Stolen

1

   When I hit the ground I could barely see the man who had shot me. It almost didn't feel real. The pain in my leg started to feel like numbness and I couldn't force myself to try to get back up or fight. It was like my mind had left me and I was too afraid to think straight.

I felt his rough hands attempt to lift me and the dream state I was trapped in disappeared as my body reacted on instinct and I fought my way out of his grasp. I tried to crawl away as quickly as I could, my hands scraped the ground like I was crawling across a cheese grater. He was right behind me the whole time, walking with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face like I amused him. He grabbed my ankle and yanked me to him, causing me to lose my balance and my head hit the pavement with a thud. I was too dazed to try to fight him anymore. He grabbed my arms and started to drag me behind him.

I watched the trees pass above me. The stars were the only witnesses to what was happening to me.

...

It was cold. Almost freezing. I was shivering so hard my teeth chattered. It felt like the ground beneath me was made of ice and the air smelled like I was drowning in bleach. I felt dizzy. Everything seemed to be moving at a different pace than me and made it hard to see my surroundings as my vision swayed.

My hands were bound in front of me in a tight knot. The same knot as the one wrapped around my ankles. On my left side, I saw dark bars, the right side was only a cement wall. The rest was just the same aside from a bucket sitting in a hole in the concrete. The whole room reminded me of a prison cell in a low-budget movie. Where am I?

I sat up and scooted against the wall behind me. I couldn't stop the sobs that escaped my lips.  It would do no good to cry, but there was nothing else I could do. I stayed there for a while, crying and praying.

...

It felt like hours before I heard anything. A door opened in the distance, but I couldn't get a place to see what was going on.

A few moments later, the same man who had shot me came strolling into my line of vision with that awful smirk on his face. My first thought was to run away, but there was nowhere to go. I ran a hundred different plans through my head as another man let him in, but I knew I was hopeless when the man I assumed was a  guard locked the door before walking away. The first man squatted in front of me, a small smirk still playing across his scarred lips.

"Hi there," the man gave a smile that sent chills up my spine. He held up a dirty looking box. "I came to fix up your leg."

When I didn't reply he just stared at me for a moment. I didn't know what to say, so I looked away and he rolled his eyes before opening the box. There wasn't much inside. Just a few bandage wraps, some dirty tweezers, a sewing kit, a small bottle of some sort of liquor, and a few band-aids. I watched him pull out the sewing kit and thread the needle. Something was odd about the string. I looked again and realized it was fishing cord. I was almost shocked before I remembered where I was sitting. He set the threaded needle aside and grabbed the liquor, taking a drink before putting the bottle in my hands.

"You gonna drink or do I have to make you?" He asked after a moment.

"I don't drink," I whispered. I cringed when I heard my voice crack.

"You'll want a drink for this. Drink before I make you," he ordered. I took a small drink and immediately regretted it. The liquid burned in my throat and my face scrunched up in response, earning a chuckle from him. He took the bottle and poured its contents across the wound in my leg. It burned a lot more there, like acid filling the veins surrounding it.

I tried to hold my composure but found myself close to screaming as he put the tweezers in the hole in my leg, searching for the bullet. I couldn't control the sobs and groans that escaped. He moved and dug the tweezers around like he was mixing cake batter, pushing my muscles and veins around like they were nothing to him. Finally, he pulled something from my leg and I could feel fresh, hot blood flowing down the sides of my leg like a heavy river.

He grabbed the threaded needle and I felt fresh tears run down my cheeks as he put the needle through my skin repeatedly. I remembered all the times my doctors used to tell me, "just a little pinch." This didn't feel like that at all. I felt the thread pull and tug at my skin like a dog ripping meat from bones. As he finished, he pulled the thread to tighten it and I thought it may rip through my skin. He smiled as he put a simple band-aid over it. "There. All better... Sort of."

The man gathered his supplies before walking towards my cage door. He called for the man with the keys and at first, I thought he was leaving until he handed the box to the other man and turned back to me. He walked over and plopped down beside me like this was something we did every day. We sat silently for a moment before he looked at me.

"You know, you are probably the prettiest one I have ever been sent after. Normally, I just get sent for the girls he thinks would make a good housewife. Some are cute, I guess. You, however, are real pretty." As he slurred more, I realized he'd had more to drink than I had seen.

"Thanks?" I said. I decided this was a good time to get some information on why I was here. "So, how many times have you done this?"

"Probably a couple dozen. Sometimes it's easy, other times they try to run." He gave me a look before smiling.

"Why do you do this?" He got quiet for a moment when I asked this.

"Something about family traditions with the man in charge. His dad wants him to get married to one of you and he- well, he wants to break tradition. So, he always helps them escape. He doesn't know that a few months after they escape, I am sent to go kill them. You know, we gotta keep 'em quiet. I'm not proud of what I do, but there's no way to change it." As he explained this, he glared at the wall with anger clearly written across his face. As though the wall held all the things he hated and he could destroy it if he just hated it enough.

"Who are these people? What does any of this have to do with me?"

"Well, this boy is my boss. His father ran things before and still tries to keep his hold on the company." He looked like he was lost in thought as he spoke. "I've been here since I was a child. I think I'll die here."

"What am I here to do?" I asked myself. I hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"Well, you're supposed to go meet Blake, but he's out. He won't be back for at least a month." He shrugged.

"I have to stay in here until then?" I asked. I looked down at my dirty jeans and tank top. The jeans were torn from running through the branches, they were shredded in places and left my skin exposed. The side of my tank top was torn through and destroyed.

"Yep," he said looking at me. "You'll be fed, don't worry."

"I'm cold," I whispered more to myself than to him. He looked at me for a moment before pulling a flask out of his coat pocket. He pulled his coat off and wrapped it around my shoulders with a sigh. The body heat left in the jacket brought me immediate warmth and I snuggled deeper into it.

"That's the best I can do for now," he said before sipping from his shiny flask.

"Thank you," I said. He nodded and stood up before calling back the guard.

"What's your name?" I called to him.

"Ronnie," he smiled as the door opened. "Goodbye, Jade."

Without another word he was gone.