Light,
from streetlamps, I think.
It is bright. But it doesn't bother me. I do not get annoyed by it, as I drive out of the garage, still over the phone, nor does it stand in my way. I sense the light as I sense everything else at this moment: insignificant.
My sight, my taste and my touch, they are senseless and numb, because all are flooded by the thought of only one. One, it's existence so extreme, it has been acting as a temporary sense of mine: Giselle.
Somewhere in my head, my perception hears her struggle with someone over the phone. I hear her begging not to take her and I cannot do anything to comfort her without lying or making promises I cannot hold.
Before me lays the road, enlightened by the car's headlights, which doesn't seem to end, no matter how fast I drive. It scares me how afraid I am for her and how extreme I feel the urgency to reach her. It's been over a minute now since she last answered to me, but I can still hear her. I know she's out there, being afraid for her life and I have to get to her.
Just like I got to her when she ran away in the snow and just like I got her back when she was abducted by those bastards the first time.
As I sit in this car's chair and as my hands nervously tighten around the wheel, so I sat waiting in my own car, more than a month ago, while my fingers pierced themselves in another wheel.
**********
She was somewhere in that warehouse, most definitely afraid, if she would be conscious that is.
I quickly found out Giselle Paques was yet another unfortunate victim of Vince Pessoa's human trafficking business. Why couldn't the police come to this conclusion? It's because Pessoa didn't give attention to the girls of wealthy families. He changed his M.O. from poor girls who were living on the street to girls who were going to college, or even high school. Why? I don't know, I can only guess, but maybe Pessoa got in touch with some rich clients. Clients, who want to spend their time with more educated and mannered girls.
It's risky though. Not that many people are going to look for street girls when they get missing, unfortunately. But if a girl from a decent family gets missing, well... that's another story. It sickens me, thinking that one girl's life is more worthy than another one's. Reality is hard.
After days of researching, I finally found a usable address, a place Giselle would be placed before she got shipped away to some rich bastard. So there I sat in my car, in front of that place. I have two options: I could wait for Vince's tough puppets to come back and continue transporting Giselle, and have a chance to finally take them down, with the risk I would be outnumbered and lose the chance to save Giselle's life and that of many other girls. Or I could let this golden chance slip away to maybe take down the whole business, only to save this one girl.
Then I remembered that video of Giselle's piano contest, how she moved and how she smiled. She reminds me of someone special I once knew. I just couldn't risk her life, I have to go in.
So I park my car as close to the warehouse's entry as I think would be least suspicious, I load my gun and I go inside the warehouse. Nothing was locked, I could just walk right inside. Maybe they didn't think Giselle could escape on her own or didn't even consider the possibility of someone finding her. Risky and stupid, but it's a huge advantage for me.
I'm almost one hundred percent sure she is alone in here, as I have been surveilling this place for days. Everyone who entered, also left. I pass containers, piled up on other containers, and take a left turn. Hell, I can't even be sure if she's really here.
But she is. Barely.
After I took that left turn, I found her laying on a filthy mattress somewhere in a corner, her hands and feet tied up together with old rope. She's half-awake and most likely to be drugged. She looks so sick, I'm not sure if the girl whom I am walking up to is Giselle Paques. As I kneel besides her, I put away my gun in its holster.
She is indeed Giselle Paques, as I recognize her while driving to a motel a couple of miles away. Finally I see in her what she showed on that stage, a spark of something special. I took her to a motel, because I had my doubts on what to do next.
Vince Pessoa surely would send some of his guys to look for her. He maybe would think she somehow escaped on her own and is making her way back home, to her dad. That's why I called Mr. Paques to tell him I had found his daughter, but that he couldn't see her for some days, as a precaution. Heavy-hearted, he agreed keeping her under the radar for some days would be the smartest thing to do. So I spend five days with Giselle in a motel room.
The first four days were a living hell, especially for her. I don't know what kind of drugs Vince gives his abducted girls, but they aren't keeping them healthy. Giselle slept through most of the day and night, but when she woke up, she had to go through these kind of episodes.
I don't know what she sees or feels, but it seemed like her body reacts like it would in a fight or flight response-kind of situation, only she wasn't completely conscience. This combination resulted in her struggling out of bed, only to fall down and to struggle on the floor as she tries to get up or fighting with the bed sheets and pillows, getting scared from every object that is touching her skin.
On the second day, I went to buy some food. When I returned to the motel room I left Giselle in, I found her on the floor next to the open fridge. I got to her and noticed she had a big bruise on her head and leg. Her skin felt cold and her lips were blue, like she had been lying outside for hours on a winter's day. How could this happen?
For a moment, I was lost, but I quickly recovered and acted. Her forehead was covered with sweat and she was shivering, so I realized it were the drugs. Her body was kicking off. I called her name a couple of times, but I didn't get much respond, so I laid her onto the bed.
I removed a wet lock of hair covering her face.
She then whispered with an hoarse voice: "So cold...".
For two days, she seemed asleep and I, a watcher. Now, she spoke to me, and I realized it was the first time ever she uttered a word to me. Again, she reminds me of her. I left her on the bed for a minute, while I prepared a bath. Is this why I agreed on taking this case? Because she reminds me of her? Did my brain trick me into this?
"Who are you?"
I almost jumped.
I didn't expect she would be able to talk, to ask questions. I walked up to her, picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. She looks so weak, I'm afraid her body isn't able to handle it. Her eyes are almost entirely closed, leaning with her back against the bath, where I put her down.
I'm about to take off her socks, when she weakly pulls her feet away. I sigh.
What am I to do about this exactly?
I answer. "My name is Frank."
She doesn't react. Maybe she didn't hear me. But this time, when I want to take off her socks, she lets me. I leave her shorts on, but take her shirt off. She's covered with bruises, a couple of days old.
As gently as I can, I lay her in the bath and soon, her lips turn pink again. When I wanted to take her out after half an hour, she gave me a weak "no". I was afraid she would drown, so I didn't leave her side.
I didn't know what else to do, so I started talking to her. I'm pretty sure she won't remember anything and it turns out she's a great listener. Except for a couple of groans now and then, she didn't interrupt me once. Not that I think she was responding to me, she was probably just having hallucinations.
The days that followed were tiring. Giselle kept having panic attacks as a result of hallucinations, and it was a big task to calm her down. Sometimes it helped when I talked to her, I can't be sure why. Maybe she then knows there's someone with her.
On the fifth day, she had only one attack and she seemed more awake. I knew the time was right to give her back to her dad. When we drove to a park, next to a hospital, she spoke to me. She didn't moan or utter sounds with insignificant meaning. No, I think she was actually aware of the world around her, and that didn't happen often.
"Frank", she said.
Nothing else, just my name. I didn't know what she wanted, she just called for me. It got stuck in my head, the memory of her saying my name. It kept popping up for days and days. It was all I, sitting in my car, could think about when I saw her lying on that bench in the park.
Why?
Because she reminded me of Irena Weiβ, a girl I knew from my childhood in Germany. She lived in the same street as I did and we often got together in the same park. One day, when we were sixteen, I left her alone in the park and went home angry. I can't remember much about it, but I know we had a silly argument about sports.
I never should have left.
She disappeared and I have been feeling guilty about it since. Nobody ever told me, but when I was nineteen, I found out she died two months after being abducted.
Never have I stopped thinking about if I could just have stayed in that park, or if I wouldn't have been acting so stubborn about that childish argument, she would still be alive.
Today, she would've been a twenty-three year old woman. Maybe she would be a musician, as she already learned to play the cello at a young age. Or maybe she would've been studying medicine and become a doctor eventually, as she was always the smart one and so caring about everyone.
I don't want to be a slave of my past, but I can't deny I'm connecting Giselle Paques with Irena Weiβ.
Maybe if I can save Giselle, I can make up for Irena in a way.
**********
I can see more lights in the distance, they must be coming from Lucas' house.
If it's possible, I accelerate even more, until I hit the brake and the tires wheezily come to a halt. The car stopped right in time to avoid bumping into a silver Ford Mustang, parked in the street in front of the house.
Two men are talking to each other in the drive away, and as I jump out of my car, I see her.
Together with two other girls, she's being dragged into the woods by two guys.
Before she blends into the shadows of the trees and the darkness of night, she sees me as well and calls my name, like she did the month before:
"Frank"