Chapter 1
Liisa · Porvoo, Finland, 2016
Acomet of pain shoots up my back as we are jolted by a bump in the road. My face is pressed so hard against the car door that my neck feels like it’s going to snap. Gagging, I try to breathe, but I’m overcome by the stink of fish embedded in the blanket thrown over my head. I try to focus on the memory of my school bag lying in the snow. Someone will find it, right? They’ll call the police and...
“Stop crying!” The man leans on my back, stealing whatever breath I have left. He’s not big, but he has a weapon. I choke back my tears, scared he’ll electrify me again. The blanket is wrapped so tightly around me. My tights are damp from where I’ve wet myself and pain erupts from the gash on my knee from when I hit the icy road. The bindings on my wrists force my hands against my back. But all that fades into panic because now he’s pressing so hard on my back that I can’t breathe.
“Give her some air.” The woman’s voice rises from the front of the car. “Just keep her head down.”
I shouldn’t have stopped to talk to her on my way home from school. Mother has always warned me to be sensible, and we’ve been told about stranger danger in school. But she looked so much like my grandmother that I thought it would be OK. Grandmothers aren’t meant to hurt children. They take you to the petting zoo or bring you Fazer chocolate on candy day. They don’t force you into the back of a little yellow car with daisy stickers on the windows. She even looks like Grandmother Hilma, with her fur-lined navy parka and grey hair wound into a bun. She doesn’t have evil eyes or a scary voice. How was I to know? I twist my head, desperate for a sliver of air.
“Stop struggling!” The man shakes the scruff of my neck as you would a dog when it’s misbehaved.
At last some relief, when he finally shifts position. I wheeze and splutter for breath. He tugs the blanket off my head, but I’m too scared to move. I hear the crackle of the stun gun in his hand. When he first jabbed it into my back, my body turned to jelly and flopped to the ground. It felt like a thousand bees were attacking my skin.
“That’s better,” he says, as my breathing steadies. “Don’t make me use it again. You might shit yourself next time.”
“Hei, mind your language.” The woman driving issues a warning.
The man beside me sighs.
The car shudders as we hit another bump in the road. I stare at the footwell, still pinning my hopes on my school bag being found. His laces are undone. The snow crusting his boots is melting in the weak heat of the car. Soon it will be dark. I flinch as his thin fingers clamp down on my head and he begins to stroke my hair.
“Would you like me to loosen your bindings? I will, if you behave.” His voice is soft now, coaxing. I nod. I’m lying on my side, the thin blue washing-line cord cutting into my wrists.
“Best not to,” the woman driving replies sternly. “For her own safety.”
“But the doors are locked,” he whines, still stroking my hair.
My shoulders rise towards my ears. I’m trying not to react. What do they want with me? Fear grows a lump in my throat, and I try to swallow it down.
“What if she jumps into the front?” The woman’s voice takes on a hard tone. “What if we crash the car and she gets hurt? We can’t take her to hospital. What will you do then?”
“Sorry, Mamu,” the man replies, his voice full of remorse. I open my mouth to speak, but he responds with a sharp tug on my hair. “Shush! Quiet time.”
The wind whistles through the car as it takes a sharp bend. I can feel every bump on the ice-caked road. It’s so unlike my mother’s car, with its comfy seats and happy tunes playing on the radio. I think of my family and silent tears stream down my cheeks, dripping off the tip of my nose. Snow pelts the windscreen and the wipers swish back and forth. If my bag hasn’t been found yet, then it will soon be covered up.
The man’s breath is liquorice-sweet as he leans over and whispers to me not to cry. But I’m so very scared. I peep up at his face. He seems almost as old as my mother. Tinted glasses mask his eyes, and a fat brown moustache covers the whole of his thin top lip. His hair looks strange as it skims his shoulders, and I wonder if he’s wearing a wig. He looks out the window before pulling me towards him and forces my head to rest on his lap. “Shhh,” he says, as I wriggle. “Don’tbe a brat.” There’s a growl to his voice, and the warning of the stun gun in his other hand is enough to make me give in. The tick-tock of the car indicator means we’re pulling off this road. “Go to sleep.” The man clamps his hand over my head, and he starts stroking me like I’m his pet. “When you wake up, we’ll be there. Then you’ll see your new room.”
“Everything OK?” The woman gazes over her shoulder in my direction, but she’s speaking to him. She turns up the car heater, although it provides little comfort against the cold.
“Oh yes, we’ve got a good one,” the man replies. “A real angel. I can feel it.”
“I hope so,” the woman sighs wearily. “Because this is the last time.”
I want to ask what’s happening, but my tongue feels glued to the roof of my mouth. Mother will be so cross. She’s told me so many times not to talk to people I don’t know. I close my eyes tight, wishing I could block out my kidnappers.
“Isn’t she pretty?” He makes my skin crawl as he lifts a strand of my hair. “It’s like the sun.”
I want to inch away, but there is nowhere to go, and I am conscious of the small metal object in his other hand. Instinctively I know that being calm is my best chance of staying alive. I listen as they talk between themselves. It seems she is his mother, and we are going to her home. He laughs, buzzing with excitement.
But his mother is more cautious. “I meant what I said. This is the last time.” Silence passes for a few seconds before she continues, “I’m doing this for you.”
“I know,” he says. “I love you, Mamu.” There’s no response. “Say it,” he demands; that edge is back in his voice and it’s as sharp as a blade.
“To the moon and back.”
The words sound forced, but I feel him relax. I swallow, quietly sniffling on the man’s lap. No good can come from this, because people who tie you up mean to do you harm. I’m twelve and a half years old, almost a teenager. I know a lot of things, which is why I shouldn’t have walked the rest of the way home alone after the school bus dropped me off. Grandmother must have forgotten to pick me up. Mother will come looking, but not until she finishes work. For every minute that passes I’m being driven further away from her. I remind myself that I’m not like other children. I’m strong. I’m Liisa the brave. I love horses, snowboarding, and climbing trees. I’m clever, too. One day I’m going to be a judge and lock all the bad people up. I spend the rest of the journey imagining the police searching for me. Someone could have seen what happened. They would have picked up my school bag and dialled 112. The police will have set up roadblocks. There’s a helicopter overhead following the yellow car, and any second now...
