Chester and the 24-hour Lottery

A woman with warm toffee-colored skin and eyes like a sly cat stopped Chester outside the corridor when he followed Van from the elevator alcove. Van kept walking, a purposeful stride in her step. The drab concrete walls and echoing silence after Van rounded the bend sent his senses on high alert.

“Hi Chet, I’m Racket.”

He cocked his head, noting her dirty fingernails and sheared bob haircut like she one day decided to cut it all off. The way she leaned seductively against the wall while holding onto his arm irritated him. She was beautiful but had enough of pretty women thinking they could bat their eyes and he’d follow blindly like a dolt. What a difference a week made when women once treated him with nothing but contempt.

“Don’t touch me,” he yanked his arm away, “And don’t call me Chet. Where does this hallway lead?”

She smirked, quirking an eyebrow, “Vanyla calls you Chet, I just assumed it was a cool nickname. I’m to take you to your room until Saldivar gets back.”

“Saldivar isn’t here?” Chester ignored the remark about his name, “How many people are here?”

Racket shrugged then languidly pushed off the wall and swung her hips down the hall, “Follow me, Chet.”

His ire at her refusal to not call him by his rightful name grew but followed, feeling the less he fussed the better. Van had abandoned him and with reason. They needed space after the harsh words spoken between them. He looked at Racket’s ass as she walked ahead in steel-toed black boots, military cargo pants, and a tight black shirt. She was intriguing, especially with a name like Racket, which he assumed must be a nickname, but didn’t want to ask.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if he was following a few minutes later, “There are ten private bedrooms and a large bunk room that hold twenty. For now, you have a room all to your lonesome self. Here we are.”

Chester stopped in front of a metal door and at least fifteen other identical ones lined either side of the hallway. It was eerily silent and when Racket opened the door, he gestured for her to go first. She gave a slow smile, nodded and entered. The room was spartan and practical. Single bed, a table to eat at and a washroom.

Racket sat on the mattress, crossing her boots at the ankle, “You are to stay in here unless told otherwise. Can you follow the rules or should I lock you in when I leave?”

He stared into her dark eyes, “What is this place?”

“Safe.”

“Part of the resistance stronghold or just a place for council members to hole up in fear? How is the State of Acheron doing?”

Racket surged to her feet, “So many questions! Let me ask one, did you enjoy killing Amy Ingles?”

“W-what?”

Racket kissed his cheek then stepped away, “Stay in the room, Chet. There are clothes in the trunk. I’ll be back with dinner.”

Chester stood dumbfounded a few seconds after she left. Why had she kissed him? Unconsciously he wiped his face as he walked over to the footlocker at the end of the bed. He pulled out clothing like Racket wore and went into the bathroom to shower.

When he came out toweling his hair dry, Racket was sitting at the small table with a tray of food. She didn’t hide her gaze on his naked torso. He felt self-conscious, quickly pulling on a black shirt. This woman was seriously getting on his nerves.

Racket smirked, waving at the meal. “Hope you like spaghetti, because it’s all we seem to eat. I suppose we should have brought a chef, but then, what purpose could they possibly serve towards freeing a nation?”

Puzzled, he sat in the chair opposite, eyeing the greasy red mess on the plate, “Who decided who’s important? Am I necessary to the cause?”

She leaned forward, “Oh yes, essential I’d say. So, did you consider my question?”

He opened up the carton of water avoiding her dark eyes, “Hmm?”

She tapped a finger on the tabletop, “How did you feel killing Amy? Did stabbing a woman in the face make you want to hurt others?”

He slammed the water down, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Racket’s laughter was throaty, and it sent chills through his body, “Do you know what your name means? Camp of soldiers. Ironic isn’t it, Chet?”

He grabbed her arm, squeezing it, and her eyes lit up, ”Don’t fucking call me that!”

Chester couldn’t believe it when she seemed to purr in response before launching herself over the table, landing them both on the ground when his chair fell backward. He crawled away on his hands and feet until she jumped like a crab onto his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“I love seeing you riled up, Chet!” she hissed, clutching his head between her palms so their noses touched, “Tell me the truth! Did you delight in the death of Amy? Revel in the way you bested the bitch when she thought you’d be the one begging for mercy?”

"Yeess,” he wheezed, pushing her uselessly by the shoulders.

Racket kissed him on the mouth, “That’s what I thought. It’s all right to admit you have dark desires. I knew when you stabbed a woman for stating a fact you were special. You have big ears, but they add character. Adorable, really.”

“You’re crazy!” he continued to shove her, but she locked her knees around his waist, “Get off! What do you want from me?”

Racket licked his cheek with a chuckle then whispered in his ear, “You’ll see. But first, we fuck. Every night I’ll be here and together we’ll discover what makes Chester Drivel a man.”

When Racket left an hour later Chester stood in the small shower cubicle dazed and uncertain if she hadn’t taken advantage of him. Racket certainly caused a ruckus when they used the walls, floor, and the cold steel table to do things Chester had only imagined when he’d lain in bed at the trailer back home.

When he exited the bathroom, body aching, and stomach growling, he looked at the made bed, the one place Racket avoided spreading her toned legs. And what fucking strong limbs she has, he mused, rubbing the kink in his neck.

Who the hell was Racket and why did she make him feel as if she was testing him and held more authority than letting on? There was something sinister going on, and it wasn’t just the way she’d tried to stick a finger up his ass.

There was a knock on the door and Garth stepped inside pushing it close after he entered then leaned against it, silently looking him up and down.

“Can I help you?” he snapped, tired and no longer afraid of the man.

“Where did you get those scratches?” Garth scrunched his nose, “Were you in a fight?”

Chester studied the red lines on his forearms sighing, “In a way.”

Garth shook his head, “Saldivar and the other council members are engaged and will return soon. Needless to say, you’re a guest and need to follow orders. They instructed me to bring meals and give you daily exercise.”

“I didn’t ask to be here! Food and exercise? I’m a prisoner?”

“In a way,” the asshole threw his early response in his face, holding up a key, “I have to lock you in.”

“Wait,” Chester sighed in exasperation, “Who is Racket?”

Garth opened the door but hesitated a look of nervousness flashed quickly but he caught it, “Don’t ask questions and stay out of people’s way. Our jobs are too important to the cause for you to screw shit up.”

Chester sullenly crossed his arms, “How can I, shut away like a criminal? Where is Van?”

Garth pointed a finger, “What did I say about questions? Get some rest Chester, because starting tomorrow, I think your exercise will include beating your ass in self-defense lessons.”

Chester sat heavily on the mattress, hearing Garth engage the lock. The food on the floor from when Racket attacked him had flown up the walls in an odd splat pattern of noddle art and his stomach growled again. He sighed, filled his belly with cold water from the bathroom sink before laying down to sleep.

What the hell was going on and how was he going to get out of this mess without getting killed? They wouldn’t kill him, would they? Why bring him to Acheron if that was their plan? No, Racket had an agenda.

Crazy bitch, he fumed, rubbing the stinging marks on his arms.

He didn’t know who to fear more the next few days, Garth or Racket. Both seemed intent on making him bleed and cracking him open like a coconut. Thinking of coconut his heart sped up. Wherever Van was, he hoped she would forgive his spiteful behavior and bring her stubborn ass to find him before things spiraled completely out of control.