The White Queen (S.Rogers)

Chapter 11

Brooklyn felt the tears dripping down her face, and the blood filling her mouth, from where her teeth had cut deeply into her tongue to keep her cries inside. She had learned early in life that crying only made the punishments worse. Pain throbbed up her hand, through her arm, and she tried to keep it still, to keep the pain from flaring up.

Papa stood over her, his eyes and face blank, cut off.

She tried to remind herself, it wasn't really him, it was the orders he had been given. He was only doing what he was ordered to do. He loved her. He told her that all the time. She was his Baby Girl. And when this was done, when they were allowed to relax, he would cry over what he had done.

But this was not her Papa. This was the Soldier.

The sadistic chuckle of the guard sent cold icy fingers running down her spine. Sadistic. That was a word that Zola had taught her, recently. 'I am not trying to be sadistic, my little Queen. But the pain is necessary. Do you know what sadistic means? It means enjoying the pain inflicted on others.' He had said, while holding a scalpel, poised over her skin.

The guard was sadistic. He enjoyed having pain inflicted on her, and the pain that Papa would feel later, when he realized what he had been made to do to her.

"Again, Soldier." The guard ordered, laughter in his voice. "The little bitch still has working fingers in that hand. I want to hear them SNAP."

Soldier didn't make a sound, but reached for her hand, and grabbed one of the unbroken fingers in between his. With a sharp motion, he snapped the bone, and Brooklyn dug her teeth into her tongue again, blood starting to spill between her closed lips.

The door to the cell swung open.

"What the hell are you doing!? Stop, Soldier! Stop right now!" The heavily accented voice of Arnim Zola accompanied the short man as he scurried into the cell. "What is the meaning of this!?"

The Soldier backed away as the Doctor came closer, his pudgy hands reaching out to Brooklyn, to help pull her to her feet. He tutted over the state of her hand, keeping it immobilized, as he pointed at the sadistic guard. "Get him out of here. I don't want him near her again."

The other guard at the door pulled the sadistic guard out of the cell by the back of his shirt.

"Do not worry, my little Queen. I will set these, and you will heal quickly." Zola soothed.

She tried to speak, but the blood poured down her chin. Zola whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it to her mouth. The Soldier stood with his back to the wall, watching blankly.

"Papa...." She gasped, through the blood and the material.

"Your Papa is fine, little Queen." Zola reassured. "He's just a little bit out of sorts, right now. You'll be back with him soon." He walked her out of the cell.

As she went with Zola out of the shared cell, she looked back over her shoulder, as Soldier knelt down by the puddle of blood, reaching out with his right hand, touching the blood, before rubbing it between his fingers. He looked up sharply, his eyes widening in horror.

The door swung shut, separating them.

Soft, tiny fingers brushed against her cheeks, accompanied by a high childish voice singing softy.

"...Come and play...Everything's A-OK.... Friendly neighbors there...That's where we meet..."

Brooklyn opened her eyes, sniffing against the stuffed nose she had. Juliana was laying next to her, her head on the pillow next to hers, her fingers brushing away the wetness on her cheeks. Giving her little sister a watery smile, she whispered, "Hey, Little One."