Chapter Two
Savannah
I attempt to roll off the bed, as I have a horrible case of cotton mouth and desperately need water. My knees buckle as I start the trek to the sink. Normally, my prison room seems so small, but right now it feels like I am a hundred yards from the wall. I must have taken quite a beating; I hurt everywhere.
Finally reaching the sink, I grab the rusty tin container. Water never tasted so good. I wet my lips and let it trickle down my throat before collapsing into a painful ball. I begin to sob, knowing I’ll never get out of here. I can only imagine how bad my back looks. It feels wet and burns terribly, my head is throbbing, and my wrists feel tender. He must have tied me up during…my stomach drops. I slowly move my hand down to the hem of my nightgown and pull it up. I let out a hiss of relief when I see I still have on the same panties as yesterday. My outsides may be damaged, but the rest of me remains, at least for the moment, undefiled. But emotionally, I am spent. My hands cover my face in sudden defeat as I lie on the floor to think. I’ve been treated like something less than a barnyard animal for way too long. My captors never seem to tire of their sick power trip over me. I’m sure it brings them endless amusement. I get a bath once in a while, during which they take plenty of photos and videos. I have a toothbrush, which has grown disgusting, and a bar of soap, which is down to a small nub. My food, when they decide to feed me, is some kind of soup and crusty bread. The water is always warm, with flakes of dirt in it.
Occasionally, a doctor is brought in to check me over, and twice I had to get IV fluids pumped into me. I was more concerned whether the needle was clean than what they were putting inside me. Once, I tried to ask the doctor for help, but he acted like he didn’t understand me. I know he did, because when I mentioned home, he flinched and wouldn’t make eye contact. All I got was a jab in the ribs from one of the men and shouted admonishments in Spanish for attempting to talk.
My only choice will have to be starvation. I’ve decided I’m done, and at least my death will be under my control.
I hear footsteps outside my door. At the click of the lock, my body automatically starts to tremble. Sure enough, the fat guy returns with my tray of food. He drops it loudly on the table then glares at me.
“Sore?” he asks with a laugh. I want to lunge at him and jab another piece of plate into his neck. Next time I’ll remember to pull it back out and continue until the fat bastard is dead.
“No, you?” I hiss back. Really, what do I have to lose? His face drops and his hand jerks to touch his neck, but he stops himself. He picks up my water glass and pours it out on the floor and continues to do the same with my soup and bread as he watches me with an insolent smile. A few days ago, I would have been heartbroken, but today it plays right into my decision, and I smile back.Fuck you.
A few hours later, I hear the familiar key in the lock. The lights are dim, so I can’t see very well. Someone brings a new tray. I hear it scrape on the floor as he puts it down. He moves toward my bed. I smell the familiar aroma of Montecristo and know it is the man with the cigar.
“You need to eat,” he says sternly. I don’t move. I just lie there, feeling completely defeated. He reaches over and chucks a piece of bread at me. It bounces off my shoulder. “Eat,perra.” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
After some time, I finally move over to the tray and nearly vomit when I see the same meal I’ve been fed for lunch and dinner for God knows how long—a watery beef stew. Knowing these guys, it’s probably rat or possum. It helps reinforce my choice not to eat. I take a sip of the water, and some grit slides down my throat. I cough, choking down the rising bile, and stumble back to bed.
Five more meals are brought to me, five meals that stay untouched. Although my body begs me to eat, my willpower doesn’t falter. Needless to say, I feel like shit.
My mother visits me often to whisper words of encouragement. I know it is only my mind’s way of coping with starvation, but on some level, it brings me joy to see her again. She is just as I remember—long, dark hair, perfect teeth, and dark eyes. Her touch is so real I can feel the heat from her hand on my face.
“I love you, Savi. You know that, right?” she says. “I’m here for you.” She touches my chest right over my heart. “My little angel.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and sob as the memory fades.
I wish I were capable of love like that now. Love and trust were things I’d promised myself I would never give away. I’ve been tested many times, only to be betrayed over and over. It is always a trap. They can have my body, but I will be damned if they will get my soul.
I’m lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, watching it fade in and out of my blurry vision, when I think I hear a popping noise followed by loud shouts. If I were in a clearer frame of mind, I may have understood what was going on, but in my present state, I don’t really care.
A series of events seems to happen all at once. There is a loud bang, my door flies open, and a bright light moves all around the room. A man dressed completely in black with a helmet and goggles draws closer. It takes considerable effort, but I roll my head over to face him. The light flashes over my face, making me squint. He pauses for a moment then shouts something into a radio on his neck. He reaches forward to lift me out of the bed. I groan as his hand grips my back. I don’t know if I am dreaming or not, but I don’t seem to be able to take it all in. My brain isn’t functioning properly.
The man holds me tightly as he carries me down a long hallway. There are a few other men in front of us, dressed in the same black outfit, guns raised and ready to fire. I am so tired, but now I’m wide awake and afraid if I close my eyes I will find myself back in that room again, alone. We travel down a long staircase toward double wooden doors that look to have been blown open. I don’t seem to be able to speak; I’m still afraid I’m dreaming.
The air is cold, and it is dark and feels like it might rain. This has to be real. I feel moisture on my face, and the fresh, cold air is so wonderful. I want to cry with the pleasure of it. Three black SUVs are waiting out front. I am placed in the middle vehicle, followed by the man who carried me and three others, including the driver, a man in the front passenger seat, and one in the back facing the opposite direction.
I am quickly fastened in and have a blanket wrapped around me. The first thing that comes to mind is how clean the blanket smells. We travel away from the building. I have no strength, and my head seems to have a life of its own, bouncing around until it finds a comfortable bump on the blanket. I watch the driver’s hands slide over the wheel, perfectly calm. After we are a good distance away from the house, the man who carried me tears off his goggles and helmet. He runs his hand through his black hair and looks over at me. I am surprised to see that he appears to be only a few years older than I am, maybe early thirties.
“Savannah? You’re okay now. You’re safe,” he says quietly in a steady voice.
I just stare at him. I heard what he said, but it doesn’t seem to register in my brain. I am still afraid to believe I am really rescued from my prison. Perhaps this is only a nasty trick.
He studies my face for a moment then reaches over. I flinch, closing my eyes momentarily. He pulls his hand back but points at my forehead. “Looks like that hurts. Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere else?”
I want to tell him about my back, but I am still unable to speak.
“The jet is standing by, sir,” the driver says into the rearview mirror.
The man beside me nods. “Good. Tell them we’re ten minutes out.”
“Yes, sir.”
I start to feel dizzy. The lack of food has taken a toll on me. I flop my head against the window and watch as tiny raindrops make paths down the glass. I don’t recognize anything. Houses and streets look different, and nothing makes sense. I wonder where I am and where I’m going.