FOREIGN PRISON

Chapter 25


Doctor Tourachev sat in the chair across from General Karozki's desk and, as usual, came to his point without preamble. "I have another experiment I'd like to try."

The general gave him a bemused look. "Don't you have enough going on already?"

The doctor shrugged. "I'm good at multitasking. Anyway, this one involves the snakes."

The general raised an eyebrow. "We didn't get rid of those?"

The doctor shook his head. "I was considering this new experiment as soon as I saw the dramatic effect they had on the president's daughter." He leaned forward. "I want to try that same thing on another girl, but this time let it go to completion."

The general frowned. "By 'completion,' you mean what, exactly?"

"Well, obviously, complete coverage of her body, entry into her orifices. In the end, death."

The general sat forward suddenly. "You told the president the snakes couldn't kill Marya!"

"I didn't say that. I assured him that Marya wouldn't die as a result of what we were planning. I felt completely confident that she would use her ability to end the snake attack before she was in mortal danger." He smirked. "And I was right."

The general sat back again, still not quite happy. "What, then, would be the mechanism of death, in your experiment?"

"I did suggest one of the possibilities in the script I gave Madame Gerova: that one or more snakes would circle the girl's neck and choke her. Most likely that would happen unless she kept her head perfectly still -- the snake would react instinctively if he perceived a threat of being caught between her neck and her chin. And I believe that if she did keep her head still, then another of the snakes would enter her mouth and likely try to wriggle down her throat, choking her that way."

"And I suppose she could just as likely die of heart failure."

The doctor clapped his hands together. "There! You've seen to the basic question of the experiment! I would like to see whether the girl's heart can hold out long enough for the snakes to do the job. If so, we might consider adding this to our list of executions for the worst of all criminals. The ones we have who participated in the assassination plot, for example." He tilted his head. "We have authority to execute as we see fit. I believe the president would be sufficiently pleased with this method that it would override any after-the-fact objections he might have to its use on his daughter. She did survive it, and the terror she experienced was both satisfying to him in its own right, and satisfying in its consequences."

The general sighed. "Okay, suppose the girl's own body doesn't kill her, and allows the snakes to do it. That would just be one particular girl. Another might react differently."

The doctor's eyes lit up. "There, you've done it again! It is important to make use of a test subject with an extreme phobia of snakes, such as young Marya has. One so intense that the girl would serve as the acid test of the thesis. If such a test subject survives until the snakes do her in, I am convinced anyone will. She may faint, I believe, but most likely only once. Afterward her blood flow will have stabilized in adjustment to her body's extreme level of panic. So aside from those few minutes of unconsciousness, probably early on, she should be conscious to the end to experience it all."

"How do you find this extreme snakeophobe? If that's the word."

Another smirk. "I already have. I deposited a snake on the floor of the shower room and noted the reactions of all of our inmates passing through. There was quite a lot of screaming, of course, but only one girl had a full-blown panic reaction on the level of Marya's. She kept screaming, crouching in a near-fetal position, for several minutes after I'd taken the snake away. I want to use her for the experiment."

"I assume you found out who she was."

The doctor looked down at the notes he had brought. "I checked our records and found her name. Anya Simonina."

The general choked back a laugh. "I'm glad you come and ask me before you run these experiments of yours. You can't have her. We need her to keep the American girl in line."

The doctor's face radiated disappointment. "None of the other inmates would be nearly so good for the purpose. Couldn't someone else serve as a check on Miss Preston?"

The general shook his head. "We already executed Miss Preston's compatriot. We were free to do that because Miss Simonina was available to fill the need. And obviously you know the president has an interest in the American girl. He wants to use her in that project you told him you've been working on. So we certainly can't execute her. It's unfortunate he didn't express his interest in one of the Americans before we shot Miss Forrest, but we can't undo an execution."

"But as I said, couldn't some other inmate take the place of Simonina, for controlling Miss Preston?"

The general shook his head. "Miss Preston hasn't shown any evidence of bonding with anyone else."

The doctor, crestfallen, was silent for a moment. Then he brightened suddenly. "The president's plan for Miss Preston involves taking her away from here. If he does, then can I have Miss Simonina?"

The general frowned in thought. "Miss Simonina is one of a group of thirty-eight women brought here from an underground conspiracy cell in Arkhatz. It was a large cell. The sixty men went elsewhere, of course. We executed thirty-three of the thirty-eight immediately -- that by itself was enough to satisfy the nutritional needs of our inmates for some time -- but we saw fit to keep five young, pretty ones for the guards to play with. Miss Simonina has already been used once to punish one of the others. We may still need her for that."

"Not if there are five of them! Any one of them can serve as a check on the behavior of any of the others."

The general sat back and considered for nearly a full minute. At last he sighed. "All right. If the president removes Miss Preston from this facility, you may have Simonina."

The doctor stood, his face glowing. "Thank you. I will make preparations, in case."

*   *   *   *   *

Rachel judged, from the increasingly frantic look in Kristina's eyes, that the girl had decided that being Rachel's passive sex doll probably was not enough. Rachel could see Kristina's eyes constantly fixing on Anya, especially when Anya wriggled to try to find a way to relieve the stress, and then moaned. Kristina had to be picturing herself in the same straits, as she would be all day tomorrow if she didn't "satisfy" Rachel.

Kristina kept opening her mouth as if to say something, perhaps to ask Rachel what she wanted, followed by biting her lip in frustration at the communication barrier. At last she stuck her tongue out and made a licking motion, with a questioning look in her eyes.

I guess, thought Rachel, that is something we could do that's a little less strenuous. She nodded, and gave Kristina one of her smiles whose sincerity Kristina probably did not know her well enough to judge. Kristina sighed in seeming relief, and began licking Rachel's neck, softly, making quiet moans of satisfaction as if Rachel was a favorite dessert sweet. Gradually, by slow inches, she moved her efforts down to Rachel's breast.

Rachel realized, again, that she was sitting in such a position that the camera couldn't see what Kristina was doing. She shifted around to lean her back against the side wall of the cell. There, she thought grimly, perfect.

She tried hard to wrap herself in a fantasy that it was Anya licking and sucking on her breast, but it proved impossible. She couldn't erase, from her conscious mind, her knowledge of exactly where Anya really was right now, the suffering Anya was going through. Though Rachel's eyes were closed, the image of Anya in that painful bondage remained at the forefront of her mind, like the window on a computer screen that insists on staying in front of all other windows no matter what you do.

To Rachel, the most maddening thing was that she couldn't be sure anyone was watching right now, nor that she wasn't allowed to stop having sex with Kristina. That had seemed to be the implication Boris had been trying to make, but he had never come right out and said it. That was, to Rachel, the most frustrating feature of Boris's little joke on the two of them. She and Kristina might be making erotic use of each other's bodies for no reason at all.

But by far the most painful part of the experience was having to do it in front of Anya.

Rachel closed her eyes and sighed in fake ecstasy.

*   *   *   *   *

Yelena closed her eyes. It did feel nice.

She and Marya were in the partly-filled bathtub, and Marya was just finishing shaving Yelena's legs, ending with her inner thighs, her fingers flattening the skin under the shaving foam so the razor could slide smoothly up to Yelena's sex lips. She left Yelena's stubbly bush alone, as Yelena had told her to. Yelena wondered if the stubble hurt the men's balls when they did her from behind. She hoped so.

Marya grinned and said, "All done!", and leaned down to kiss Yelena's sex. She playfully continued trailing kisses up Yelena's stomach, paused at her breasts to suck for a moment, and then continued up to Yelena's neck. She kissed and licked that spot behind and below Yelena's ear that had always made her shiver when kissed there.

Marya had grinned again and giggled, a genuine giggle that made Yelena's eyes shoot open. Marya murmured, "You like that, don't you?" and made a show of giving exaggerated, sloppy kisses in that same spot.

This is real, Yelena thought. I've been feeling she has not been faking it the last couple of days, but this is so real that no actress in the world could have me so convinced if it wasn't.

Yelena was forced to the conclusion: Yes, my guess was right. She's fully, completely Hélène now, and sees me as her lover Hélène. And she's happy with that.

I don't care what the reason is. I don't care if she's completely cut herself off from the Marya that was, to become the Hélène that is. As long as it means she's happy. If she's happy in this madhouse, then I can live with the shame of what they have made me do to her.

Yelena, reminding herself once more of her obligations, twisted around and downward to bring her mouth closer to Marya's. Holding both sides of Marya's head, she gave her a long, loving kiss. It was Marya who used her tongue first.

*   *   *   *   *

Rachel could see the determination grow behind Kristina's eyes, as the hours went by. Obviously the girl was worried by Rachel's lack of obvious sexual response. If I could just get wet for her, Rachel thought, that would help so much. She'd feel like she was accomplishing something.

Rachel tried, just once, remembering sexual encounters with past boyfriends, but all such memories seemed soiled now, mixed together with the long series of rapes that summarized to her what it was that all men, even the nice ones, had ever wanted from her.

Kristina would even be happy if I just faked an orgasm, Rachel thought, even if she knew it was fake. If I could just give her some sign that I appreciated her efforts, and let her rest for awhile, that would be fine with her. She doesn't know that it isn't that simple. I can't do the fake, then give her a smile and a friendly post-coital kiss and let both of us get a little sleep. I have to keep this going.

Kristina was licking Rachel between her breasts now, making soft moaning sounds. Rachel jumped slightly when she felt Kristina's fingers in her crotch, softly rubbing her sex. And then Kristina began licking lower, inching her tongue towards Rachel's navel.

Rachel was appalled by the realization that Kristina would, in a few minutes, be licking her sex, and then suddenly realized that Kristina was probably playing her last card: if cunnilingus didn't work, she would probably panic. And from that vantage point, it would be painfully obvious to Kristina that it wasn't working.

I've got to take the focus away from between my legs, Rachel told herself. I need to give her some way to seem to make me happy. I can't fake arousal, but I can fake being happy. For that, she needs to see my face.

Rachel slid her arm under Kristina's armpit, and gently pulled her upward. As soon as Kristina's face was in range, Rachel kissed her, running her tongue in a circle around Kristina's. She made what she judged to be a pleased sighing sound when Kristina began sucking on her tongue. After a minute of that, she pulled away just enough to show Kristina a benign smile, and then resumed playing with her tongue. She wrapped both arms around Kristina and pulled her tightly against her. There, she thought, broadcasting her thoughts to Kristina. Just stay up here like this. We'll be fine.

Rachel nearly lost it when she heard a sharp gasp of pain from Anya, followed by renewed soft sobbing. She felt a sudden urge to bite Kristina's tongue off, so strong was her need to act on the anger coursing through her. She had to remind herself over and over, it's not Kristina's fault, it's not her fault, it's not her fault. We're all victims here.

She hugged Kristina more tightly, pushing her tongue farther into Kristina's mouth.

*   *   *   *   *

Rachel and Kristina were lying on their sides, arms and legs wrapped around each other, kissing passionately, when they both convulsed suddenly at the sound of the airhorn. They resumed kissing -- Rachel had no intention of stopping until Boris said it was okay -- as the tramping feet of the guards passed by her cell. At last Rachel heard the key turning in the lock, and her cell door swung open -- not completely, as Anya was in the way, but enough to let Kristina out. Boris had bent down and looked into the cell, grinning. "Was she good girl?"

Rachel nodded vigorously, smiling, to make it obvious to Kristina what she was telling him. She could see the relief in Kristina's face. "Oh, yes. That was very nice."

As Kristina scrambled out, Boris turned his smirk towards Anya. Rachel assumed Boris was about to bend down to start freeing Anya. Instead, after nudging Anya with his boot to make sure she was awake, he dropped a very short piece of rope, about a foot long, a few feet in front of Anya's face. It was probably leftover from last night, discarded atop one of the cells.

Rachel had barely enough time to think, What the hell, is he going to tie her up more? before Anya seemed to go berserk.

Anya, as soon as she saw the rope, convulsed and let out a piercing scream, and started struggling with the ropes in what seemed a complete panic. Each time she tried to straighten her legs, the rope tied to her hobble chain tightened in her crotch, where Rachel was sure the skin was already raw enough that it had to be agony, and as she bent her elbows to try to bring her arms down for protection, the strain in her shoulders had to be excruciating, but Anya couldn't stop squirming. Or screaming.

Rachel could hear the laughter of Boris and the other guards. Boris at last picked up the rope, and held it in front of Anya's eyes. Anya stopped screaming, or more accurately her screaming turned to ordinary crying. It was obvious to Rachel that Anya must have thought, at first, the rope was something else, since her panic ended as soon as she could see it clearly.

Rachel suddenly remembered the snake in the shower room yesterday. The rope did look a lot like a snake, but that couldn't be it, Rachel told herself. Anya hadn't been in the shower room then. She didn't get there until later, and the old guy had picked up the snake as Rachel watched. It wouldn't have still been there for Anya to see.

Whatever Anya had thought the rope was, Boris had known how she was going to react. That much was beyond argument.

Rachel resolved again to kill Boris if the opportunity ever arose.

*   *   *   *   *

Rachel moaned at her first sight of the new window room. The three, perhaps four inches of snow from yesterday remained, untrampled here. But worse than that was the layout of the land. There was about a five-foot-wide level shelf of ground just outside the window, but from there the ground sloped downward -- not an extreme incline, but enough that footing on the snow, especially as it became more compacted, would be tricky, both going out and downward, and then returning upward. The trees were closer to the window, so that was good, but Rachel knew her thighs would ache by the end of the day from going up and down the natural ramp.

Rachel couldn't see the ground under the trees from inside the window room, but there turned out to be a lot of pine straw. Rachel speculated that they might alternate, every few weeks, between the first two rooms she had seen and the other two, to give the trees a chance to shed more straw. Judging from the pristine snow just outside the window, this room hadn't been in use yesterday, at least.

Kristina seemed unable to look at Rachel. She had tried once, and given Rachel what Rachel took to be a grateful smile, both for rescuing her from last night's torture and for giving a positive report on her efforts so that she wouldn't have to be tortured tonight -- but immediately the girl's face had gone bright red, and she'd looked away quickly, no doubt wishing she could scrub her memory of what she had spent all those hours doing with Rachel. And perhaps worried that Rachel would request a return engagement.

Rachel worried about the upcoming strain in her leg muscles as she did her outdoor work, following a night of zero sleep, but those worries were dwarfed by her fretting about Anya. Anya seemed to sleepwalk when she was outside. She did keep moving, and nobody had perceived a need to go out and help her -- she didn't fall down and lay there unmoving. But she didn't seem to want to get back inside as quickly as she could, the way all the other women did -- the way anyone would. Rachel didn't think it was the ache in Anya's arms and crotch from last night's bondage, or the sheer exhaustion she must be feeling after a sleepless, pain-filled night, that was preventing her from moving faster. And it wasn't that Anya didn't feel the cold: she always returned shivering convulsively, her teeth chattering. It simply looked as though she didn't want to make the effort to go any faster, and she gave the impression that she didn't want to return at all. She probably knew that if she did stop and stay out there, a guard would eventually come dashing out and pull her back in, and then whip her afterward. But Rachel was concerned that even that wasn't going to serve as a motivation forever.

Later in the day, a man Rachel hadn't seen before came into the window room and handed Boris a note. Boris had taken it, and then conferred with Matt and Igor. After discussion, during which they all seemed to look intently around the room, focusing on each girl in turn, they seemed to come to an agreement. Boris caught the attention of the man who'd brought the note and pointed to one of Rachel's teammates. Rachel had no idea on what basis they'd made a selection. She was positive, though, that it was good that they hadn't picked out her or Anya.

The man nodded, went to speak to the indicated woman, who went instantly pale but then sighed and nodded her head. He attached a leash and led her out.

*   *   *   *   *

After work and the shower, Rachel and the rest returned to the cell block, and blinked in surprise at seeing a completely unknown, terrified-looking girl in one of the cells already -- in the cell, Rachel realized in a moment, of the woman who had been led away from the window room and hadn't come back.

Rachel gasped as she put it all together, remembering the earlier new girl showing up in a cell across from Rachel's a few days ago. Like tonight's new girl, that earlier one had been, and still was, sitting in a cell that had belonged to a woman who hadn't returned from work.

I've just seen the whole process, thought Rachel, appalled. The cycle of life. When a woman arrives at the prison, young, pretty, nice body, and they decide they want to keep her around, they make a place for her by picking out one they don't want anymore and getting rid of her. I saw the choice being made -- the choice of who would die so they would have this new one to play with.

What Rachel found most appalling of all was the older woman's reaction. She had been around long enough, Rachel was sure, that she knew how it worked. She had to have seen it happen many times before, and now it was happening to her. She knew her execution had finally come. You could see that in her face. And yet, it took her just seconds to accept it. She was sick of it all; she knew her life would never get better; she just wanted to end it.

I hope I never, ever feel that way, Rachel thought. I am not just going to walk away quietly with them. When that time comes, I'm going to fight. What are they going to do if I fight them over execution? Threaten me with death?

She buried a groan as her thoughts returned to Anya. Anya would have gone with them quietly, Rachel told herself. I didn't see Anya's face when the girl was taken away, because I was trying not to look at her, but I have a feeling I would have seen Anya wishing it was her.

Rachel felt the tears starting again. She wiped one away with her shoulder.

*   *   *   *   *

Oksana had always wondered what this last walk would be like.

I guess I could say I'll miss my friends, she thought, but I never got to know any of them very well. She rolled her eyes, thinking: Well, I did have sex with several of them.

It's funny, though, she thought, I never had anything like what was going on with that tall blonde girl, the English girl, and that really tiny cutie. The way they got all giggly around each other. Now I guess they must have had a fight about something. I hope they get back together. I guess I'll miss finding out if they do.

But I'm glad, she told herself, that I never really got close to anybody. You can't do that here. And right now that would tear at my heart, if they were taking me away from somebody.

But there's no problem, she said to herself. It's just time for it to be over. And I'm glad. Maybe there'll be something better later, after I'm dead. Except it seems like God forgot all about me all these years. Why would He leave me in this place all this time?

But the main thing is, she thought, nodding to herself, I'm getting away. Finally. I won't be here anymore.

Oksana saw there was a window in the hallway she was being led down. Not another snow room, she decided, after a moment of misgiving. There's not enough light coming through the window for that. It's looking into something, not outside.

She turned to look curiously through the window as they reached it. And stopped, her jaw dropping.

Obviously the room behind the window was cold. There was frost at the corners of the window, and patches of ice on the walls. There was a cloud of condensation coming out of the mouth of the man in a heavy coat working at one table.

There was a human leg on the table, a female leg, long and shapely. Just the leg. The leg was ivory-colored, almost white. But it was real, Oksana was sure. Drained of blood. The man held a cleaver, obviously about to start making cuts through the meat.

Beside the table, Oksana saw a bin, filled to the top with more severed legs. Another bin elsewhere held arms. Through the swinging door the man had walked through, Oksana thought she saw a torso on another table, a big opening in its stomach.

She felt the pull on her leash. No, she thought, no! It can't be!!

After all this time, all those meals in her cell, Oksana understood she was seeing the answer to the mystery of what kind of meat that had been.

I've been eating... and now I'm going to be....

She turned to run. Her mind had stopped using any words now, other than: Run! Go!

Strong arms caught her, brought her through the door beyond the window. Into a very, very cold room.

Quickly three men lifted her, turned her upside down, and hung her hobble chain over a hook in the ceiling.

She struggled to get loose from her handcuffs, though she had years ago realized it was impossible. As she turned at the end of the hook, starting to shiver from the cold, she saw there were other women there with her. Or bodies that had been women. Hanging upside down from hooks as Oksana was, their bodies complete except for missing their heads.

There was a gutter in the floor directly beneath her, its bottom and sides a crusty red color.

The last man leaving the room patted her side, and said, "The butcher will be with you when he gets time."

She screamed.

No, she thought, damn it, no!!! I thought dying would get me out of this place!

She struggled with the chains and the cold as long as she could. But at last she felt her muscles tire, slow, stop. The cold began penetrating her far more deeply than it ever had outside.



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