"Maybe! But even if I can't, her trail might lead to others. Or to people who know about Daddy. Gabriel." I correctedmyself again, though it felt like chewing aluminum foil. "Every connection is a step closer to understanding the network."
"And then?"
I considered this as we maneuvered toward the tunnel entrance. What happened when I found all the missing girls? When I understood the full scope of what the Institute had built?
"Then I find him," I said simply. "And I show him how well I've maintained my conditioning. How perfectly I've applied everything he taught me. He'll be so proud!"
Matt gave me a look I couldn't quite interpret. "Right. Proud."
The tunnels were cool and damp, leading to an old storm drain system that eventually connected to the river. We'd done this dance five times now, and each time I'd gotten better at the logistics. Daddy would have appreciated the skill development.
"I need to shower and change," I said once we'd completed the delivery. "Can't work a bar shift with evidence in my hair!"
"Take your time." Matt was already heading back with the empty tarp. "And Bunny? Maybe ease up on the hand removal. Gets harder to transport when they're in pieces."
"I'll try!" I promised, though we both knew how difficult it was to stop once someone started talking about Gabriel. "See you at shift change!"
Back in the basement, I surveyed my workspace with satisfaction. Just some blood to mop up, tools to sanitize, and new intelligence to add to my collection. Amy Chen was out there somewhere, either fixed and resold or disposed of like faulty merchandise. But her trail existed, and trails could be followed by good girls who paid attention to details.
I cleaned everything with the focus Daddy had taught me, making sure no trace remained of David-or-Daniel's educational visit. The floor practically sparkled when I finished, ready forwhoever would next have information about the Institute or its products.
My phone—the regular one, not the special trafficking phone—buzzed with a reminder about my shift. Time to transform back into Bunny the bartender, bright and bubbly and harmless as cotton candy.
But first, I added the morning's discoveries to my mental map. A warehouse for returns. Demonstration meetings where Gabriel showed off his successes. Other collectors who might have seen him more recently. The web grew larger with each basement conversation, each bloody revelation.
"Thank you, David-or-Daniel," I said to the empty chair. "You were tremendously helpful!"
Then up the stairs, into the light, ready to serve drinks with steady hands and a sunshine smile. Ready to watch for the next breadcrumb that would lead me home to Daddy.
After all, good girls always found their way back.
Good girls always came home.
3
Patterns
The phone contacts spread across my apartment floor like constellations, each one printed out and annotated in different colored gel pens. Pink for confirmed buyers, purple for middlemen, yellow for potential Institute connections, and red—my favorite!—for anyone who'd mentioned Gabriel by name. The special phone sat in the center of it all, occasionally buzzing with new messages from people who thought I was shopping for broken girls.
"Let's see what secrets you're hiding today," I told the papers, settling cross-legged in my fuzzy bunny slippers. My apartment smelled like vanilla candles and laser printer ink, such a cozy combination.
Three AM was the perfect time for pattern recognition. The city was quiet except for sirens and drunk college kids, and my mind felt sharpest when everyone else was sleeping. I'd been likethis even before Daddy's training—a night owl who saw clearest in the dark.
Contact #47 (what a lovely coincidence!) connected to three others in a neat triangle. Two buyers and one "logistics coordinator" who arranged transport. I highlighted the connections with glittery markers, humming along to the music box playlist I'd created. All the songs sounded like the ones from Gabriel's sessions, though I could never find the exact matches.
My regular phone buzzed: Matt checking in. Such a thoughtful boss.
Working late again?his text read.
Always!I replied with a string of happy emojis.The patterns are so pretty at night!
Get some sleep, kid. You've got afternoon shift.
I will!I wouldn't, but it was sweet that he cared.
The trafficking phone lit up with an encrypted message. Someone responding to my carefully crafted buyer persona—a wealthy woman looking for a "companion" with specific psychological conditioning. It was amazing how eager they were to sell when they thought you had money and particular tastes.
We may have what you're looking for. Institute-trained, Batch 41. Some behavioral modifications needed but highly responsive to proper handling.
