The slaves of Freetown

CHAPTER NINE

Finding no empathetic response to her whines, Mistress Salvi shakes her head violently.

"Stop her from moving. Ho-Jin, grab her arms, Kanoa hold her feet. Karen, the chair! Don't move!" Isaac orders.

Because of the position in which we try to maintain her, she has no chance of avoiding the blow. Isaac's hand pushes her forehead so hard that her head hits the wall behind her, knocking the chair down at the same time. Slowly, the blood begins to flow from her skull, forming a small puddle on the ground. Her eyes roll back, and my heart burns in my chest. I gag.

I notice that my nails sank into her flesh. I move away from her all the more quickly that I am certain, at this moment, of the real will that I had; of wanting to hurt her. My embrace had tightened, subconsciously, I had tried to make her suffer, I thought: "It won't kill her, but maybe..."

Karen, silent until this moment, seems to explode. In just a few seconds, she is perched on Mistress Salvi, throwing her fists on her neck. Horrified, I come to meet Ho-Jin's leg. Rachel and Isaac barely react, but someone knocks on the door. Karen freezes.

"Salvi, I'm getting tired of this roar! I'm warning you, if I hear any more noise coming from your apartment, I'll call the police! I'm not afraid of you or your little thugs."

We listen to the steps as they go away.

"We have to call for help; we have to do something!" Ho-Jin panics. "She is losing too much blood!"

"How... How could you do that to her, Karen?"

I get her fist in response.

"I forbid you to judge me! Your stupid, your cheap morality... you can keep it for your family!" she spits.

"That's enough! The only thing she's done is proving that she's way much braver than the two of you!" Isaac snaps, getting angry.

"You're sure you don't want to let go of some stress before it's too late?" Rachel smirks.

"Do you mean she will...?" I inquire anxiously.

"No, we'll take care of her," Isaac replies. "You know... I can't believe that you're their son; it's beyond me! Do you know how many people your parents killed, exactly? How many Masters, but also slaves? There's definitely more than what was in the newspapers about 9/11. There are all the bodies of those they had to get rid of to reach their position in FreeRush's hierarchy. You don't just get to exchange with Al-Quaïda as a simple member. There are also the people they killed after 9/11, before getting arrested, to keep their secret safe. Those innocent individuals, all that because they wanted to see their son grow. Three years during which the hugs they gave you were to leave the blood of those innocents, their sacrifices on you. Literally."

"I-I am not like them! I am not an assassin!" I retort, losing my voice.

"If you say so. Only a thief, then? A thief with such a morality that he believes he bears all the sins of the human beings inhabiting this planet. This is what you learned from Mohamed, but you'd be way happier, freer without this... guilt he instilled in you. Tell me: wouldn't you love being "diagnosed" as a kleptomaniac, right? That it was officially considered as your way of expressing your covidic symptoms? That way, you can also justify this bad habit that sullies the perfect image you so much want to preserve for your dear "dad." Frankly, your hypocrisy..."

"You have to go now," Rachel interrupts us. " We'll take care of the rest."

Mistress Salvi is still moving, but the pool of blood keeps growing. She regains full consciousness as Rachel pushes us towards the door.

"Go back to Freetown, using the same path we took to come; it's safer. Put the jackets back where they were. Mohamed will ask questions. Say that for the moment, the project is on hold because we can't agree on the method. We are responsible for the notebook from now on; we take care of returning it."