Set Me Free

"Smile for the camera"

"Fathers should make you feel safe."

My room was small and barren with a temperature a little below freezing. There was no bed, in fact there was no furniture at all. All I had for comfort was a thin pillow and a blanket. It was a far cry away from my room back home.

I could picture it now. My double bed with mountains of pillows and blankets. My TV ready to entertain. My en suite in the adjacent room. I was missing my home comforts, my simple luxuries.

As soon as they dropped the bomb shell about my father, I was taken here to wait for further instruction.

My head was still reeling from it all. My father wasn't the type to do this, he was far too mild mannered to be a drug dealer. I hadn't lived with my father since I was three years old when my mother and him divorced, but I knew enough about the him to know that he wasn't the man that they were painting him out to be.

However, now that I thought about it, I never had seen my father hold down a full time job. He was always moving between trades, never having a job for more than a couple of months at most. Maybe that was why I had never seen him settled, maybe he was constantly on the move due to the fear of his dangerous life style.

There were no signs that I could remember to make me think he was ever on drugs. If he was, he hid it well. But maybe that was the point, he didn't want his little girl to see the man he really was. A man that could put his daughter's life in danger.

I wasn't sure if I could forgive him for this, for what he is putting me through. He was supposed to love me, to protect me from the dangers of the world. He wasn't supposed to be the one putting me in the firing line.

I'm broken from my thoughts with a knock at the door. The only thing I could think of was that it was strangely polite to wait for permission when they had already taken me against my will.

"Come in," I manage to muster, scared that if I don't that they may come in with force.

A man walks in, the one that I saw earlier at the table. The one that wouldn't look at me.

He had dark brown hair that was messed up, almost as if he had been running his fingers through it. His eyes were blue, so blue they reminded me of the sky on a clear day. It made me wonder when, or maybe if, I would ever see it again. He stood at a little over six foot, his presence and stature demanding attention from the room.

He looked at me, really looked at me, as if he was searching for something I didn't wish to share. The look made me feel uncomfortable.

"They're ready for you," he tells me, gesturing for me to follow.

I don't move a muscle, couldn't find it in me to move on foot in front of the other. I was frozen in place, and I wasn't used to the concept. Usually, I'm unable to stand still for more than a minute before I have to move, now all I can manage to do is stand here.

"Please, follow me," he asks, once again gesturing towards the door. He was unusually polite for a man that had carried out such a hideous crime.

He sighs gently as he realises that I have no intention of following him, and slowly starts to make his way across the room and in my direction. I flinch back against the wall on instinct, wanting to keep my captor as far away from me as possible. He stops once he sees my reaction, holding up his hands in surrender.

"I'm not going to hurt you, but if you don't follow me now, it may prompt someone to come looking for us. Someone that doesn't have my restraint."

He looks at me once again, pleading me with his eyes to follow his instruction. Once again, I can't help but find his behaviour unusual. Surely this isn't how kidnappers treat their victims, like they're real human beings and not objects there for the taking.

I find it in me to make my way forward and he smiles gratefully at me, thankful that I finally listened to him.

He takes me down the corridor, silence falling upon us as we walk. I have nothing to say to this man and clearly he feels the same way. We're not here to get aquatinted, we're here to extract revenge.

We come to a door, and once again the man knocks gently before walking in. In the room sits a camera on a tripod facing in the direction of a wooden chair. My original captor, the one to take me from the streets, stands next to the chair and the smirk I've seen far too much of once again crosses his face as he sees me.

"Hello sweetheart," he says, once again sending shivers of disgust down my spine. I don't think I'll ever be able to hear the word sweetheart again without breaking into a cold sweat.

"Take a seat," he points to the wooden chair. I have no choice but to comply.

It's then that the eldest man walks in, his eyes once again dead and cold as we make eye contact. Not a single emotion crosses his face and it makes me wonder if he is capable of feeling anything.

"It's time to make our play, to capture our audiences attention. We're going to make a little video for your father, something to show him exactly what is at stake here," he tells me, an empty smile gracing his face. He then nods in one of the men's direction.

My original captor comes and stands before me, his size dwarfing my five foot two height. He towers over me with authority and menace, and on impulse I feel myself flinching back.

"Now, this will only hurt a little." I barely have to time to register his words before his fist meets my face. I've never been hit before, and the pain explodes across my cheek, burning me like fire. It knocks all the wind I have in my body, and I gasp in a desperate attempt to get it back. I don't have time before his fist is there again, hitting me in the same spot as before.

Lights dance before me, warning me that I could potentially lose all consciousness. I have never know a pain like this, pain so raw and destructive that it threatens to put me to sleep. I blink back the stars, refusing to show defeat to these people. I have already shown weakness today, I wasn't ready to let them fully beat me.

"That's better, just a little effect to add drama to our movie."

The man is sick, twisted. He seems to be enjoying the pain that he is inflicting on me and it makes me wonder what exactly happened to him to make him enjoy the pain of others with so much glee.

"Now," the elder man tells me, "smile for the camera."