Missing

Prologue

I’m screaming.

I’m five years old and I’m screaming.

My quivering fingers are clutching my grey cotton rabbit, gradually picking apart the stitching in its left ear.

I’m inside a log cabin in the heart of Parque Nacional de Garajonay, on the Spanish island of La Gomera. I recognise this place very well- I watched my father build it before he went away.

A tall figure stands an inch away from me, the top of my head reaching its knee caps. The figure is hooded, although I can just about make out a pair of piercing Persian-blue eyes and strong cheekbones that reflect the dim oil lamp on the dusty oak table in the corner.  

The figure’s shadow covers me completely and I feel inferior.

My eyes glance down in horror at the rusty chain that’s attached to the wall and is coiled underneath the dining table.

The other end of the chain is padlocked to my ankle.

The figure raises a gloved fore-finger and places it gently underneath my chin, tilting it upwards until our eyes lock.

I’m five years old and I’m screaming.

“Hush now.” It says quietly, in a deep Spanish accent.

“Mummy!” I wail, “I want my mummy!” Crystal-clear tears fall delicately on my rabbit’s head. One seeps through the hole I made in the stitching.

Seeing that I’m not obeying, the figure claps its hands twice.

I silence immediately.

“When I clap my hands like this, you hush.”

I nod twice. Only twice.

“Now, what’s your name, my ray of sunshine?”

“Estela.” I mumble.

“Your full name.”

“Estela Susana Lorenzo.”

“Ah,” It pauses as if it’s realised something and exerts more pressure onto my jaw, lifting it further upwards, “Is your daddy called Antonio Lorenzo? The builder?”

I nod twice. Only twice.

“And is your mummy called Rosita?”

I nod twice. Only twice.

“And did your daddy run away?”

I nod twice. Only twice.

“Well, sunshine, your daddy did some naughty things and he ran away from them. This means that you, as his youngest child, have to pay for what he did. Is that okay?”

I nod twice. Only twice.

“I’ll take you home tomorrow. Our flight leaves in the morning. You’ll come back here very often, though. Twice a year. Each time will last two days. I’ll pick you up from your house in England, and I’ll take you back there after your two-day duties here are over. For now, your bed is under the table. Goodnight, my sunshine.” It places a light kiss on my forehead and turns away, heading for the front door.

“Maximino,” It whispers, allowing another hooded, slightly smaller, figure into the cabin, “We’ve found her.”

“Who, Teodoro? Antonio’s daughter?” The figure named “Maximino” replies.

“Yes. Hemos encontrado nuestra niña, Maximino.” Teodoro whispers. “We’ve found our girl, Maximino.”

I’m five years old and I’m not screaming anymore. Instead, I’m sleeping on a foreign floor and in the care of a man that I’ve never met, but knew my dad.

 I’m five years old and I’m not screaming anymore.