Page 132 of Out for Blood
Displayed like exquisite puppets.
“Do they make them perform?”
Tyler inclines his head confirming my question.
“For the clientele.”
I can’t peel my eyes away.
“What exactly happens when the curtains go up?”
Tyler wavers in his response and avoids eye contact with me.
“A macabre performance staged as a ballet.”
I force down a lump in my throat, “And?”
“Each buyer casts a vote on who will be named the prima ballerina. I’m not sure what happens after that.”
The seats on the ground level, every row is vacant.
“The buyers watch from their private boxes and bid by lifting a numbered paddle, it signals to the auctioneer an offer for the woman up for auction.”
The women are positioned on the stage like livestock.
“They bid during the performance.” Tyler carries on informing me.
A blistering wave of rage rolls through my stomach.
The doctor doesn’t just alter them. No, he displays them like dolls, showing off his work.
He turns human beings into a fucking showcase.
“How many?”
Tyler looks at another file.
“My informant has told me, eight.”
My heartbeat thunders.
Eight women. Eight victims.
Eight people running out of time.
I shut my eyes and brace myself before asking, “When?”
Tyler angles another screen my way.
A countdown clock sits in the center.
Hours.
Minutes.
Seconds.
The countdown bleeds away in red digits.
