when they were anxious or scared. It ruined the look.

"Yes?" I asked, wincing at the sound of my voice and the pain that managed to lace the single word. The man made to say something, but my mind tuned him out when I said detective, the screams gaining volume, drowning out his voice. I only came to when I heard him ask a question.

"Can you tell us what happened?"

I tilted my head to the side, confused by his question. What happened? Was I supposed to pick and choose a specific event, or did he want a novel of my experience?

"What do you mean, what happened?" I managed to speak softly, but I was just a tad annoyed. My throat felt scratchy, and talking burned. Even after all this time, I still wasn't used to the sensation.

The detective looked toward his partner at my question before he turned to look back at me, his eyebrows furrowed together. He was trying to find a way to ask me gently, and I didn't like that.

"I didn't survive just to be treated like I was fragile," I said quietly but firmly. "If I were glass, I would have broken long ago."

Upon hearing my words, they were left speechless. It was obvious they weren't expecting me to say that.

"I was walking home from school when he grabbed me and knocked me out. I didn't notice him; he was quiet and quick. The next thing I knew, I was inside a basement with the others." I said as I saw the detective opening his mouth to speak.

"Others?" The detective took a seat, then gestured to his partner to do the same, who proceeded to take out a notepad and a pen.

"The other girls," I clarified as the partner hurriedly wrote down my words.

"I didn't know why I was taken, and none of the girls were willing to be forthcoming," I shrugged, "too scared, I suppose." I adjusted in my seat; the cushion felt foreign—it was uncomfortable.

"There were fourteen of us in total. We were all so... different. Different races, different ages, different sizes. I think he liked the variety."

I finished quietly as I looked down at my hands. They were still scarred, and my pointer finger was crooked, but not by much. It wouldn't seem odd to anyone else; it looked as if my finger was slightly off, but I knew what my hands used to look like. After a moment, I looked back up, my voice blank when I spoke.

"I think he needed it."

The detective sighed heavily at my words. He laced his hands together, and I couldn't help but notice the difference. His hands were so big and hairy. Meaty and thick, they weren't smooth or soft; he had calluses. But they weren't crooked. I hated them.

"What else can you tell us, Annie?" His voice brought me out of my staring contest with his hands.

I looked at the detective for a long minute. I didn't know what to say...how to explain my experience, and despite not wanting to be seen as fragile, I also didn't want to rehash what I went through. I sat there watching as his expression grew tighter and tighter, when suddenly, I knew exactly what to say.

"He liked Alice the best," I finally spoke to the detective's surprise.

"Alice?" He asked, and I nodded.

"What did Alice look like?" His partner watched me with rapt attention, his fingers holding onto his pen tightly.

I bent my head down as her face flashed in my mind, the last look she gave me as I escaped with the others. Hope and resignation fought for control, and yet in the end, she chose to show no emotion at all. A secret defiance, meant for my eyes, and only mine.

"She was boring," I whispered, the truth stinging my tongue and yet soothing it at the same time. "She had boring hair and boring eyes. Her face was normal. Just another face in the crowd. Brown hair, brown eyes, fair skin. No acne, no freckles, nothing that made her stand out."

I looked up to see the detective frowning at me. He was either insulted on Alice's behalf, or he wanted more. I was sure it was the latter. A definitive marker that could point her out. For what reason, I wasn't sure. It wasn't like she was ever going to be found.

"Even then—" I stopped, a dry chuckle making its way past my lips, and I winced at the sharp pain that laced my throat. "Even then, she was the prettiest."

A heavy silence filled the room as the detective and his partner tried to make sense of my words.

Finally, the detective asked the question. "What do you mean by that, Annie?"

"When I first got there, he had just finished his contest. A beauty pageant, he called it," I recalled with a grimace. "I didn't know what he meant until my second month there. Then it was time for me to participate."

It was surprising when I first saw him herding us to the table in the center of the room, but it was a welcome reprieve from watching him when he was in the room...or hearing the others when he wasn't.

"He had us line up in one row," I said as my pointer finger formed a line on the table, my fingernail scraping the surface. "In no particular order, and I ended up next to Alice. She was...plumper than the rest of them." At their confused looks, I clarified. "Healthier."

"The others were skin and bones," I remember being horrified at the state of their bodies, and wondering if I would look like that. "Bruises covered their bodies. Bruises and welts and scratches. Boils on some, open wounds on others. None of them, except Alice, was unharmed."

"Alice was the only one unharmed?"

I nodded. "She was the prettiest."

The partner grimaced, his distaste evident on his face. "He measured worth based on looks?"

"Not like you're thinking," I said, stopping the line of thought they were going on. When I didn't continue, the detective gestured for me to finish before he hurriedly asked a question as if the thought had just occurred to him.

"You weren't harmed yet?"

I shook my head, wrapping my arms around my body. "He didn't want to hurt me, not yet."

"After we lined up"—I spoke before either one could ask another question—"he had us all place our hands on a table, and then, one by one, he smashed our hands with a hammer." There was little emotion in my voice as I tried to detach myself, the memories shooting forth, forcing me to remember. Seeing the detective and his partner flinch should have comforted me, knowing I wasn't the only one horrified, and yet it did the opposite.

I stared at their faces, part of me wanting to see the expressions on their faces when I spoke my next words. "He wanted to watch us scream. Some were defiant." I remembered with clarity those who refused to give him what he wanted. I used to think they were so brave and so strong, and I was ready to follow their lead if it wasn't for Alice.

"Alice told me to scream, and I wanted to call her crazy, but she had this look in her eye, like she knew how he operated and took advantage of it." I was lost in memories when I registered a hand waving in front of my face. Flinching slightly, I looked at the hand and then at the detective as he slowly lowered it.

"Did she?"

I nodded again. "Alice was smart. Far smarter than what he gave her credit for."

"I asked her why. Why would I give that monster anything, and you know what she told me?"

I wrapped my arms tighter around my body, my fingers digging into the sweater, trying to poke a hole in the fabric. "She said that I needed to give in to this moment of weakness so that I had the strength to survive what followed." I saw the detective's partner gulp at that, his mind wandering to the worst-case scenarios, and yet, I was sure anything he imagined was nothing compared to what I experienced.

"So I followed her advice, and when it was my turn, I gave into the pain, and a scream ripped itself out of me. I cried, and I cried freely, and he was pleased."

I remembered how he smiled at me, wide and full of teeth. His eyes were bright with joy. He was excited, and he liked what he heard and what he saw. It was a smile I had come to know quite often over the course of my stay.

"What happened then?"

"I became a favorite. I was still hurt after that, but it wasn't as bad as the others. Sometimes he'd give me medicine; sometimes he was more careful with what he did to me. He would never hit me in the same place twice, and he liked to avoid my face. Said it would obstruct my beauty, and I couldn't have anything marring my expressions."

He was an odd one, the way he cared for us...If I could even call it that. I'm still not sure if it was merely part of his sadism or if he convinced himself otherwise.

"And Alice?"

"He hurt her the most. Not the worst, just the most."

The detective and his partner frowned in confusion, his partner asking, "I thought she was the favorite?"

"She was."

"So..."

"He liked her screams the most. Like I said, she was the prettiest." It was then that they realized what I was saying, and both of their faces paled dramatically and fast.

"Is she dead?"

I shook my head no. Alice wasn't ever going to die, not unless he had no other choice or she finally gave in. She wasn't ever going to be found, but she wouldn't die.

"He took care of her."

"Right," the detective sighed, wiping his hand across his face. He looked so tired and weary already, and I wasn't even finished yet.

"How did he take care of her?" The question sounded like he had to drag it out, and I didn't blame him.

"When she lost her voice, or was too hurt to move, or if she got sick because of the cold, he would take her upstairs and give her soup and throat drops and medicine. Since I was a favorite too, I got to go up with her and bathe her. He'd clean her wounds and reset her bones, and if he needed to, he'd stitch her up, very neatly. He was very careful with her, and while she got better, he didn't touch her."

"He did this every time?" The detective asked, horrified, and when I nodded, I heard him muttering under his breath.

"What happened with the rest of you?"

"The girls who defied him weren't seen again. He had no use for girls who wouldn't scream. The rest of us, he took turns, and he'd tell us stories about other girls, the ones he said were memorable. He always compared them to Alice, saying only one before her was better, but that he wasn't careful. Then Alice would come back, and he'd start all over again."

The detective's partner stopped writing, an unreadable look on his face. "He'd start again?" He asked quietly, and I nodded, understanding why he looked like that.

"What is it, Davis?" The detective asked.

"They—" he licked his lips, clearing his throat as he shuffled around in his seat. "They were placeholders."

"Placeholders?" The detective asked and looked toward me when I nodded.

"Alice was the favorite," I repeated once again.

The detective's eyes widened, and his jaw dropped in shock. "You mean to tell me he kept you guys so he wouldn't kill her?"

I nodded again, my arms clutching at my sweater, my nails finally pricking the fabric and my skin. "He said he had to learn how not to break his toys."