Wrong place, Wrong time

6

Magdalena

The last thing I hear before being hauled out of the room, is the sound of shackles moving, as if some of the guys are struggling against them. If my heart starts beating any harder than it is right now, I’m afraid it’ll come flying out of my chest. I’m trying to stay strong, but I’ll admit that this is probably one of the most intense situations I’ve ever been in, and I do strongly fear that I won’t make it out of here alive. Gunner hauls me down the hallway. He pushes open another door, and I observe that it is not the same room as the dead man was in. He pulls me in alongside him. A woman is seated on a chair surrounded by two other guys, holding a gun.

“Hello little girl, we’re going to have so much fun together.” The Sascha woman beckons us closer, before gesturing for Gunner to leave. Her perfectly applied lipstick and black slicked-back hair makes her look like a villain, and I’m definitely sure she is one.

“Have a seat.”

Sascha studies me curiously while I remain seated on the chair without making a single movement. She suddenly rises from the chair she’s seated on, startling me. She claps her hands together.

“So, what do I call a pretty little thing like you?” She asks me, approaching me slowly but confidently. I don’t respond, I figure she’ll do whatever she wants with me whether I respond or not. “Not very talkative, are we?” She pouts at me. “I’ll just come up with a name then. I do, however, need your age.” She takes a strand of my hair and twirls it around her finger. “I think I’ll call you Rapunzel, we can always add some extensions to your hair.” She looks satisfied with herself for coming up with that idea. “How old are you, Rapunzel?” she looks me straight in the eyes, but I refuse to play a part in whatever game she is trying to play. “Look, I know that this is probably a very scary situation. You’re far from home, your parents are probably also missing you terribly, but this whole ordeal is going to be a lot easier for you if you cooperate and answer when spoken to.” I stare back at her, what ordeal is she on about? The kidnapping or something else? I spot a camera on a table in the back of the room. I wonder what that’s for. “So, I’ll ask you one more time”. She leans in closely. “How old are you, Rapunzel?” Her tone drops a bit, she clearly doesn’t like asking anything more than once. I decide to stay strong and not respond. Before I even register a change in her demeanor, she backhands me with the power of Jesus himself. My hand flies to my cheek in an attempt to soothe the stinging. I don’t really know what I expected to happen, but damn. I think I taste a little bit of blood in my mouth.

“I guess we’ll do this the hard way then.” She looks at the two guys waiting by the chair she was sitting on before. “Remove her clothes, we’ll guess her age from the development of her body.” What the f**k? Hell no. I get up and move to use the chair as a weapon, but it’s no use against the two big oafs. They rip my clothes to shreds while I fight them the entire time to no avail. As soon as I’m down to my underwear, Sascha grabs the camera and takes a few photos. I try to cover myself, but the two dickheads hold my arms away.

“All right, this will do. My guess is you’re in your early twenties, we’ll just put down your age as twenty.” She scribbles something down on the phone she retrieves from her pocket. “And done. We’ll see how much they bid on you when the auction starts later this week.” Auction? Are they f*****g selling me online? She sends me a satisfied smile and tells the oafs to escort me back to where I was retrieved from. They push open the door and throw me back in. I land on the floor yet again and decide to just lay here for a minute. This time I’m not crying, I actually feel kind of numb. I’ve just been violated and exposed, and now I’m back to being in a room with four men who I don’t really know.

I attempt to distract myself from reality by thinking back to the conversation we had before I was removed from this room. They are an interesting bunch, I must admit. My thoughts start with Nico. I wonder if he was born without a tongue or if something happened, not that I dare to ask. Scarface, did he get that from the old gangster movie? Why is he using that name if it’s not his real name? Not going to question that either, he is intimidating as hell, way scarier than Weasel. His shoulder is not looking too good though, and I feel a tinge of worry when I visualize the wound in my head. Malcolm seems formal, even in this setting – not really sure how he’s pulling that off. Isaac, he never did tell me if he’s actually a dentist or not. He seems like a fun and lighthearted guy, but there is definitely a hint of something there. I don’t know how to explain it properly, it’s as if his humor is covering up something more sinister. The thought gives me the chills and I slip back into the present again. The floor is getting uncomfortable, so I should probably get up.

I carefully get to my feet and return to what I’ve deemed ‘my spot’. I try to cover myself as well as I can, considering I’m down to just my underwear. I feel absolutely drained, all the anxiety and fear takes a toll on me, as I expected it eventually would, but there is no way in hell I’ll close my eyes. I don’t think any of us can afford to be caught off guard. I sneak a glance at the others, my eyes lingering a bit longer on Nico. f**k, they took the jacket he gave me. I attempt to clear my throat, but it comes out as a pathetic squeak instead, my body is too shaky to do what I need it to do.

“I lost your jacket,” Lena you i***t, you didn’t lose it! “I mean, they took your jacket. I’m really sorry.” My jaw quivers as I try to speak clearly. His eyes soften and the corner of his mouth tilts up a bit. I hope that means forgiveness. He looks towards Isaac for help and he takes the queue.

“What Nico is trying to say is, f**k the damn jacket. Are you all right, love?” I furrow my brows at his question. I didn’t expect him to sound so genuinely concerned. The others look equally curious about my well-being. I ponder the question for a bit, and feel at a loss for words to describe how I currently feel. The images of the eyeball man, and being stripped of my clothes and photographed flashes through my mind.

“I don’t think I have an answer to that question. I do feel like crying myself to death though. Then again, it might be the most comfortable way to go after what happened in the other room.” I shoot Isaac a tight smile, hoping he doesn’t feel disrespected by my answer. He returns my smile.

“What happened in there?” He asks me instead. I feel more comfortable answering that question, since I can explain it objectively.

“I got slapped, they took my clothes, took a few pictures for an auction and named me Rapunzel.” The absurdity of what I just told them makes me huff out a little laugh. None of the guys seem to share my humor in this, probably because it’s not that funny.

“Weasel’s old man was a pimp. I think he must be running the family business after he passed away.” Malcolm states thoughtfully. “Though, I think it’s leaning more towards human trafficking.” Great, that just confirms what I feared. I’ll be used for human trafficking in about a week. The thought makes me sick to my core and I feel the tears welling up in my eyes despite how hard I attempt to keep them at bay. It’s funny how you sometimes imagine different outcomes of life. I do it quite often actually, but never in a million years would I ever have imagined this outcome.

“Hey,” Malcolm calls sternly, his smile never leaving his face. I can’t tell if his smile is more comforting or disturbing, “Breathe, we’ll get out of here before long.” His smile turns sinister, and I find myself sending him a small smile back in thanks, even if I highly doubt him. I just don’t want to be on whatever kill-list he looks like he is creating in his head. Better safe than sorry.

After a while of being stuck in my own head, imagining the outcome of the end of my days, I suddenly remember I took off my shirt and put it out to dry on the floor. I spot it where I left it and pull it over my head. It’s still damp, but it beats being almost naked. I look around and observe the guys again, checking them for newly inflicted wounds. I can’t help myself, this is what I’m trained to do. It makes me long for what I left behind. I had a great job as a nurse, a cute apartment, but unfortunately, a shitty family that made me long for a fresh start where I didn’t know anyone.

They don’t seem to have obtained any new injuries, but the wound on Scarface’s shoulder looks nasty. These guys, I mean men, haven’t done anything bad to me. One even gave me the jacket off his back. I don’t judge patients, so I decide not to judge Scarface for his unapproachability, when his shoulder is looking so horrible. I get to my feet and shakily approach him. This catches the attention of the other three. Scarface has his eyes closed, but his eyebrow twitches as if he can sense me creeping closer. I get a better look at his features, he has a sharp jawline, black shaggy hair which has turned slightly damp due to the climate here. His face is stubbled, and he has a scar running halfway across his face. His naked torso, chest and neck are covered in tattoos, mostly skulls. Interesting choice. That scar along with his massive frame is enough for me to regret approaching him, but before I can turn around, his eyes open, making my breath hitch. I can’t make out the exact color of his eyes, but they are definitely dark. He doesn’t look happy, and I for sure regret coming over here now.

“What the f**k do you want?” He asks me lowly. See, I told you he was unapproachable. I woman up and decide to get straight to the point.

“Your shoulder is ugly.” I want to slap myself on the forehead. Why did I go with that sentence? His lip twitches a bit. “Pis, sorry, that did not come out right. What I mean is, your shoulder looks-“ I try to gesture something with my hands, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say right now. I can hear Isaac starting to snicker behind me. I sigh, frustrated at my lack of correct terms at the moment. “English is hard sometimes, do you at least know what I'm trying to say?”

“Yeah, the word ‘ugly’ did the job.” He deadpans. All righty then.

“I think it needs to be cleaned. The edges around it have turned a bit pink, I’m afraid you’ll get a nasty infection.” My voice is almost just a whisper now, in an attempt to show I’m not trying to be a know-it-all.

“I can handle it, this isn’t my first wound. Worry about yourself.” He scoffs at me dismissively. Rude.

“Look, I’m not trying to be all up close and personal with you because I want to be. I’m trying to make sure that you’re not going to die of sepsis. If you die, you won’t be able to help Malcolm do whatever it looks like he is planning in his head.” I explain to him while keeping my head down, f**k this stupid shyness.

“She’s right, Damiano. Let her take a look, sour puss.” Isaac butts in. His real name is Damiano?

“Isaac you f*****g b***h, don’t call me that.” He spits, irritated, causing me to flinch back. Man, he’s a grump. Wait is he mad about being called Damiano or sour puss?

“You could’ve just complied the first time, love. Then, I wouldn’t have to use extreme measures.” He responds with a smile in his voice. I refrain from laughing, their banter is calming. It almost makes me forget we’re trapped in a basement together. Almost.

“f*****g fine.” Scarface finally agrees. “Are you just going to stand there all day, or what?” He pulls me out of my thoughts, startling me.

“Right, sorry.” I step closer to him and stand on the tips of my toes to get a better look at his shoulder. I press around the wound, it’s slightly warmer than I anticipate meaning the inflammation process has already begun. I see shards of, is that wood?

“Were you stabbed?” I ask in confusion.

“Yes,” He replies, “With a wooden stake, untreated, s**t splintered everywhere.” The thought of it seems to still piss him off. I try to lighten the mood a bit.

“Did they think you were a vampire or something?” I grimace immediately. “Sorry, bad joke.”

“You apologize too much.” He rolls his eyes at me.

“Sorry?” I grimace even more. He breathes out a little laugh. Maybe he is really just a big soft teddy bear. On the inside. If at least one of his outer layers is made of titanium. Or concrete.