Young Writers Society

Copyrighted in the name of the author. All rights reserved.

“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

It took three agonizing months to realize that no one was coming for me, though many a search had probably been organized. It took an entire year to realize that I would probably die in chains, lost to the world I once knew, body broken and unrecognizable. My story is not as distant as you might assume. I am one of you. Or rather, once was, many long ages ago. I suppose I am much different now, as my spirit and body have withstood many tests of time and will. The world is now a different place for me. It has faded; lost much of its color. But somehow, at the same time, I see more than I ever have.

The horror began with my abduction and the murder of my best friend.

They had been following us for a couple blocks now. Looking back I guess there might have been a tiny voice that urged me to use caution. Everyone has that voice somewhere within them, yet youth seldom heeds its wise counsel. I was young, and therefore invincible. Caution belonged to the wind in my mind. Besides, the probability that a few men out of thousands could be taking the same path as we were was not absurd. But we were paying attention to them. We looked over our shoulders periodically, giggling like schoolgirls. I leaned close to Jaden, asking what she thought of the man farthest to the right. She responded with a comment I’m not too keen on repeating. It made me blush, though the deep tone of my skin and the lighting of the night hid it well.

Remember my skin, it is important.

We turned a corner. It was breezy and cold and we were eager to be home after a late night. We ceased looking behind us now, knowing in our naivety that we would not be followed, that the men would continue on the main path and we would never see them, save for in trivial memory.

But oh, cursed is the folly of youth.

Their approach could be sensed, like a dog can sense the shaking of the earth or an eagle can sense the brewing of a storm. I could feel some malice creeping up my spine. That tiny voice I had so foolishly pushed aside was back with the intensity of a siren. I got a good look at them before they were on us. We had not giggled for nothing. All three of them were handsome in their own rights, what with their windblown hair and their hard bodies that were visible even beneath their shirts. But no amount of outward appeal could mask the inner evil they radiated, especially when the Second Man’s hand came down on my shoulder. I shoved him off and whipped around, taking cautious steps backwards. Jaden was in my peripherals taking similar action. The men advanced as we retreated.

I calculated the chances that we could make a run for it, the chances they really had no ill-intent. Then there were the more likely odds: that we would walk away with more than a few wounds, or that we wouldn’t walk away from the impending ordeal at all. My blind trek backwards continued as these thoughts proceeded to suffocate my mind, destroying every notion but fear.

It was late. We should not have been out. We shouldn’t have been there, with those men. None of it should ever have happened. But it did, and we both paid dearly.

“You’re beautiful,” the First Man said to either one of us. Usually I would have been humbled with the compliment but not this time. His tone, low and threatened, morphed a perfectly good compliment into a stinging insult, enhanced by the fact that he was running his eyes greedily over the parts of me he deemed “beautiful”. Jaden was receiving that same treatment from the other men, though she looked slightly more at ease. She was used to such attentions as this whereas I was not.

But Jaden was the one who made the fatal mistake. She yelled, “Run!” and bolted off through the maze of deserted streets she thought she could navigate swiftly enough to escape. Looking back I know I should have run with her. Maybe then both of our lives would have turned out much differently. As I where, I remained rooted to the spot while Second and Third Man went after her. That left me with but one offender. Yet a grown man versus a sixteen-year-old was hardly a fair deal.

First Man chuckled deeply and went for my arm. Only then did I spring into action, running in a different direction as Jaden had, hoping to keep the pack divided. Jaden had a long history of being faster and generally more coordinated than me. I tripped after about twenty feet in my haste, cursing my natural clumsiness the whole way down. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. There was no chance I would have been able to outrun the man for long. By his build I wouldn’t have been surprised if he were a professional athlete. Gravel dug into my palms at impact, leaving angry red imprints. A second later he was on me and we began our struggle for dominance, the one I was destined to lose.

Wishing to protect my face from the fate of my now stinging hands I rolled over before his full weight could descend on me. His immediate response, other than grotesque language, was to pin me. I kneed him hard and he grunted in pain. His muscles went slack for a fraction of a second. It was my only opportunity, but the scramble was short-lived. He had me down a second time in the blink of an eye, this time slamming my head violently into the pavement. Stars danced in a starless sky. My vision blackened before focusing up, though the edges remained blurry and shadowed.

Tears found their way to the surface. The odor of cheap alcohol on his breath was overpowering. When his lips took mine the taste of it was sickening. So much liquor and yet he wasn’t drunk. I could fight a drunk man. This man was very coherent and vicious. He acted like he was trying to swallow me whole for a full twenty second before I was allowed to breathe again. He released my lips and grinned wickedly, his degrading comments lost on me as I gulped in air like a fish out of water. I realized later, when my sense had returned to me, that my first kiss had been stolen.

I struggled and his fist came down, striking me so hard in the chest that a hollow sound resonated. Gasping won me no air. While I was paralyzed in my suffocation he went for the buttons to my blouse. I protested weakly a he struck me again. The chill breeze was harsh on my breasts as he tore open the rest of the fabric with impatience.

A gunshot echoed through the night. It was difficult to tell where it had come from but somewhere in the pit of my stomach I knew that shot had been meant for Jaden. The grief would come later, as would the pain. All I had time for then was fear.

The man on top of me froze at the sharp bang and cursed, shoving himself upright so that he was fairly sitting on my torso, completely immobilizing me. Air was precious and struggling meant it would lose it. I was perfectly still.

“Good girl,” he sneered down at me as he accomplices came jogging back looking angry and disheveled. Their moods brightened considerably, though, when they saw they had one captive yet alive.

“You could not have spared the other?” First Man said. Only then did I realize that he spoke with a thick accent that I couldn’t quite place. Third Man shook his head, eyes glued on me and my exposed flesh.

“It’s no matter,” Second Man replied. “She was generic. This one looks like a half-breed.”

That was a term I was accustomed to, though it was usually said in jest by my now deceased best friends. I shivered with a new gust of wind. I couldn’t decide whether or not to beg first Man to get off of me. He must have sensed my unease because he returned his attention to me.

“Please don’t,” I coughed went he let up a bit of weight. “There’s twenty dollars in my pocket. I have nothing else, I swear.”

“Of course, beautiful, of course,” he crooned as he stroked my face where a tear have previously fallen. I flinched. “No, shush, shush, it’s alright. Don’t cry, beautiful.”

But I did cry because my head ached where it stuck the pavement, because the wind was torture against my bare skin, because the pavement was hard beneath me, because I was terrified, and because somewhere my friend was dead or dying. This man knew all that and mocked me still. He made circles on my chest with a calloused finger, amused by my displeasure.

“You’re a virgin,” he noted. How he could have determined that just by touching me I didn’t know. He was pleased. “Good.”

Third Man whipped out an outdated phone and proceeded to speak into it in a rough dialect that perfectly matched their mysterious accents, during which time First Man continued to explore my body. He sucked the base of my neck, holding my hands in an iron grip over my head. I attempted a scream but his lips stole it. He bit the flesh of my lower lip, flooding my tongue with the coppery flavor of blood. I was visibly shaking.

His face was clean shaven and smooth, practically flawless except for the circular birthmark just above the right side of his jaw. I told myself to focus on the little things to keep my mind occupied. There were seven clothes lines strung across the old building windows. Third Man was wearing black tennis shoes with slightly frayed laces; First Man’s shirt had exactly seventeen strips. The small details kept me alive; I swear it to this day. They provided an escape that was otherwise nonexistent.

First Man took both of my hands in one of his and used the other to trail down my abdomen with butterfly touches that evoked a warmth deep in my gut. I was flooded with shame.

“So beautiful,” he moaned into my ear. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I wished I had shared in Jaden’s fate. Surely it would have been better than such extreme violation.

“Stop…” I whimpered like a scolded puppy when his fingers trailed even lower.

“God, help me,” I begged a deity I’d never before spoken to.

“Stop,” Second Man barked when he ended his phone call. First Man raised his head but his hands remained where they were. They had an argument I couldn’t understand but by the way it sounded, Second Man won. First Man grumbled and removed his fingers from below my waistline and rose, rocking back on his ankles to balance before standing. All three of them stared down at me. I curled into myself to avoid their gaze. I remember dry heaving and then waiting for the shot that would end my life. It didn’t come.

They were conversing in hushed tones like they didn’t want me to hear, though I couldn’t understand if I tried. I started crawling, knowing that I could not make it and yet unable to keep myself from trying. They noticed, like I knew they would, but what I didn’t anticipate was the foot that slammed into my side. I fell into a puddle of filth, crying out weakly at what I knew were broken ribs.

“Don’t move,” First Man growled. I was instantly submissive. That pleased him.

Third Man scolded him, muttering something about damaged merchandise. I lie there wondering what I had done to deserve such treatment. To this day my only answer is that life isn’t fair.

A black van pulled up at the mouth of the alley, giving new meaning to Second Man’s phone call. I went into full panic mode, thrashing almost insanely against their hands as they went to drag me. I couldn’t keep it up long enough. I was in too much pain from my ribs and my head still wasn’t clear from its initial impact with the ground. But I fought knowing that I would fail. By that point I knew it wasn’t my life that they would take but my freedom. I knew which one I valued more. If there had been a knife I would have thrown myself on it.

Upon reaching the van I was practically paralyzed by agony. Pain shot through my body like lightning with every move. It was easy for them to shove me inside and climb in behind. The sound the doors made when they shut reminded me of a death knell.

Second Man shoved a cloth over my face and Third Man punched my stomach so that I’d be forced to breathe in whatever chemical they’d tainted it with. My last coherent thought was that they would find Jaden’s body in an alley. I wondered where they would recover mine.

It was like a refrigerator wherever I was. That was all I could tell in my drugged state. To try and guess the passing of time was impossible. Blind-folded and gagged I had lost any useful sense. I could be anywhere, I knew; anywhere but home, where I wanted to be. Randomly I figured I had missed my mom’s dinner. She had been cooking pot roast and mashed potatoes, my favorite.

The ground was hard like stone beneath me. I tried to call out just for the sake of hearing my own voice and found that my mouth was utterly devoid of moisture. Quite a bit of time must have passed since I had been conscious. I was grateful, at least, for that indicator. What sound I could manage was barely a whimper, and that was swallowed up by the gag. Could I have been left to die after the men had their way with me? The pain I felt didn’t feel like I’d been thusly violated. At least, I assumed it didn’t. Considering the terrible drug and my inexperience where sex was concerned, I had no real way of telling.

My clarity of thought returned gradually. My hands were bound behind my back and I was laying on my side, on my broken ribs no less. There wasn’t much more to do aside from thinking. Thinking might have been the worst decision though. I was plagued with thought of Jaden and what pain she’d gone through before the end, memories of First Man’s voice in my ear and hands running down my body. It was like I could still feel him kissing the nape of my neck and the cold asphalt I’d been pinned too. My throat contorted. Were I a man, my Adam’s apple would have bobbed up and down with the effort to keep down the bile that my stomach was forcing upwards. Due to the brutally tight gag, throwing up would have meant choking to death. I ended up in tremors from the battle of will. The sickness was an effect of the drug. My biological father had been addicted to meth before he passed away seven years ago from overdose. I remember watching him shaking and writhing on the bed when he couldn’t get his fix. His withdrawals usually meant abuse for the rest of us. I was having a withdrawal from a drug I wasn’t aware I’d been taking.

At one point I passed out and awoke again in the same position. My muscles twitched ruthlessly, tired of being held in the same place for so long, but I wasn’t about to struggle and aggravate previous injuries. Ruefully I wished the men would come and finish what they started just so I could stretch out the cramps in my arms and legs, but I had to banish the notion quickly for fear of sending myself back into a fit of panic that would not at all prove beneficial.

Jaden must have been found by then, I realized. Our parent knew we’d been together. To be told that one of us was dead and the other was missing would be overwhelming. I was too enveloped in self-pity to care.

The steady dripping of water somewhere marked the passing of time. It is amazing the things one can do when given no other option. I would have never thought I was capable of counting out hours using a constant plop. It took roughly two hours, or seven thousand two hundred drops, for any sign of life to grace my ears. I called out nonsense, desperate pleas for the sake of being heard.

Steps echoed like they would have done in a school hallway, though not as loudly. I deduced that I was in a place smaller than a hallway and that was made of stone. Inwardly I was proud of myself for paying such good attention to the detail of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s cherished novels, though Detective Holmes would have found a way out on his own. I would never again doubt the value of literature. The volume of the steps grew. I doubled the strength of my outburst, ignoring the fact that my throat was raw.

Keys jingled and clattered against the ground. Someone cursed. I flinched. Whoever had come was not there to rescue me and I was apparently in a cell, the door to which swung open on creaky hinges to grant the key holder entrance.

“Hello?” I squeaked, though I doubt he understood me. His feet stopped just before my head as far as my ears could tell, but I was reluctant to trust them as well. A hand gripped my shoulder and I flinched, not able to discern his intentions. However the hand of this man felt far friendlier than First Man.

“If I release your hands, you must not struggle. You must not remove the blindfold. Understood?” The voice was deep, a baritone, reminiscent of my grandfather almost. I nodded as best I could and made an affirmative sound into the gag. He sliced the ropes that hid me with a knife of some sort. My muscles cramped terribly upon release. The man’s hands came down kneaded the muscles in my shoulder, careful not to bump my ribs. So this man was familiar with me. That baffled me to an even greater extent. I had no strength to fight him, nor did I want to. The discomfort receded gradually after a few minutes. He went on to free my legs, which also cramped, and massage the tendons in my calves and thighs. I shrank into myself at this. I was still very wary of the man’s touch.

“I will not hurt you, lady. Relax. I am helping,” he said when he felt me tensing.

My legs return to a semi-normal state thanks to the magic of his fingers. He cut the gag, apologizing that he hadn’t cut it first. He waited until I was done chocking on air to press the opening of a sort of canteen to my cracked lips.

“Drugged…” I mumbled, though in all honesty I couldn’t have cared less. Water was water and I needed it, drugged or not. Drugged was actually desirable. Better to fall into a dreamless sleep than to wake up in a nightmare.

“Not this time,” the man assured me, completely oblivious to my disappointment. The liquid was lukewarm and stale but drinkable. My stomach churned at the sensation of fluids hitting the bottom. I fought to keep it down. The man urged me to swallow slowly, warning me too lately of the adverse effects of gulping. It didn’t escape my notice that he, too, had an accent. His was different though, slighter smooth then the other three men.

“Can I take off the blindfold, please?” I asked once I’d quenched my thirst. My lips praised the moisture like a god. I rubbed them together in a strange ecstasy.

“No, it is not yet permitted,” he replied stiffly. What kind of enemy, I wondered, would untie, massage, and give me drink? I could imagine this deep-voiced man to be one of them. I could have taken off the blindfold myself but no, it wasn’t worth angering what might have been my only friend.

“Where am I?” I tried.

“You are nowhere,” he replied. He sounded rehearsed, like he’d anticipated the inquiry.

“Who are you?”

“I am no one. Do not ask him questions without permission, lady, he loathes them.”

Either he was referring to himself third person, in which case I could classify him as insane, or he was referring to another man. The former seemed unlikely. The man seemed sane enough, but the latter option made my skin crawl. I knew I didn’t want to meet anymore men in my nightmare. It would take a lot to redeem the gender in my perspective.

“Who is he?” I asked aloud, though not really meaning to.

“You do not listen well, lady.”

“My name is Alana.”

Metal dragged on the ground, chains I assumed, that scraped harshly across the stone. The man grabbed my arm, fairly ignoring the grimaces and gasps I made upon standing. A minute of steadying and I could stand on my own. A cuff closed around my wrist and I jerked slightly before stopping myself, remembering my promise not to struggle.

“Your name is slave,” he said coldly. “You are defined by the chains that you wear. Alana is in all ways dead.”

To that I had no response but silent indignation. He led me by the chain outside of the cell and down what I had figured was a hallway. Moving must have reactivated my sense of smell because I was bombarded with a heavy odor of musk and filth. It was embarrassing to realize that the stench could have come from me. The last time I’d showered was the morning of my abduction God knew had many days ago. My clothes were fairly soiled.

“Do not speak once we reach the top,” he urged me. A moment later he began guiding me up a long staircase with thirteen flights of steps by my blind count. Every maze had a correct path to freedom. I promised myself I would remember every detail I could and use it in my impending escape efforts.

The ascent stopped and I glued my lips shut, not willing to risk the consequences of angering anyone else. Whether or not my ribs and various other cuts and bruises would be tended to was uncertain. I’d heard a story once of broken ribs piercing a lung and the poor soul drowning in his own blood. I took three deep breaths to see if I could hear blood filling up my lungs. There was nothing but stale air. Was it strange to say that was a relief?

According to my bare feet, rough stone became smooth stone, stone gave way to cool tile, and the tile led to lush carpets, all within one hundred and seventy-three steps. I had to be somewhere nice. The only other time I’d experienced such luxurious flooring was at an expo Jaden’s family took me to eight years ago. That décor expo had been one of my only glimpses into wealth.

We stopped. The man was jingling keys again. We’d gone a total of two hundred and three steps. There were other small sounds my ears could perceive: feet shuffling tiredly against the ground, hushed conversation being held somewhere to the right and faintest of all, china and silverware clanking in the distance. I was certain I was I in a house, and a mansion by the feel of it. Keys clicked and the iron cuff fell. The imprints they left faded with rubbing, though I imagine they were still red. The man snatched my hands in a crushing grip before I could go for the blindfold.

“Listen to me,” he said. “Do not look him in the eye. Keep your head down in submission. Do not speak until you are given permission. Keep your questions to yourself unless he asks for them. All will be answered in time.”

He knocked on something I assumed was a door since there was a warm draft a moment later. He nudged me forward and I had passed a threshold because the surround air became much warmer. The door, wooden by the creaking, shut behind me. I didn’t know who my guard had been and I never found out, but I missed his kindness in the next months.

I was standing still in the new room when I heard movement. Hands come up around my head and undid the blindfold’s knot work. Contrary to my expectation the light did not blind me, rendering my squinting pointless. I blinked to get my eyes to focus.

The hands that’d helped me belonged to the man my guard had so carefully referred to. Said man stood before me, arms locked regally behind his back, gazing at me with intrigue. I caught my eyes trailing up his body to meet his. I tore them away hastily, the guards warnings fresh and urgent in my mind.

He had to have been over forty and very well-built with shoulders wider than my whole body. There was no doubt of his physical abilities. He had to have been three times larger than me. He could kill me if he wanted to, no weapon necessary. Luckily he was content to stare. His dress was fine and his posture hinted at nobility, which struck me as odd for whatever reason. Not many people had a presence that demanded attention and fear like his did.

I was wary of looking him over any longer, so I turned to the room instead. The overstuffed chairs and book-lined walls reminded me of the board game Clue. It was like an exact replica, right down to the blazing fireplace that lit the whole room and staved off the cold. If Clue was real, there was no question as to which one of us would be murdered in the study.

He held out one calloused palm, gesturing for me to go forward further into his study. I obeyed without looking up. He followed behind me, guiding me to an overstuffed chair across from his own. His eyes never once left me. I could feel them like the heat of a spotlight. I waited for him to speak, head down, hands folded nervously in my lap.

The logs crackled in the fireplace sending flecks of burnings ash up the chimney. I stared into the flame out of the corner of eye and at the stone mantel, curious about the various trinkets that made their rest there. The man did not strike me as a collector and certainly not of things like the glass figurines that posed above the flames. There were flowers and birds, eagles and falcons mostly, tress and what looked with representations of Greek gods. And there was an abundance of women, all forever frozen in clear crystal that redirected the specks of light all around the room.

A grandfather clock ticked away in the far corner, counting just how many tense moments passed before the man decided to speak. His voice was not what I expected it to be. It was soft and smooth, completely betraying his physique.

“Fine,” he said. “I give up. What are you?”

I didn’t answer. First mistake.

“Speak,” he commanded. “They tell me you speak English.”

“…I don’t know what to say….sir,” I forced out the title and it left a bitter taste on my tongue. He was obviously at the head of my kidnapping. By all rights I should have spit in his face.

“Your complexion is strikingly beautiful,” he explained. He had a way of stretching out every word, using it to its full potential. “What mix are you?”

“My mother is Indian and Pilipino. My father was Haitian and Spanish,” I answered him stiffly, grimacing every time one of the muscles in my throat was pulled too hard. What I would not have given for another swallow of water. I couldn’t help but notice the finery and silver tea platter that rested on the coffee table between us. I was too afraid to ask if I could have a drink of the teapots steaming contents.

“Is that so?” he exclaimed, obviously excited by the discovery of my richly diverse bloodline. “That would explain the bronze that coats your skin and the silk you use as hair.”

Taken aback as I was by the poetry, I still felt nothing but contempt towards my captor.

“I am a collector of odds things,” he started by pouring himself a mug of lightly-tinted tea and plopping two large spoonfuls of sugar in it. He stirred, never once hitting the sides or the bottom of the cup. “I know that you have noticed my knick-knacks, yes? There on the mantle and along the walls there.”

The dark red walls were covered in maps and masks. Eyeless face stared down at me, some frowning as though in warning, others smiling in mockery. They were from every culture, Hawaiian, Chinese, Old English Drama, Aborigine, Mayan, Aztec, and Greek. Somehow I could relate to those masks, though they sent a stunning amount of chills down my vertebrae.

The maps were old. Very old. Most were badly creased and yellowed in their glass frames. The shapes of the continents were all wrong on some of them. One was even missing Australia and the Americas and had a red serpent prowling about the India Ocean. I couldn’t fathom where he’d acquired that particular piece. There was a before and after map of Europe post-World War II. The impressive collection would have intrigued me far more had the circumstances been less dire.

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” he commented on my interest. I nodded and drew my gaze back down to my lap. “The oldest of them dates back to the twelve hundreds and feudal Europe. Do you like history?”

Again I nodded, too nervous to jump in and tell him all I knew of King John and the Magna Carta and the class systems of feudal Europe.

“Good, you are educated then. That can prove either harmful or beneficial to you during your stay here. We will see in time. Now,” he crossed his legs and laced his worn fingers together. “I’m sure you’re wondering exactly what’s happening to you and where you are and if you’ll ever return home. The answers are that I have purchased you, you are very far from where you were taken, and no, you’ll not be returning.”

Little red flags flapped wildly in my head. I cursed them for not revealing themselves early, say, the night I’d been followed and taken. I don’t know why I was so distraught by his answers. It was not as though I’d expected him to treat me to a fine dinner and drive me home in a horse-drawn carriage. But hearing the truth I’d been trying to avoid come from his mouth made everything feel more real than I wanted it to. It was his conformation of my imprisonment that meant I was not going to wake up to the warmth of my bed and the comfort of my home. Everything became cold and menacing all at once, even the fire seemed to lose its heat. I could sense the man grinning and it was his smile that left the room so chill, I was sure of it. I wanted to look and see if his teeth were filed to points to or if his head had suddenly grown little ivory horns.

“But that does not have to be such a terrible fate,” he continued. “I have much to offer you here. Much more wealth than you would have ever seen in the States.”

Now that truly frightened me. My head whipped around to stare at a map of the modern world. It suddenly seemed like a much bigger place. Where was I if I was no longer in the States?

“You’re…ethnic heritage will give you a large advantage in our trade. Our favorites are treated like royalty. You will see; I will assign a former favorite to train you. Learn quickly and you will prosper in your new home. Now, I’m certain you must have more than a few inquiries for me. Ask them now while my mood is bright. You will not have another chance for a good while.”

“More than a few inquiries” was an understatement. I should have passed out from information overload. One future had been ripped away and another had just been planned for me. I was like a hijacked vehicle, a hacked computer. And this man, this well-dressed, intelligent, well-spoken-for man was the perpetrator. Sharp accusatory words were waiting to fly from my mouth and I so desperately wanted to let them go.

“Where am I?” I settled for

“You have already told me that you are educated. Would it then be wise of me to tell you where you are so you can find your way back somehow? No, no, it would not be very wise at all,” he answered himself. “So I shall satisfy that question by simply saying you are home.”

I expected as much. “I will not stay here,” I announced. He became even more amused.

“Then I invite you to leave. You will not get far. I have many more guards than just the one who delivered you here. Given my word they will kill you on sight. “

“And if I refuse to learn your trade?” I challenged, wishing with all my heart that this man would somehow burn in the fire.

“Ah, yes, my favorite question. So glad you asked, my dear,” he said as he rose. He strolled to a shelf that had a particular book with a spine three inches thick. I thought it read Jane Austin but I realized the letters weren’t even Latin based. Right in front of the book was a long wooden chest that creaked when the man opened it. He brought a plain butcher knife and handed it to me. I waited for an explanation. He clearly didn’t think I would presume to attack him with it.

“That,” he said as he sat back down, “Is your only other option. Years ago when this place was first built and my enterprise began, a girl not unlike yourself took that knife and drove it through her heart. She was so beautiful; it was a true tragedy to lose her. It would be a tragedy to lose you as well, but there are always other girls…”

Suicide. I told myself the night of my abduction I would rather impale myself than give up my freedom. But then, given the chance, all that reckless bravery faded away. I looked at my reflection in the stainless blade, wondering if the girl all those years had done the same. I could rejoin Jaden, I could wake up from my nightmare in a better place. The man sat there tapping his fingers against each other, looking like he didn’t care what I chose, he would be entertained all the same.

Body shaking, I carried the knife back to its box and closed the lid, knowing that I would regret it. The man clapped his hands behind me.

“Bravo,” he said. “You’re strength is admirable. You will do well here. I look forward to your service.”

I should have taken my life while it was mine to take. Then began the time when I was not my own.

Where was God? I’d always heard word of His divine protection, His all-powerful righteousness. Where was God?

He was sitting in the study, legs crossed, arms folded, grinning at my misery.

When they led me out I was not blindfolded. Marble arches and million dollar paintings confirmed my guess that I was in a mansion. There were a number of people doing various things as a different guard led me back they way I’d came. Servants of the house, I presumed. They all looked at me with pity when I passed. All of them where significantly older than me, most were thin and pale, two that we passed were obviously pregnant. I was to be trained. I was going to become one of them.

Fifty-seven steps, that’s as far the guards had led me before I started hyperventilating, the situation coming crashing down on me with full force. I should have killed myself. I couldn’t survive in captivity.

Eighty-nine steps. They were going to lead me back down to the cell. I knew if I went down there all chances of leaving were gone. My heart was pounded at a dangerous rate. I couldn’t let that happen. I had to do something.

My breathing was erratic. I squeezed my eyes shut, life flashing before my eyes. I thought maybe it was just a figure of speech but no, it was very possible. Everything I had ever done came to mind. All the words I’d ever said were ringing in my ears. At a hundred and six steps, knowing it would be my last act, I jerked free of the guards and ran.

There was a great commotion behind me as the guards tripped over themselves to reach me, but I paid none of it any mind. I was going to escape from the hellish mansion or die trying. I didn’t care which fate I’d meet. I flew under the marble arches as fast as my legs would carry me. The terrifying thrill of the chase had me moving faster than ever. Adrenaline was the best of drugs.

The servants I passed stopped and stared. Two or three cheered me on. I was quickly acquiring a tail of guards behind me. I kept running, gliding across tile. I leapt down seven steps where the floor was sunken and through an enormous living room with furniture worth more than my apartment in Los Angeles. My small size allowed for me to navigate the couches and coffee tables far more easily than the shouting men on my heels.

Just when I knew I couldn’t run any longer I came up on a huge wooden door that was undoubtedly the front entrance. That was it. All I had to do was burst outside and signal a passing car or civilian. They would call the police, I would be saved. I slammed through the door, ready to scream for my life.

The temperature plummeted. There was no one around. My breath caught in my throat. In that instant, that single, terrifying moment, I knew I would die. All around me there was nothing but blinding white snow. As the guards’ hands descended on me I put together the pieces of the puzzle: the accents, the weather, the mansion, the air of nobility, being far from the States, the non-Latin letters.

They were Russian. I was in Russia.