The Desired Victim

Chapter 6: The Call of the Honeybird

Well, this wasn't good. Emory just left me alone in the ship's cabin hanging from my chains attached against the wall like a dead flower. I don't know what got into him. I vaguely wondered where he went, and then wondered again where you could even go on this ship. It was large, but definitely not the biggest boat I've seen.

I sighed. My arms were already starting to ache. I suppose I'll have to get used to it, since I highly doubt I'll ever use a bed for sleeping ever again. Tears suddenly came to my eyes again. Hadn't I cried enough? It was obvious no one cared about me here, and no one ever would. There was just a part of me that couldn't believe this was real. I still hoped everything was just a nightmare, and that I would wake up in my nice warm bed, just like every morning.

I groaned in frustration. My arms felt like they were burning now, and who knows when the next time someone will come here to set me free. My stomach growled, and I realized I hadn't any source of food since before the night I was taken. This was all hopeless. My arms would either fall off, or I would die of hunger before I got sent anywhere.

As I was wallowing in self pity, something under me shifted.

Water.

We were departing.

I heard the muffled shouts and orders from the men outside, and that was when I knew there was no going back. Hanging my head, I let the tears roll down my face, and somehow fell into immediate sleep.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I woke up to the sound of the door slamming. Emory was back. He grabbed his luggage, and started unpacking them, totally ignoring me. How I fell asleep in the position I was, I don't know. But my arms had lost all blood flow, and I wanted to cry from how bad they ached. I moaned instead.

Emory glanced over at me, as if he just realized I was there.

"Oh, right." He mumbled to himself.

He came over to me, and unlocked my chains, making me completely free. I immediately started rubbing my arms, attempting to get the feeling back in them. I hadn't realized that my whole body was shaking.

Emory went back to continue unpacking his luggage. He seemed a lot more calm. Wherever he went, whatever he did, he sure seemed a lot less demanding and angry and more relaxed.

"You're probably hungry, aren't you?" He asked, without looking at me.

Afraid of getting yelled at again, I remained silent.

He turned to me. "Are you?"

I still didn't want to answer, even though my stomach screamed yes. I curled my body into a ball, and wrapped my arms around my knees.

He stared at me for a few moments, with a hint of pity in his eyes.

"I won't hurt you, slave." Even though the last word was an ugly one, he still said it softly. Before I could respond, he said,

"Oh, yes. I recieved the request on what your new master wants to call you."

I cringed slightly, and waited.

"From now on, you'll respond to Honeybird, understand?"

I stared.

"Forget your real name. It won't serve you any purpose anymore." He looked at me expectantly, as if I was going to say something. As if I would.

He sighed. "Look. Can you please just say something? Or else I might lose my temper again." He gave me a suddenly harsh look.

I swallowed. "I a-am hungry . . . "

"See? Now was that so hard? Come on, you're getting food."

He firmly grabbed my still numb arms, and we left the cramped cabin. The first thing I noticed was how wobbly and uneven the boat was. It tilted every which way, and I kept falling all over myself, even with Emory's strong hands keeping me steady. For a moment, I thought I saw him hide a small smile.

We went down a few halls, and soon appeared in what looked like an eating area. Dozens of gross, sweaty, foul smelling men were all sitting around eating. Emory was probably the most clean man on this ship. He led me quickly to the front of the line where the food was being served. Emory didn't even have to say a word, a bowl of squashy mush was handed to him immediately.

"Here." Emory handed me the bowl. I peered suspiciously at the goopy stuff, and wondered whether it was oatmeal or vomit.

I couldn't help but feel hundreds of eyes on me. Emory simply led me to a lonely, empty table, and kept me steady from spilling the oatmeal. Or whatever it was.

We sat down. My stomach felt queasy from the continuous rocking ship, but it had no contradiction with the food that lied in front of me.

While I was eating, I couldn't help but notice Emory looking at me. He wasn't glaring or anything, but he was simply looking. As if he was trying to figure something out.

Out of nowhere, he said "I'll be back." and left the table.

My heart skipped. I was completley alone. I kept my eyes on my food, and tried to avoid the hungry gazes, howls, and whistles from the other men.

Suddenly, my hair was yanked backwards, and I fell completely over. An extremley large man towered over me.

"Honeybird . . . " He drawled. "Come with me, doll . . . " He must be drunk.

I kicked and screamed, but it was no use against the howling laughter of the room, and the large man that grabbed me into total darkness.

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