Extraction

In Another Man's Hand

Over my twenty-two years, I'd been nothing but good. I took swimming lessons, I came straight home after school, I didn't even watch American television because it was 'uncivilized' compared to that of India's. And, frankly, I was bored. I was climbing the walls of my bedroom when Aadhya text me, begging for me to come out with her and Neha to a party at The Public. Sanju had finally left for the night and I made a run for it. In my lack of confidence, I refused to talk to the only guy I deemed 'head turn-able' at that damned university. Aadhya drug me to the back alley and practically shoved a joint into my hands. I hadn't even taken the hit she was urging me to when two officers pulled up. I was terrified of going to jail, of blowing my 'perfect angel of a daughter' cover. Of course, all of those fears quickly dissipated when one officer whipped out a gun and put a bullet into each of my best friends. They put a sack over my head and bound my hands tightly. My body hit the backseat hard, immediately, I started to struggle. A quick, sharp jab into my neck made my wiggling slow, and then stop completely. When I woke I was bound to a chair. I wasn't sure where I was or who had me, though I figured a rival drug gang. 

I wasn't a fool, I knew what my father did. I'd known since I was five, because that's when he'd murdered my real parents and took me for himself. That was years ago, of course, and the events of that night had blurred, but I still remembered the gist; I woke to loud pounding at our front door, my parents hid me in a cabinet, there were voices, loud voices, then two quiet 'pang's. The voices had stopped so I thought it was safe, but I couldn't have been more wrong. I walked into the living room and my parents laid on the floor, blood pooling around their heads. A short, stout man stood between them. When his gaze locked onto me, it softened slightly. He said something in a language that was strange to me at the time, and the two men that were with him grabbed me. I kicked and I screamed, but to no avail. Seventeen years later and I had become the drug lord's only child. And someone else's hostage. 

The room I was in stunk, like cigarettes and piss. I wasn't sure how long I was there, but not too long after my consciousness found me did gunshots ring through my ears. I quickly lost count. Between the grunts and crashing and bullets my breath quickened and I began to panic. I could only hope that whoever was on the other side of the door wasn't another dealer who'd caught wind of my position. 

It got quiet, too quiet. Then the door squeaked open. I pushed myself into the back of the chair, preparing for anything as I held my head as far back as I could. Suddenly, my hood was ripped off of me and a large, blond man kneeled in front of me. He brought a finger to his lips, "Shh," and began cutting my restraints. 

"Who are you? Did my father send you?" I asked quietly through my gag. He ignored me just as I had done to his instructions and moved to my hands, cutting them free.

"Can you walk?" his voice was hushed, deep.

I just nodded, nervous of who he worked for. 

"Alright, put this on." he said quietly, handing me a face cover. He readied his gun and walked quickly towards the door.

I froze at the sight before me; bodies, bodies everywhere. I couldn't tell how many, only that it made me sick. The smell of death coated the room's walls and flies already buzzed around the dead militia. He had disappeared from the door frame and I ran across the room to catch up, more terrified of facing anything alone than the Australian who'd just freed me. 

I followed him down staircases, through alleys, and into the trunk of a car. I heard the car start and felt it move. Again, I wasn't sure how long I was in yet another man's hand, but it was longer than I wished for.

Finally, the car stopped -rather abruptly- and I heard the engine turn off. The trunk flew open, I blinked, thrown off by the sudden burst of sunlight in my eyes.