I really don’t think he’s a prison guard. I also don’t hear anyone else. Shouldn’t there be other inmates? Am I in solitary confinement? Death row. Now I’m really getting somewhere.
I clear my throat and dare to ask, “Where am I?”
When he doesn’t answer, I use the bar and pull myself to my feet. My weak knees wobble, but I hold tightly to the bars. “What did I do?”
I spied on and betrayed Alessio, then ran away at the first opportunity. My memories start to penetrate the heavy fog in my brain. I ran into traffic, and Alessio was there, yelling for me to get back, but I didn’t make it back. Or across the street to the embassy.
Aside from feeling tired, I don’t feel like a vehicle hit me. What happened? I rack my brain and recall being manhandled. I recall voices, people speaking in a language I’ve heard before but can’t quite place.
“We have her,” I say. “That’s what I heard. You shoved me into a van and drugged me.”
The guard walks away.
“Hey!” I grab the bars and try to shake them as if they’re a cage. I whack my head against the metal and wince. Upon inspecting my forehead, I feel a bump forming. Great.
“What is this place?” I whisper. It’s a huge space. I think it might be an airplane hangar or maybe a warehouse with nothing stored here besides me, over here in the corner, behind bars.
There’s a row of tinted windows high up and far away on the other side of the tall wall. One window is broken, and the light from outside flickers. Again.
“Why are you keeping me here?” I ask. “Someone, please answer me.”
* * *
I’ve been keptin this prison for three days and four nights.
During this time, I’ve slept, eaten, and gone to the bathroom in the same space. The guard walks by often and snaps pictures of me eating, drinking, and probably sleeping. Otherwise, he leaves me alone. Small mercies, I guess. Other women have suffered worse in captivity.
Here he comes again.
I squint, the flash from the camera temporarily blinding me. When my eyesight clears, I make out three people. The guard and two others. One of them is significantly smaller and, I think, is wearing a long skirt. A woman, I believe. I sit up, stand carefully since I’m fairly weak from the drugs I’m sure they’re feeding me with the food, and walk toward the bars. I hold myself up by gripping them.
The couple approaches, and a whiff of her strong perfume makes me nauseous, but I can hold it down.
I recognize the man Alessio and I called Hades. He’s wearing a sharp suit with no tie. His dark hair is parted down the middle this time. He leans back as soon as he reaches me.
“She smells like shit,” he says.
“There are no facilities,” his daughter says.
He shakes his head. “We’re behaving like savages.”
You don’t say.
“Did you send him a picture of her looking like this?” he asks.
“Yes,” the woman answers.
Hades spins and slaps her across the face.
I wince and hold my cheek.
“He doesn’t care about her,” his daughter bites out, surprising me with her venom right after he slapped her.
“He cares. He bought a ring meant for someone I know who wouldn’t have given his wife anything less than a diamond worth a small fortune. He cares.”
“She’s not wearing the ring. It wasn’t for her. We should shoot her.”
“Silence,” Hades says.
