1. Little Lamb

There’s a silence that screams louder than grief, and tonight it was the sound of river water whispering my name from beneath the bridge.

I stood there, frozen. The night wind sliced through my skin, and I couldn’t tell if I was trembling from the cold or from Nathan’s death still echoing in my head. 

He was supposed to save me. But instead, he was gone. Everything was in pieces. And me? I was just the debris of something that was never whole to begin with.

I took a step toward the edge, my heels slipping against the dew-slick railing. Beneath me, the fog swallowed the river in thick white breath. One jump. That’s all it would take.

No more pain. No more memories.

I took a long breath, but then a heavy voice sliced through the silence.

“Don’t give up so easily, miss.”

I spun around, but before I could see who it was, rough hands grabbed my arm.

“Who are you?!” I screamed, panic flooding me. “Let me go!” Three men emerged from the fog, their faces barely visible in the dark. Draped in black like shadows ripped from someone’s nightmare.

I fought, screamed at the top of my lungs, but my voice drowned beneath the night wind’s howl. No one could hear me. No one could save me—that’s why I picked this spot in the first place.

One of them clamped a wet cloth over my mouth, stinking sharp. My head spun, vision blurred, but I caught one of them say before everything went black, “She’s more valuable alive than dead.”

And just like that, the night swallowed me whole.

***

I woke dizzy, my body weak beyond words. My eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, seeing nothing but drifting shadows. My skin was cold, the fabric against it rough and itchy, like my body had been dressed without my consent. I felt something strange—something crawling through my veins—draining me, stealing my strength. Every muscle ached like my body was forced to fight nature’s will.

They’d put something inside me.

I had to get out.

But as I tried to rise, the weakness strangled tighter, and I collapsed back onto the strange bed beneath me.

The clothes I wore were scandalously revealing, little more than thin fabric and ridiculous decorations that showed way more than I wanted. My body trembled, but I couldn’t summon even a scream.

Soon, heavy footsteps approached. The door creaked open, and a man stepped through the curtain, dressed head to toe in black. His face hidden behind a dark mask, his sharp eyes locking on me like I was a trapped animal.

“Get up,” he said, voice low and commanding.

I struggled to pull away, but my body betrayed me, dragged to follow his will. He grabbed my arm, leading me out of the dark room, and I staggered behind him, each step heavier than the last.

From beyond, a cacophony rose—people shouting loudly, muffled laughter, whispers bouncing off the walls. The noise filled the air like a twisted show—but I knew this was no ordinary performance. This was something far more sinister.

The rough hand yanked me hard out from behind the curtain, and as I stepped onto the stage, thousands of masked eyes pierced me like a thousand needles. Looking around, I felt like I was a showpiece, paraded like some object for sale to men who wanted nothing but their own satisfaction.

A man in a gold mask and matching suit approached, spinning me like a porcelain dancer in a music box. “We start the bidding at fifty thousand!”

I stood there, swaying in the center of the stage, no strength left to fight or run. My vision spun until it locked on a man in a black suit in front of the stage. Crystal chandeliers hung low, reflecting the shimmer off his silver mask that covered the upper half of his face. But nothing was more intimidating than his gaze—eyes that seemed to pierce through my soul, stripping bare every secret I tried to hide.

When our eyes met, I felt my heart stop. For a moment, the world seemed to crumble beneath me.

“One million.” That soft but cold bass voice shook the room.

I gripped the fabric covering me, not knowing who he was, but something about the faint smile on his face was off—no pride, no joy in winning the bid—something else.

There was a dark, dangerous aura surrounding him, and for some reason, I knew … I wouldn’t be able to run from him.

After the suffocating applause and cheers, the million-dollar man walked slowly toward the stage, steady and confident. His eyes, unnervingly black, locked on me like a predator who never lets go of its prey.

“Release her,” he said, low and commanding, to the gold-masked auctioneer.

“She’s yours, Sir,” the man replied, bowing slightly before signaling someone backstage. Two guards stepped forward and dragged me off the stage, pulling me toward the silver-masked man.

“I can walk myself,” I hissed sharply, but my legs refused to obey.

When I got close enough, he raised his hand, signaling the guards to back off.  “I’ll handle this myself.”

Our eyes met again, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. No mercy in his face—only certainty that I belonged to him now.

“Who are you?” My voice trembled, more a desperate whisper than a question.

He didn’t answer right away, just stared with that unreadable expression. His hand reached out, cold fingers brushing my chin, forcing me to look up.

“I’m someone who’ll make sure you stay alive, little lamb.” His voice was deep and calm, but hidden in it was a threat.

I flinched. Little lamb? My mind spun with questions, but none escaped my lips.

My vision blurred again, my head pounding from the madness swirling around me. The last thing I remember was those glowing red eyes devouring my consciousness.

***

What do you think he meant when he called her “little lamb”?

240525, Anne Joyce