Chapter 117
Elena’s Point Of View
They dragged me through the gate, shoving my knees violently into the back seat of a battered, rusted sedan. The iron door slammed shut with a heavy THUD, the lock clicking instantly. The windows were cracked, the interior thick with the suffocating stench of stale sweat, cheap tobacco, and gasoline.
Two broad-shouldered men sat in the front, while a third squeezed into the back right beside me, his thick, hairy arm clamping around my bare wrist with a grip like an iron handcuff.
The engine roared to life with a sputtering cough, and the car lurched forward, dust rising in thick, yellow clouds behind the tires as my mother, my house, and my siblings’ fading screams were swallowed up by the distance. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, watching the only home I had ever known shrink into a smudge on the horizon, and something inside me hardened into resolve.
Hours felt like absolute eternities.
My body swayed helplessly with every violent dip and turn of the broken, unpaved road. My stomach, completely empty for three days, churned with dry, agonizing cramps. Beside me, the man’s heavy eyes lingered disgustingly over the tight, sheer fabric covering my chest, his lips curling into a low, silent sneer every time the car bounced.
I turned my face toward the window, focusing on the blur of trees rushing past, anything to escape the weight of his gaze crawling over my skin.
My heart thudded in my chest like a trapped animal. My mind raced through every memory of Heather’s soft voice, every image of Dave’s tear-streaked face, and every whisper of my father’s dying words: Hold on, El. Hold on. I clung to those words now the way a drowning person clings to driftwood, letting them anchor me against the rising tide of despair.
The terror was a suffocating, paralyzing weight… but beneath the terror, deep down in the dark, bruised marrow of my bones, a small, white-hot, fiercely dangerous ember of pure survival flickered to life.
I was not going to die in an old man’s bed. I was not going to let Cynthia destroy my siblings.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of continuous driving, the car slowed down dramatically, the tires crunching over heavy gravel and fallen twigs. Looking out the cracked window, my heart seized. We were deep inside a dense, bushy, completely isolated area. Thick palm trees and tall, wild elephant grass pressed close against the narrow dirt track, the afternoon shadows shifting ominously.
The driver turned around in his seat, a sickening, yellow-toothed grin spreading across his face as he looked at me. “We’ll rest here for ten minutes. Let the engine cool down. We’re almost at the chief’s compound p>
Almost there.
The words echoed in my head like a death sentence. Almost to the old man who had bought me.
Desperation exploded through my veins like a raging wildfire. My mind worked at a terrifying speed, calculating every second, every detail. I began to shake uncontrollably – not just out of fear, but exaggerating every tremble, bowing my head, letting small, pathetic sobs escape my throat to make myself look completely broken and weak. Whatever strength I had left, I gathered it silently, hoarding it like a secret behind the mask of my own defeat.
I turned toward the man holding my wrist, my eyes wide, brimming with tears, my voice high, weak, and desperately urgent.
“Please I whimpered, clutching my lower abdomen with my free hand. “Please… I… I need to pee. Please… I haven’t gone in days… I can’t hold it anymore p>
The man beside me snorted, a harsh, mocking sound, his grip on my wrist tightening slightly. “You think we’re stupid, little girl? You step one foot out of this car to run, you die in these bushes p>
“I swear I won’t!” I sobbed hysterically, leaning forward, shaking so violently it required zero act. “Look at me! I can barely walk! My knees are broken! Please… I just need to go right there behind that big tree! I swear… please don’t make me do it in the car p>
The three men exchanged quick, irritated glances. The driver cursed under his breath, checking his watch.
“Fine,” the driver barked, pulling a heavy pistol from his waistband and cocking it with a sharp, metallic CLICK. “Take her out, Jabari. But stay right on her ass. If she moves two inches too far, put a bullet in her leg p>
The man beside me dragged me out of the car. The hot dirt and sharp thorns stung the soles of my bare feet as I stumbled toward the edge of the thicket. He didn’t let go of my arm until we reached the dense wall of high elephant grass, shoving me forward into the brush while he stood just at the perimeter, folding his arms, a half-lit cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
“Be quick,” he growled, reaching down to tap his hand against the holster at his hip. “I’m counting to thirty p>
I ducked deep into the tall grass, my heart slamming violently against my bruised ribs, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
And then… pure, instinctual recognition hit me.
My eyes swept over the surrounding foliage… the specific shape of the wild mango trees, the sharp downward slope of the red earth, the dense thicket of blackberry bushes.
I knew this place.
Years ago, before my father died, he used to bring us to the timber mill near this exact forest. Heather and I used to play right along the edges of these woods while he worked, chasing each other between the trunks, weaving crowns from wild flowers while he sawed timber a stone’s throw away.
Those had been simpler days, back when the worst danger in these woods was a scraped knee or a lost ribbon. I remembered the hidden hunter’s trail… a narrow, steep path that wound sharply downhill through the thickest brush, cutting through the forest to bypass the main road and dump out directly near the old regional market.
I didn’t pause to breathe. I didn’t think. I just ran.
Branches whipped violently across my face. Sharp thorns dug into my bare arms and legs, slicing my skin open, but I felt zero pain. Behind me, the man’s voice exploded into sudden, furious realization.
“HEY! HEY, STOP! SHE’S RUNNING p>
A split second later, the sharp, deafening BANG of a gunshot shattered the quiet of the forest, the bullet tearing through the leaves high above my head.
“CATCH THE BITCH p>
“DON’T LET HER REACH THE ROAD p>
Heavy boots came crashing through the underbrush behind me, the sound of tearing branches and roaring men gaining speed fast.
I tore through the dense foliage like a wild, wounded animal, my lungs screaming for oxygen, my blood pounding like thunder in my ears. My bare feet found the hidden, steep trail, and my body moved faster than I ever thought humanly possible. I threw myself down the slippery, red-dirt slope, gravity pulling me faster and faster.
The tight, cheap black dress snagged on a jagged branch, tearing wide open along my side. I didn’t care. I grabbed the fabric with both hands and ripped it further, tearing the hem away just to free my legs so I could sprint harder.
My chest burned like liquid fire, my throat was completely raw, my breath coming out in ragged, sobbing gasps, but I kept flying down the hill.
Left at the big rock. Right through the bamboo grove.
Behind me, the shouts of the men grew frantic, echoing loudly as they stumbled down the steep terrain.
“Where did she go p>
“I can’t see her! The brush is too thick p>
I didn’t slow down for a fraction of a second. I burst through the final barrier of thick blackberry vines, my body covered in fresh, bleeding scratches, and suddenly, the air changed.
The heavy, silent smell of the forest was instantly replaced by the overwhelming, chaotic roar of civilization. The sound of hundreds of voices shouting, horns blaring, radios blaring music, and the thick stench of exhaust fumes and frying street food slammed into my senses.
I burst straight out of the tree line and tumbled onto the outer edge of a massive, crowded open-air market road.
People were everywhere. Women carrying massive plastic tubs on their heads, street vendors shouting prices, motorbikes weaving dangerously through the dense crowd. My sudden, chaotic emergence from the jungle… bleeding, bare-footed, wearing a ripped, sheer black dress, turned a few head-on stares, but in the bustling chaos of the market, nobody stopped me.
Behind me, at the top of the tree line, I saw the leaves shake as two of the men broke out of the bush, their guns hidden under their jackets, their wild eyes scanning the sea of people frantically.
“Did you see a girl?!” one of them roared at a yam vendor near the tree line, grabbing the man by his shirt. “A young girl in black p>
My heart seized in pure, icy horror.
I instantly ducked low, wrapping the torn, ragged edges of the black dress around my chest, hunching my shoulders to make myself look small. I dove straight into the dense, moving thicket of the crowd, slipping between market women carrying baskets, weaving behind parked delivery vans, pressing my back against dirty concrete stalls whenever the men’s shadows passed near.
“Look over there!” a voice shouted from behind, but the sea of shoppers swallowed me whole.
I kept moving. Step after agonizing step. My legs felt like lead, my knees buckling with every stride, my vision swimming in dark, dizzying spots from absolute exhaustion and starvation, but the primal fear of being dragged back to that yard kept my feet moving forward.
I didn’t dare look back. I walked and walked, weaving through alleys, crossing muddy gutters, each breath slicing through my lungs like a razor blade, until the deafening noise of the market began to thin out.
And then… I saw it.
Rising up at the end of the dusty street was a faded, weather-stained blue building. Its iron gates stood open, a cracked, sun-bleached sign hanging above the entrance: DISTRICT POLICE DIVISION.
A sob… raw, violent, and uncontrollable, tore from my throat.
I stumbled toward the iron gate, my legs finally giving out completely as I crossed the threshold. My trembling hands pushed open the heavy wooden door of the front office.
Inside, three police officers standing behind the high wooden desk turned around, their eyes widening in absolute shock at the horrific sight before them: a sixteen-year-old girl, starved to the bone, covered in dark purple bruises and bleeding scratches, drenched in dirt and cold sweat, holding together the scraps of a torn black dress.
I tried to speak. I opened my mouth to tell them about Heather, about Dave, about Cynthia, about the men, but no words came out. Only a sharp, broken, breathless gasp escaped my lips.
My knees folded beneath me, and I collapsed hard onto the cold, filthy tiles of the station floor.
As my vision began to turn pitch black, as hands rushed forward to grab me, I threw my head back with the absolute last thread of my fading soul and shrieked into the air:
“HELP ME!… PLEASE! HELP ME p>