Start writing..
WARNING – contains some violence and coarse and misogynistic language.
The Stray
Crash from under the back porch. Probably some tomcat got in and knocked the sheets of plywood off the sawhorses. Probably going to spray. Jack lifted himself off the chair and went out to see.
Flashlight beam ahead of him, Jack ducked under and had a look. Yes, a sheet of plywood had fallen, but there were subdued noises coming from under it. Expecting to see a cat, he pulled up. He saw a whimpering woman’s head. Pulling up further showed a young woman, naked but for a collar, cut, bleeding and covered in grime.
She continued whimpering as he took her into the house and marched her into the bathroom. He asked her about what happened, but she couldn’t speak. The collar was of some composite material, cutting into her neck. He found bolt-cutters and made short work of the collar, and then got her into the shower.
The collar had a bunch of wires in it, and what looked like a radio transponder. It looked like a collar used to control barking for dogs.
“Know English?” Nod of head.
“Speak?” Attempts produced a growling sound, but nothing else.
“Shock collar? When you tried to speak?” Vigorous nodding.
“I’m going to disinfect and bandage your cuts.” Nodding.
The girl was white, tall, athletic, somewhat hairy. Her brown hair was cut short. She had the Greek letter Sigma branded on her left buttock. Her cuts were not serious, and none appeared infected.
More shockingly, however, was the extensive bruising and what appeared to be whip marks all over her back, buttocks, breasts, and thighs.
“Police?” Agitation.
“Hospital?” More agitation.
“I really need to take a picture of this to show what whoever it was did to you.” Some thought, and then a slow nod. Jack took shots with his phone and finished bandaging her.
“Bathrobe?” More agitation, pushing the offered robe away.
“Food?” Strong nod of head. So, he gave her tea and bread, which she had no problem with, and put her in the guest bedroom.
Over the next few days, she ate steadily. When Jack wasn’t in front of her, she tried vocalizing. By the fifth day, she was able to talk in a low rasp.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Miranda Thompson. I’m 20 years old and have been owned by the Sigma cult for the past two years. They used that shock collar whenever I tried to speak. The Sigma cult believes that its slaves should never speak, but only meow. The cult leader is the singer Andrew Bolton.”
“The guy that used to be a regular in Vegas? Until the rape conviction?”
“The same. He used his money to set up this compound a few hills over from here, at the old Jones Farm, and set up what they called self-empowerment for women.”
“How did you get involved with them?”
“Well, I was really into theatre throughout high school, and kind of dramatic. I like to express my emotions. Dad took off when I was little, and Mom was killed in a car crash when I was sixteen. From sixteen to eighteen, I was a Ward of the State. They paid for me to live in a motel, but that’s about it. When I was in my early teens, I used to idolize the actress Xandra Yellowstone, from the show Glee-er than Glee. Just after I finished high school, when I wasn’t waitressing, I tried out for a local theatre production, and Xandra was there. After talking a bit about things, she said she thought I had raw talent, but needed to work on it. She invited me to a workshop at the Jones Farm, which she said they were converting to a studio. Since I’ve had two years to think about it, I think she was trolling for cute young star-struck things with minimal family ties.
All the way out to the Jones Farm, she started talking about how the Sigma organization works to bring out the best in female empowerment, and how when women worked together something magical happened. She said they used a technique called rational enquiry, which they licensed from another organization. She said we would work long and hard together.
After a week of these sessions, Xandra and Andrew seduced me. I would have done anything for them at that point. I agreed to join what they called the “Inner Organization”, and agreed to be branded, which was done by Dr. Kelland from over in Smithtown. This was why I didn’t want to go to the hospital there.
After this, they took my clothes, and put on that collar. I had to have sex with whoever they told me to. Eventually, other girls joined, but I think I was the only local. We were regularly whipped for real and imagined infractions. Eventually, they came up with the meowing thing, along with wearing cat ears and tails for special events.
We had visitors like Dr. Kelland, Sheriff Connor of Smith County and other local bigwigs. Eventually, some guys who looked like they had real money stopped by.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with Doc Kelland and Sheriff Bull Connor.” Sheriff Connor picked up the nickname of “Bull” after the notorious Birmingham, Alabama police commissioner of the early 1960’s.
“More like Steer Connor. He tried to stick his police flashlight up my butt because he couldn’t get it up. Then I elbowed him in the nose hard enough to have blood shoot out. After that, he and Kelland and Bolton took turns whipping me all over. Then I decided that they would kill me soon if I didn’t get out.
I had had nearly two years to think about things and keep my eyes open. I noticed that there were four guards, and they all liked to get drunk on Fridays. That Friday, Andrew and Xandra were off recruiting and the guards, as expected, were drunk. So I ran off, crawled under the barbed wire, got cut a bit, and then ran into the woods. I kept to the hill trails and hid behind trees if anyone came along. I kept going for five days, and then found your property. It’s starting to get pretty cold at nights, so I decided to hide under your porch, and then your lumber pile fell on me. What about you?”
“Retired a few years ago. Wife left a few years before that. I try to keep busy around the house and do the odd contract.”
“I saw your memorabilia case in the living room. Army crypto warrant officer. NSA analyst.”
“Guilty. They pushed me out of NSA for always telling them what they didn’t want to hear. So, what makes you think I’m not going to sell you to Sigma?”
“Didn’t have much choice. Plus, your background and the look on your face when I mentioned the people involved in Sigma. In Sigma, when we weren’t being prostituted, we didn’t have a lot to do other than work out and serve as decoration. I had nearly two year to think about my situation. My anger evolved into pure hate. Will you help me destroy these scumbags?”
“Boy, you do express your emotions. Let me tell you a few things that might help your decision making. The Jones Farm straddles Smith County and Jones County, with almost all of it, including all the buildings, being in Jones County. My property is in Jones County. The sheriff of Jones County is a good friend of mine named Jim Cartwright. Sheriff Jim hates Bull Connor, and would happily shoot him, given an excuse. I think Sheriff Jim would be very interested in your story.”
“Okay.”
“In my experience, the best way to attack powerful people is to use their inevitable rivalries with other powerful people.”
“Okay.”
“One question, though. Why the no clothes thing?”
“It’s what I’m used to now. I was always somewhat nudity-friendly and proud of my body, especially regarding stage roles. Also, my cuts really don’t want any more fabric on them than needed.”
“Okay. When your cuts are better, we’ll get you some sweats, and take you to see Sheriff Jim. Right now, I think we need better pictures. I’ll make sure you get all my digital copies when this is over.”
“Yes, please do this. I need to document what they did to me.”