The Red Light

Chapter 3- Branded

Finn is a very good artist. His work is beautiful and he has a very light touch. I've asked him if he can do more work for me before I leave, he said yes but it would be a good idea to put them in places more or less hidden for now. I agreed, we don't need to get him in trouble. My mother never let me have tattoos, so this to me is a double edged sword.

I examine the work he has done on my inner right forearm, loving every bit of it. "What if they don't accept this as a branding?" I ask cautiously.

"Well, it's customary to do a tattoo. You just got lucky to have someone who actually knows what they are doing. They won't care. The initials are there. I'm sorry about that by the way. I know it's not exactly ideal to have my initials on your body forever." He replies, looking down sadly.

I think for a second. "Well, it could be worse. The other girls have it worse. Besides, it's a reminder to make sure we take this place down." I smirk. "How long have I been here?" I ask, thinking once again about my mom.

"You have been here for 7 days. I was told you were drugged for several due to hyperactivity." 7 days?! Oh my God! My mom must be freaking out! I can't imagine what she must be thinking. Did she see my suitcase by the door and assumed I just left? Is she looking? Has anyone even noticed? Tears begin to fall down my cheeks freely.

There's a loud bang on the door, pulling me out of my thoughts. Finns eyes grow huge. He grabs my wrists and pulls me down the hall. I gasp at the sudden movements. We come to the closet and he pushes the dresser aside, opening the trap door. "I'm sorry Cori, but it has to look like you are being punished for running away." Tears well up in my eyes as he pushes me into the little cement room, slamming the door behind him. I stumble on my feet, losing my balance and falling on my ass. Darkness takes me by surprise as a cold breeze sends shivers down my spine.

After what feels like a century of sensory deprivation, I hear footsteps and muffled voices. "Yeah well, she's your fucking problem now. Good luck, I should have just shot her right in that yappy little mouth of hers." A familiar voice. Boots? No, it's the head master. The door flies open to reveal a dark hooded figure. Wow, he really does value anonymity. I feel hot breath on my face as he Neal's down to my level. "Have fun rotting away, bitch." He says nonchalantly, standing back up. I feel a swift kick to my stomach before he turns around and slams the door again.

It is in this moment that I feel dizzy and exhausted. When's the last time I actually ate? What was it, an apple at lunch? I feel my head hit the cement as my eyes close. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep.

-CW: death and graphic desceiptions-

I remember it like it was yesterday. The day my dad was taken from us. He spent many years diving into what could be the very reason he is gone. The drug trade. That morning he walked down the stairs, a little happier than usual. He had told me that he found the name associated with the big boss.

He was so excited, he pulled me into a hug and twirled me around. "This is it, bugaboo! This time tomorrow we will be celebrating the safest city in the world rather than dreading thr most dangerous. This is it! A bright future for my little girl." He kissed me on the cheek and grabbed his uniform tunic off of the back chair in the kitchen.

"Be careful daddy, I'll see you after work" I said, smiling brightly. One thing I have always been taught as a child of police officers is to always value who you wake up to in the morning because you never know what could happen. "I love you, be safe!" I chime as he opens the door.