Tears of Tess (7 page)

I
slid to the side suddenly, gravity extracting a toll as we careened around a
corner. Wits came back, battling the foggy pain. I must be in a vehicle.

My
sense of hearing returned.

A
whimper sounded. I jerked, trying to move away, only for the whimper to grow
into a wail. The plea was undoubtedly feminine.

A
man cursed, followed by a thud and a cry.

How
many victims were in here? I didn’t want to die. A tragic statistic of another
tourist kidnapped in Mexico. Brax and I were so stupid, travelling with the
illusion of being untouchable.

More
whimpers and gruff commands as the engine hummed and tyres squealed, gripping
the road, taking corners too fast.

I
wasn’t alone. There were others. Others taken. Stolen. Abducted.

I
shouldn’t have taken comfort in that, but I did. Just the knowledge I might
have allies gave me a burst of hope.

My
sense of taste returned.

Immediately,
the horrible stench coated my tongue, along with the sweet residue of Coke and
sharp tang of terror.        

The
Coke reminded me of Brax, and I plummeted into heartache. Even if I did manage
to escape, how would I ever find Brax? I had no clue where the café was, or how
we got there. Would the hotel come looking when we didn’t return with the
scooter?

My
throat latched closed, tormented by images of Brax dying on the lonely
wasteland of a men’s bathroom floor. Surely, they wouldn’t let him die. Someone
would take him to hospital.

They
took me.
They took me
.

Oh,
God. The realization hit like a ten-ton cruise ship. They took me! I was
powerless.

My
breath steamed the inside of the hood, melting my ears and eyelashes with
panicked heat. My vision remained black and useless. The hood obscured
everything, hushing the surroundings with dirty cloth.

A
rough hand landed on my thigh, squeezing hard. Jumping, I tried to crawl away,
but the bindings on my wrists yanked me to a halt.

A
language I didn’t understand lilted, twisting my heart, making me wish I could
wake up and it would all be a nightmare.

The
hand clutched my thigh again, wrenching my knees apart.

Red
flashed in my vision. I welcomed the rage and kicked as hard as possible. I
screamed as an unwelcome hand groped between my legs. My leggings didn’t offer
any resistance from the horrible pressure. I suffered a slap to the side of my
head as I fought.

The
fingers disappeared, and I choked on the sudden rush of relief. I coughed,
hacking up every emotion inside. This couldn’t be happening.

The
vehicle screeched to a stop, and the clunking of doors opening resonated. Heartbeats
pounded in my ears like heavy drums.

My
legs were grabbed, and my butt scraped along a sharp surface. Someone grunted,
scooped me up, and threw me over his shoulder like a dead carcass.

Vertigo
rushed to my head, lips pressed against dirty cloth.

The
power of terror-filled unknown sucked me into a dark place deep inside—a place
full of rapists and murderers and unmentionable monsters. Self-pity oozed, and
my will to survive faltered.

No!

I
couldn’t be sucked into depression and give up. I would
never
give up. I
would fight until I died; I’d teach the kidnappers they stole the wrong girl if
they wanted meek and broken.

In
some sick way, they proved my own self-worth. My parents may not want me, but
these bastards sure did. They’d stolen me because they had to.

I
was valuable. I had to stay strong and survive.

I
hung over the kidnapper’s shoulder, being carted to who knew where, and
something happened.

My
mind fractured, literally unthreaded, splitting into two entities. The girl I
was: my hopes and dreams, aspirations and love for Brax all blazed bright and
true. My insecurities and need for love saddened me. I saw my own fragility.

But
that didn’t matter, because the other part—the new part—was fierce. This girl
had no brokenness or issues. She was warrior who’d seen blood, stared monsters
in the face, and knew without a doubt her life would be hers again.

Somehow
the new part wrapped around the nucleus of the old Tess, protecting, cushioning
me from the horrors to come. 

At
least, that’s what I hoped happened.

I
truly, truly hoped.

* * * * *

The
hood was ripped off my head, taking some hair with it, the rest arched and spat
with static electricity. I blinked, light saturating my eyes as everything
shone with overexposure.

I
was in a room.

Dark,
dingy, not a dungeon, but not far off. Bunk beds lined each of the four walls.
The lack of windows, and dampness from the floor, settled fast into my bones.

I
sat on a threadbare mattress, looking around my new home. Girls huddled on each
bed. All of them wore an aura of tragedy, eyes bruised with loss, skin painted
with injuries and shadows.

A
man loomed over me, his beard black and gross. Reaching behind him, he bared a
knife.

I
flinched, and tried to crawl away. Some part said he wouldn’t hurt me. Not yet.
But the other part saw the knife and cowered.

I
knew what a knife did. It cut things.
Butchered
things. I didn’t want to
be butchered.

The
man grunted, digging fingers into my shoulder, pressing me into the dank mattress
on the bottom bunk. I yelped as he rolled me onto my belly. I kicked and
twisted, trying to stay upright, fighting an already lost battle. 

The
motion of sawing caused the string around my wrists to bite deep into sore
skin. The blade was blunt and it seemed to take forever before the bindings
finally broke.

The
man released me, backing away with a scowl. I slowly sat upright, rubbing my
wrists, skin indented and heated with a raw, angry red. 

“You.
Stay.” He jabbed a finger in my face before stomping to the exit. The heavy,
black door opened and he disappeared. The room echoed with a loud click as the
lock slammed home.

The
moment he was gone, I gawked at my new roommates. Only a few girls met my eyes,
the rest slouched with fear. 

I
couldn’t stop staring. Eight bunk-beds. Eight women. All of us ranged from
early to late twenties. There was no rhyme in our abduction. Some of us were
blonde, others black, redhead, and brown. Our skin colour didn’t match either:
three Asian, two black, and three white.

Nothing
screamed pattern. The police wouldn’t be able to work out who’d be the next
victim—it seemed any woman easy enough to steal was fair game. Whether we were
tall, short, fat, slim. Big breasted, long legged. We were all there for one
reason.

A
reason I didn’t yet know.

A
reason I didn’t want to know. 

Hours
passed while we stared at each other. No one talked—we didn’t need to. We
communicated in our silence, deeper than words. Our souls talked. We comforted
one another, all the while sharing grief over what would become of us.

The
flickering light bulb illuminated our cage, sending tension rippling around the
room.

Some
time, hours later, the door opened and a younger man with wonky teeth and a
jagged facial scar appeared, depositing a tray of eight bowls in the centre of
the room. The stagnant air of our prison filled with scents of food—something
stir-fried with a platter of warm bread to scoop it up with. My stomach
growled; I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

My
heart stuttered, thinking about Brax. It seemed so long ago, sharing our first
night in Cancun, enjoying our connection. 

I
forced myself to stop thinking about him. It hurt too much. 

No
one moved, but we all stared longingly at the food once the door locked again.

I
waited to see if there was a hierarchy.

No
one budged.

The
scent of dinner overwhelmed, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I needed my
strength to fight. I wouldn’t sit waiting—who knew when they would come for us.

I
moved.

My
body creaked and protested, but I stood and collected a bowl at a time, handing
it with a piece of flat bread to each girl.

They
gave a timid smile, a glassy look, a flush of tears. I took comfort in helping
them. At least they weren’t alone. We were in this together.

When
I delivered the last bowl and took my own, I had to swallow my tears. They
threatened to drown me if I let them loose.

Brax.
My life. My happy, happy world dissolved and left me in hell.

I
didn’t belong to Brax anymore. I didn’t even belong to myself. I belonged to a
bleak, unknown, and terror-filled future.

Swallowing
hard, I forced the tears away. Tears were not useful, and I refused to buckle.
Taking a mouthful of gruel, I hiccupped and steeled myself.

I
would not cry.

Not
tonight.

*Fantail*

F
or
two days, the little room was my world.

Food
came twice a day, giving us something to break up the monotonous waiting. Fear
of what would happen siphoned away with every tick of the clock, leaving me devoid,
empty.

The
remaining hours were spent staring into nothingness, or staring at each other.

A
few women chatted in hushed whispers, but I didn’t. I sat in a cloak of silence
and plotted. My freedom had been taken, but I would take it back.

All
my life I’d been meek and a doormat. Even with Brax, I never had the strength
to speak the truth. That all changed in the two days I sat in contemplation. I
put away my fear of being reprimanded, and embraced ferocity. I conjured anger
like magic, nursing it deep within, building on it like an impenetrable cape.
Never again would I hide my true feelings, or fail to chase what I truly
desired. And what I desired most was freedom.

Our
food was delivered by the same young man with the scar running from eyebrow to jaw.
Whoever had sewn the injury did a hash job, and skin puckered in such a way I would’ve
pitied him, if not for the fact he was in cahoots with my kidnappers.

He
wasn’t big, but moved with strength belying his scrawny frame. I watched
closely, gauging if I could tackle him, if the other women would help me.

Even
if the women did rally together, how far would we get? There were guards
outside the door, and I didn’t know what was out there. City, forest, urban, or
country. No point making a move until I knew. Knowledge was power, and surprise
was key.  

It
was the evening of the second day when the door slammed open. It wasn’t dinner
time and my heart rabbited when Leather Jacket prowled into the room. Predatory
eyes immediately fell on me. All my plotting and scheming evaporated as he
grinned nastily, heading straight for me. 

Fear
sprinted through my blood, flaring my aching body, a reminder danger lurked in
every inch of this place. Complacency wasn’t a good idea.

“Come
with me, slut.” Fingers wrapped around my sore wrist, yanking me upright.
Licking cracked lips, he dragged me toward the door.
No!
I wouldn’t go,
not like this.

I
locked my knees, bare feet scrambled to find purchase on the old floorboards,
but I couldn’t get traction. He tugged hard, slamming me against his gross
body. The leather jacket reeked of sweat and metal.

The
women started crying, a wail of confusion puncturing the once heavy silence.
Our little oasis in the madness was shattered.

I
squirmed, trying to tear fingers off my wrist, but he reached back and slapped
me. My cheekbone blazed with pain; I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Obey!
Unless you want to be knocked out again,” Leather Jacket snarled. Readjusting
his grip, he dragged me down a rank corridor. My face smarted, but I quickly
pushed the discomfort away. Pain was a distraction, and I needed to focus.