Captive{ated}

Forty: After

In the hours after I was saved, everything moved as though someone hit the fast forward button. There were so many questions, so many faces.

Most of it I can't remember anymore.

With my information, it didn't take long for the police to storm the Village with the help of the FBI. A case like this one took the country with a force so powerful it headlined the news for weeks, and, unfortunately, I was at the center of it all. In my best interests, however, I didn't see anyone from the Village again. Your father, Bowden, you. I was told that everyone was put under lockdown until everything could be sorted out. Who were the victims, the accomplices, the guilty, and the bystanders? I didn't even have the answers to all those questions.

My family arrived as soon as they could, probably speeding all the way up from Chicago. As soon as they saw me, I was enveloped in the center of a hug. None of them let me go for the longest time. With their arms wrapped around me, the stronghold I created mentally fell brick by brick. It was then I knew I didn't need it anymore. The surreal became real. I tried to tell them I was sorry, but as soon as I did, I was met with protest. "You have nothing at all to be sorry for," my mother hushed me.

I needed to hear those words time and time again in the months that followed.

I'm sure you know all the details of the legalities. It was a disaster, a mess. It was on the tv whenever I turned it on for months, leading to me turning to reading all the time instead. That being said, there were times I watched it when I was brave enough to, or when I was just wanting to make myself hurt. The stories contained different people involved in the justice system being interviewed. There was also the occasional philosopher looking at it from the moral standpoint. The intent of the Villagers was brought into question time and time again. Who meant to do wrong? Were the people who did nothing to stop the sacrifices accomplices, or were they victims raised to be part of some crazed religious cult? It'd often turn into a heated debate. That'd be when I turned it off, unable to listen to people who didn't know you declare what your intentions were.

They don't know you like I did.

Like I do.

Anyway, some people were definite- as clear as the sky the day I was rescued. I was a victim, as well as your mother and the handful of other kidnapped women, and the children, who weren't old enough to make decisions on their own accord. Hearing that was a weight lifted off my shoulders that  I didn't know I was carrying.

Other news was much harder to take. There were some things I knew to be true. You were guilty, guilty in kidnapping, guilty in holding me against my will. The rest of it I'm much more torn on because at the same time, you were a victim, too. A victim raised to believe that something is right when it tears you apart on the inside. I imagine that so often, your mind was a brutal tug of war, one that could never be resolved until you let me go. Could you be called an accomplice to murder? After all you hurt me, your intention was never to do so, believing you were saving me instead of harming me. Are you really guilty of what I know you to be? These are the questions that haunt my sleepless nights. They watch over me like a shadow standing in the corner of my room as I lay paralyzed, defenseless.

You weren't the only one who was manipulated either.

So many of you were victims. Even a year later, there are still people fighting for you and others who were in a similar position. After all, your defendants would argue, did you have much choice in how you were raised? And you did let me go when you came to the conclusion that what your father- and the Village itself- did was evil. Is someone like you really, truly guilty?

I think you know my answer to that.

There still hasn't been a sentencing. They haven't began trials as they are being sorted out. As time goes on, there doesn't seem to be an end in sight for those of you who were in the morally gray.