Traffic

Part 2

I woke up groggy and with a migraine. Tired and covered in sweat from the heat of the exhaust radiating into the car. Breathing became difficult as if I was trying to breathe through a straw in outer space as my breaths drew heavier as my head grew lighter and stars danced around in my eyes.

I'm done. I'm dying. The more I said that to myself the more I knew it was true. When the car stopped.

I started screaming like a banshee hoping someone was near by as food steps ran over opening the trunk and covering my mouth and nose with a cloth and chemical dumped on it. I struggled, kicking and screaming, trying to break free from his grip but I could feel my motions getting slower and my reactions were about as fast as a slug until I was out again. Without seeing my surroundings, I had no idea where I was, but it wouldn't matter because they were moving once again to a different area, view, and possibly state.

•  •  •

Half awake, I could feel the lower half of my body being dragged on concrete and my arms hooked into someone else's. dropped against a wall where my hands and legs were tied with cables, there was a gag so deep in my throat it became hard to breath.

The more I struggled, trying to use my tongue to force out the gag,and the sweat on my hands made my hands slippery, but not slippery enough to get my hands free out of the ropes, the more I grew weary and exhausted unable to continue.

"Her name?" It wasn't a voice I had heard before. I turned back in both directions trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

"Kelsey Guidry." Shit. Shit. Shit. The sound of his voice made all the strength grow in me as I started to fight again. "She's perfect."

"I decide who's perfect. I told you to get Monica Morgan--"

"Kelsey is from a completely different state, her father never cared, no one is going to miss her."

I head some been from an electronic device and then a sound similar to coffee being poured into a coffee pot. "Bring her in here."

A door opened at the end of the wall and the guy from the bar walked out still with that same white smile that he greeted me with there. "Lets go, sweetheart." He grabbed my by my hair lifting me up to my feet as I tried to yell but it only came out as a muffled whine with the gag. "You know, for a bartender, you would think she would know better than to leave your drink lying around."

Beads of sweat fell down my face as he grabbed one of my shoulders and with a free hand, a gun to my head. He looked down at my every step after he cut off the rope. I would have kicked him, if there wasn't a death sentence waging on the left side of my head.

When the room opened, the aroma of coffee made my stomach growl. The last thing I are was a burger for dinner at the bar. Who knows what time it is? What day? How

long I've gone without eating?

I now had a face to match the other voice. Skinny and almost sickly, dark eyes with light hair, pallor skin as if he hasn't seen the sun in weeks.

"So this is our beauty?" He took a knife and cuff off the gag. I instantly began screaming as they both laughed as my voice does enough to hear them. "That's always there first reaction, but sorry to say sweet heart, your in 15 feet of concrete under ground. No ones going to hear you."

"Plus your going to need your voice." The other jumped in.

The gun at my head was cocked as another laughed circulated the two men. "She's obedient when scared." He opened a bottle of scotch and poured it in his coffee. "Pretty little southern girl like you will be big bucks in the market."

"What market?"

Both there eyes grew wide. "And she talks. About time."

"What the hell type of market are you talking about?"

"You'll figure out soon enough." The older man said as he brought another gag over and tied it on as the younger held me still with the loaded gun at my head. "Take her to the docks. The one to Ohio, they will like this sweet little thing."

"You can either be back in the truck," he put the gun under my jaw so it was less visible wrapped in my hair, "or you can sit up front and be quiet."

With both my hands hog tied and him using my arms to drag me up a flight of stairs and to his car where I've only seen the trunk. Black 1995 Ford mustang. He put me in like a cop and then held the gun on me through the window until be was in the drivers seat with one hand on the wheel, and the other once again holding the gun under my jaw.

"You know, I really was interested in hearing about your dad. How he probably abused you, beat you, raped you." I looked forward at the road not wanting to say anything. Not wanting to mention my father. "What was he? A drunk? Crack addict?"

He was talking to me, but the gag was keeping me from talking. Laughing. He began laughing at the fact that I couldn't answer even If I would.

"You see Kelsey, we did some research on out own." I looked at the clock to see it was 5 in the morning. There weren't enough people on the road to see a girl in the front seat with a gag in her mouth and a gun held to her head. The windows may have been tented, but I hoped to god they weren't. "Your father was arrested when you were 10 for possession. He got out when you were 13 only to get hooked again. When you were 18 he was shot at one of the crack houses. Oh, and your mom died because you were born."

Water gathered at the bottom of my eyes just thinking about what he was saying and how it happened to all be true.

"You've been on your own for two years now. You turned 20 and finally got enough money to move to a shitty neighborhood in New York compared to your family ranch in Lubbock, Texas."

I clinched my jaw wanting to punch this guy, but that would require losing my head.

"You left all your friends, got work in a bar, and now you're here."

I looked at a sign outside the window for a cargo marina. Boats towered along with large shipping containers in assorted colors and labels in multiple languages. An old light house stood still working about half a mile away to warn the ships as the man walked by me the entire way looking at each cargo container on the long strip. I could hear the waves and then the waves of my own breath from how scared I was. How terrified of what I was going to see. What was going to happen.

"Keep walking." The barrel of the gun was shoved deeper into my throat as I swallowed feeling the metal tighten the skin around it. The boards creaked and were soiled with the sea water, and warped making it difficult to walk on when you're in a panic.

He yanks me like I'm a horse to make me stop.

"Don't move, or I shoot." Extending the gun in his hand he walks over to one of the crates opening the lock up as I stand there thinking about diving into the water but that would be suicide since it is February in New York. I only had my leather jacket on to keep me warm with my jeans tucked into a pair of cowboy boots. The crate opened as I looked inside only to see shadows of people sitting in the corners and a couple laying on the ground near a shallow pool of mosquito inhabited water. "Welcome to your new home."

Looking in the crate, I could tell all of the people in the crate were to afraid to try and escape. A switch blade came out of his pocket as he cut my hands loose but moved the knife to my neck in case I thought about moving. With one hand he untied the gag putting the knife to my back so I would move forward as it dug into my skin like a needle looking for a vein. He kept pushing until I was in the crate with the metal floor clicking under my feet. When he released, I turned toward him as the knife was out away and he picked up a couple of sacks throwing them in before closing the latch and letting the light sweep away.