Flashback

Chapter One: Institute

I was awoken from a nightmare with a pounding head that made it feel like it was right about ready to pop like a button on a badly fitting pair of jeans. My eyes adjusted to the low lighting and my brain went into overdrive. The environment was different from what I'd become accustomed to and looked a lot cleaner. But it felt somewhat detached. The nightmarish surrounding was absent from the scene, and the feeling of danger nowhere to be found. I couldn't recognize anything my eyes would fall upon. It almost seemed like the rescue for which I'd been praying had finally happened.

Then I remembered that my wish did actually come true. A kaleidoscope of scenes flashed behind my eyelids, giving me a dizzy spell. That is when I heard a knock on the door and started to believe that maybe the rescue never happened. They had just probably fallen into some more stolen money and decided to go a bit upscale, the reason for which was the beauty and extravagance of the room. It seemed unlikely due to their standards and low level of intelligence, but I still began to panic anyway. After all, it wouldn't have been the first time that I had hallucinations due to severe agony, pain, and hopelessness.

Then came another practically muted knock on the door and before I had the time to get to any sort of weapon for self-protection, a small child entered the room. Either I'd begun hallucinating or it was real, but I accepted it as reality and observed the child for hints instead.

He had curly brown hair that shadowed his earlobes. His lips were upturned in an attempt at what turned out to be a small, scared smile and it seemed he was commanded to keep it in place, because soon it looked more like a grimace. In his hands was a large metal tray with filigree along the edges.

The child came forward and I realized he had a limp, every step a miracle, and every muscle used for the smile-grimace begging to show the world the wince he was trying so hard to hide with his gait. He wore a ratty, button-down, collared shirt and worn out jeans, ripped at the knees and ankles.

However, it was the shoes that attracted my attention. They weren't worn out like his jeans, or faded and old like his shirt. They were clean and surprisingly looked brand new. They were the same chocolate brown as his curls, with neat, carefully tied laces. A minimalistic pattern was etched into the leather at the outer sides. Every observation made my head spin because they would never take a male slave into their group.

My hunger won over and I shot out of the bed to grab the heavily laden tray of food, but then I saw the panicked look on the child's face, and the confusion got me to halt in my tracks. His eyes were widened, elbows drawn in, and his miniscule frame so visibly stressed, that I realized that he looked like I may be about to hurt him – badly.

As I thought about it, I came to the harsh conclusion that it was probably precisely what he went through day in, day out; beatings and harsh words thrown at him upon the slightest change in gait or disobedience ever since they must have taken him in. So, I quickly sat back down to find his troubled look replaced by relief and thankfulness. I thought about asking him what he feared from me and my attempt at getting the heavy tray from his hands but he just put it down on the side table and left in a hurry, curls bouncing with his crooked gait. Before he left the room though, I noticed an emblem, a logo of sorts. It brought tears of joy, happiness, relief, and hope to my eyes. My head reeled with emotion. I started to accept the fact, the reality: my rescue came. They were here no more. I was finally free. I was safe.

With the thought of freedom, safety and security in mind, I hungrily started at my meal and soon was unable to continue. I guess that's what happens when all you get is scraps of old food in routine, but then suddenly the routine goes away. Servants and maids stand at your service, ready to take your every wish as their command.

When I took a survey of the tray, I noticed a piece of parchment rolled up and secured with a navy blue ribbon tied into a bow. I pulled at the ribbon and the parchment fell open in my lap. In it was a letter addressed to me in blue ink and the same logo of "L'Institut de la Récupération D'Enlèvement" (The Institute of Kidnap Recovery) which was printed on the top, the same logo that was on the shirt the boy wore. In a random stream of observatory thought, I began to wonder if all the stationary was navy blue and made a note to myself to investigate on it. I could only tell it was for me because of its mere presence and the presence of my full name in the first line. It was written in French so I could easily read it, but my head was throbbing so I put in on the bedside table to read later.