Spellbinders Secret

Scars of the Past

The room is dark and cold. My small hands feel nothing but bare concrete. No, no, no! Not this! I can't be back here! I escaped, didn't I? What about Leo and Clark and Kat? I had a life.

No, you didn't. A small voice in my head tells me. You never truly escaped. That life you thought you'd lived was a dream, and this is your reality. You never grew up, you're just a small, weak child who's to afraid to stand up for herself.

No! That can't be true. My name is Ella and I'm sixteen years old. My name is Ella and I'm sixteen years old. My name is Ella and I'm sixteen years old. My name is Ella and-

A door creaks from somewhere above me followed by a small square of light that feels to bright for my eyes, who've known nothing but darkness. A big, burly man stalks in. He has a scraggly beard and a shaggy, unkempt mop. He smells strongly of alcohol and cigarette smoke, making my eyes water. Draped over his shoulder, is a thin, limp figure. The big man drops the figure to the ground in an unceremonious heap. I see its another, smaller man who looks half starved, and the other half is scared to death. The big man looks at me.

"Do it," he commands. I drop my head and sit cross legged on the cold, hard floor. Mutely, I shake my head. No, I won't do it. This time I'll be strong. "I said, DO IT!" he bellows. Again, I shake my head. The big man sighs in frustration. We do this every time. So I already know what's coming next.

The big man waddles over to the door and grabs something. When he returns, I see the snaky outline of a whip. The big man cracks it threateningly, but I do not cower. I've heard that whip crack more times than my own voice.

"Are you ready to reconsider?" he asks, trying to scare me, but it doesn't work. For the third time, I shake my head. "More fun for me then," The big man growls. He approaches me, but, out of the blue, I get up and run to the other end of the room. He follows me, he knows I'm cornered.

He cracks the whip suddenly. I dodge it, but fall to the ground. The big man puts his heavy boot on my back, holding me down. He raises his whip and-

Crack!

Pain sears across my back.

Crack!

I whimper as I feel something warm stick to my clothes.

Crack!

Tears roll down my cheeks, but I say nothing.
I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not-

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

Crack!

I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not give-

Crack!

Crack!

"Give up?" his gruff voices asks somewhere above my head.

"No," I breathe, just loud enough for him to hear. He grumbles, this is usually the part where I beg for him to stop. I feel his boot lift off my back. A feeling of triumph erupts in my stomach. Yes! I've won! I think to myself, only to be shattered by the thud! of his boot in my side. He kicks me again and again and again. The pain in my back and the aches in my ribs meld together as one. There is no peace. There is nothing to soothe my agony. There is just endless pain. But still, I refuse to give in. The man grunts, clearly frustrated. He walks away from my battered and shaky body to retrieve another weapon of torture.

I see him walk back in with a... oh no. In the big mans hand is a cat o' nine. I try to scramble away from him, but he pins my body down with his boot. He raises his hand.

Crack!

My resolve starts to slip.

Crack!

I scream in pain, but do not beg for mercy. This makes the big man angrier.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

All in rapid procession. My back is on fire. This is to much, to much. No. I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not give in. I will not-

Crack!

Crack!

CRACK!

His lashes become harder and harder. I'm constantly screaming by now. There is no escape, there is no way out. This is my miserable reality.

"STOP! STOP! PLEASE! I'LL DO IT!" I scream, but the big man is to angry now. He doesn't just want me to oblige, he wants to punish me.

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

THUD!

He finishes with a final kick to my side. He steps away from my quivering form and drags the poor man to me. I stare at him with nothing but pity. He's either going to die, or be in a lot of pain, or both. But right now, he can't understand what's going on. Why is that man beating that child? What is it that he's asking her to do? He must be wondering. Unfortunately, he's about to find out.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper to him as I try to sit up. No. I can't believe I'm doing this again. I don't want to hurt him. He looks so sad and innocent. He doesn't deserve this. But I have no choice.

I gently place my hand on his shoulder and find the volatile power that lives inside of me. It rises to the surface and feeds off his life force hungrily. The man screams and screams, his tortured cries filled with pain. The big man doesn't tell me to stop, and he doesn't ask the other man any other questions. This isn't an interrogation, it's an execution. So I try to make it as quick as possible.

I force myself to drain his life force quickly, trying to make his pain end sooner. He sees what I'm doing, and, just before the light leaves his eyes, he manages to murmur "thank you", before he falls to the ground, dead.

***

My horrified screams echo in the open spaces of the room, even after I've woken up. Tears roll down my cheeks. Tears of pain. Tears of fear. Tears of hate. I don't even bother to wipe them away.

There's a mirror in the bathroom. I open the door and slip inside, the marble floor feeling cool against my heated skin. I pull my nightgown off and stare at my bare back in the mirror. It's littered with scars. To many scars. They are my greatest shame, my worst memory. And I will have them forever.

I remember when Leo and Clark first rescued me. I remember them asking me for my name. I didn't understand them. I didn't know I had a name. So they asked what people called me instead. I remember saying;

"The big man who locked me away often called me brat, little shit and bastar-"

Before I was quickly cut off by Leo, who said that none of those were real names. He asked if I remembered being called anything else. And then I thought of the dream, and of the kind voice. The dream had been my one beacon of hope, my one silver lining in that awful place. And in it, the woman calls me Ella.

"Ella, I think someone once called me Ella," I told them. Leo smiled at me, and said it was a good name.

And now, I still can't help but smile. That was one of my first happy memories. Before that day, joy had been an alien emotion to me.

I look at the bath and see a shower head on top of it. I'm clearly not going back to sleep tonight, so I flick my wrist and cold water immediately bursts out. I let the cool water wash away the sweat and tears. I let it wash away the pain.