Chapter 6: Assessing the Damage

Chapter 6: Assessing the Damage

Peering into the bathroom mirror, Jenny was shocked at what she saw. Her face was a mess, her left eye swollen and purple, and her long red hair was tangled and unruly. She hadn't been to a salon in the two years she'd been Victor's captive. Once shoulder length, her hair now reached nearly down to her behind.

She considered the dress and cringed. It was from the limited closet of items Victor had provided, and his tastes in women's fashion left a lot to be desired. Day to day, she alternated between a couple worn pairs of jeans that grew increasingly loose as she lost weight, matching them with a half-dozen old t-shirts. Unless Victor sent for her, in which case he usually specified which slinky dress he wanted her to wear. She supposed he imagined her as a gift to be wrapped and presented, either to himself or to those individuals with whom he wanted to curry favor.

She looked at the stack of clothes Cole had given her, touching them lightly. He seemed nice. Really nice. And he seemed to want to help her. But what could he do? There was no one to call. No one who remembered the girl who used to be called Jenny.

It had been nice to hear her own name, though. Victor just called her 'pet.'

She breathed in deeply as her stomach clenched. He'd be looking for her. If she knew anything, she knew this. She was his property, as he was so fond of reminding her. Unconsciously, the fingers of her left hand made their way to her right shoulder, reaching to lightly stroke the raised skin there.

His property. He'd literally burned it into her, one horrific night a few weeks after her parents had been killed. She'd managed to get her hands on a small pad of paper and a pen, and she'd scribbled furious notes begging for help. At the time, she hadn't been certain how she'd get them out of the compound where she was kept, but she'd figured she'd find a way.

Only Victor had found her notes first. She'd never write anything down on paper, ever again.

It was hard to explain to Cole. He'd only wanted to help. And he had. He'd gotten her away from Slater and Wilcox.

She met her own eye in the mirror. But now what? She hadn't planned anything beyond getting away. Now what? She had no place to go. No family to help her. No money. No ID.

Frustrated tears rolled down her cheeks. Cole had mentioned the police. But likely as not, Victor had police on his payroll. She'd overheard as much numerous times. For some reason, people acted as though the girl who didn't talk also couldn't hear. But Jenny heard everything.

A clatter from downstairs reminded her that Cole was in the kitchen making dinner. She took off the dress, then gazed at the wad of fabric in her hand. An idea formed, and she slid open a drawer beneath the sink. Rummaging around, she found a large pair of silver shears.

She closed the drawer with her hip and held the dress over the wastebasket. With a satisfied gleam in her eye, she cut the dress into shreds. When she finished, she put down the scissors and smiled at herself in the mirror.

Her attention strayed to her unruly red mop. Feeling empowered at having dispatched the tacky dress, she picked up the scissors again. Moments later, she'd lopped off sixteen inches of hair, trimming it back to shoulder-length. Pleased with the results, she grinned, splitting open her swollen lip.

She dabbed at it with a tissue as she adjusted the temperature of the shower. I'll figure it out. I'm a survivor. I got away from them. Now, I just have to see what's next.