Safe Haven

four

A week. Its been a whole entire week that I've been locked in this closet.

The first few days, I cried, screamed, begged and even fought--only to be shut up by a masked man. The bruises on my face have reduced to purplish/yellow blotches, and I'm pretty sure I looked like Hell.

My makeshift prison contained a bare ceiling light with a chain dangling from it, a threadbare mattress, and clumps of dust that flitted whenever I'd move. I was going stir crazy in here.

The only contact I'd ever get was the occasional bathroom break (always blind-folded) or food and water, but I never saw anyone's face. I would try to find subtle differences between the 4 men, but it didn't really work out. So here I sat: trying to keep the ever persistent claustrophobia at bay, and praying for my freedom.

Whenever that might come.

I was curled up on my side when the door burst open, and I flinched into a sitting position. Calloused hands gripped my arms and yanked me up to my feet in one swift motion. I stumbled when shoved forward on the dingy carpet, but quickly recovered so I could watch everyone in the room. All 4 of them were there; unmasked and watching me with closed off eyes. I shuddered at being surrounded, and tried my best not to show how fearful I actually was.

"Exotic, isn't she?" one with a Scottish accent commented. He looked like he was a swimmer at some point in his life. His hair was a red brown color that curled slightly around his ears and at the base of his neck. His eyes were pale green, his nose a little crooked like it had been broken before. He had a small amount of stubble on his chin, and his thin lips were tightened in a half smile.

I hated the way he leered at me.

"We could sell her. Maybe collect a little cash from that?" A blonde man suggested, making my skin crawl. He appraised me with calculating blue eyes and thoughtfully rubbed his shaved chin before adding, " We haven't been in that kind of business in a while."

"We'd have to clear it with Price." a black man with contrasting light brown eyes said; his bass rumbling through the small room. He was huge and menacing with tattoos circling his muscled arms and his impressive pecs that strained against the white cotton of his shirt. The 3 men conversed about what to do with me as if I wasn't even there, and I hugged my arms closer to myself trying not to let despair settle in my bones.

Someone please. Someone please save me, please ...!

"I think we should wait. Bringing her here was a spur of the moment idea--we can use her to attract more media." the fourth man who hasn't said anything until now seemed to answer my silent prayers--well, sort of. Waiting was good: it meant that I wouldn't die.

"We should just kill her." blondie said, cutting his eyes at me, "we don't need any witnesses."

I spoke too soon.

"But we need a brand. We need a face that people can refer to us by, and it could be hers. Think about it: innocent American girl, taken hostage by terrorists. Blowing up public places isn't going to cut it." the fourth guy insisted, and judging from the silence of the others, I think they were starting to agree with him.

"What about Price's orders?" the black guy asked, folding his arms defensively across his wide chest. All eyes were on him now, and I chanced a glance in his direction and paled. It was that bastard that punched me in the face!

Said jerk sighed and turned his golden gaze to mine. I glared, but he seemed unfazed when he answered, "Tell Price of our idea and have him relay the message to the Leader if he thinks it's worth telling."

"He'll probably want to see her too." Scottish guy piped up, "If this whole plan of yours falls flat, we're gonna have to sell her or kill her, and he'll have to see her to set a starting price if he decides to sell."

They all nodded in a collective agreement before staring at me. I squirmed under their scrutiny and wished that I was back home. A few beats of uncomfortable silence later, the black man blurted, "She smells like shit." and they all agreed that I needed to look presentable for this Price guy to judge. My cheeks flamed with unexpected shame at their blatant rudeness as I was led back down to the familiar moldy bathroom in the back. I was ordered to wash myself the best I could and knock when I was ready to come out--similar proto call for my closet jail.

The momentary happiness I experienced when taking my shower was immense. It was amazing how something as simple as soap could make me giddy in my current dilemma. all the sweat, dried blood and dirt swirled down the rusted drain along with the soreness in my muscles. I wrung my curly hair dry after I shut off the water, and begrudgingly put my dirty clothes back on. I knocked like instructed and the door was opened. Scottish Man roughly showed me back to the van that brought me to this Hell hole, and bound my wrists before making me get in the back.  

The men loaded up, and in 5 minutes we were off to meet a man called Price.