Not A Word

Ollie walked down the street, her penny loafers scuffing along the rough pebbled sidewalk. The nervousness that had plagued her all night was still building in the pit of her stomach. Clutching papers in her hand, she prayed that she would not vomit when she answered the interviewer’s questions.

The old gothic stone building smelled of rotting flesh and bleach, and the floors were stained with rust colored streaks. Ollie knocked on a plain gray door marked ‘Office’.

A gruff voice boomed “Come in. You’re late - not a good way to start things out, don’t you think Miss Rhoades?”

“Ye- Yes, Sir” Ollie stammered as she entered, handing over her now crumpled resume to the man.

“It says here you graduated last week from high school … never had a job before… and the name is Steven, not Sir.”

“Ye-Yes Steven, I’m sorry I was late, I graduated with honors, and I am a quick learner. I will do anything, any job you have. I promise I will never be late again. I can start today if you will let me.”

Steven looked Ollie from head to toe and back again. Her white blouse had turned transparent with the sweat that was seeping from her skin. She was not what he had in mind for an assistant, but her inexperience would be a plus - someone he could mold into what he needed.

“Family?”

“Excuse me? Family? As in do I have any?”

“Yes. Do you have any family, the people you would go home to every night when you are done?”

“Oh, um, no, not really, not anymore. They turned me out, I really need this job, I don’t care what it is or what it pays, I just need something. Please.”

“Fine, you start now,” Steven leaned forward resting his folded hands on the desk. “Do you know how to use a mop bucket, a needle and tie knots?”

“Yes”

“Good, go change into something else. You will find some scrubs in a box under the bathroom sink.”

“Do you mind me asking, sir…um, I mean Steven…what will I be assisting you with?”

Steven opened the door behind him and ushered Ollie into the next room. To the right, Ollie saw a row of three metal tables. The chrome shined in a sterile cleanliness, offset by the tattered white sheets that adorned them. Pale splotches of brown and red stained the cloth, occasionally highlighted with yellow or green smears. An industrial sink hung against the rear wall, still wet from recent use.  Saws and knives of various sizes and shapes hung on a peg board. In the front left corner, just beyond view from the office, Ollie saw an iron maiden, open, with something stuck inside. The spikes were dark and dripping with a thick ooze, and she wondered what made it so. Ollie found her answer in a pool of blood creeping out from beneath the cage’s base.

“You will be cleaning up after me, and putting the bodies back together after I study what different devices do to them. Oh, and before I forget, I want to introduce you to my last assistant. He was late and talked a little too much, had to be replaced, understand?” Ollie nodded, muted by the shock of what she saw.

“OK now go change and hurry back we need to get started, and one last thing, not a word, no one can know what you are doing, not a single word.” He glared in Ollie’s direction as he removed the head of his former assistant from the bloody iron maiden. “Not a single word.”

WORD COUNT:606