A hand wraps around my upper arm.
When I sense its warm pressure, I wake up in a shock.
"Easy, easy." Frank has come up to my car seat and crouches down next to me. Light of a street lamp illuminates a part of his face; the rest is darkened by the night. He patiently waits until my disorientation ebbs away.
"Where are we? And what time is it?"
Frank stands up and reaches out a hand for me to take. "We're at a safe house. It's midnight."
I take his hand and exit the car. My muscles are sore and my body hurts in different places. I curse mentally when I'm spontaneously being remembered of my past abduction. And the attempted abduction.
We walk to the front door of a small but relatively modern-looking house. The inside is as cold as it is outside, but the white walls make it appear even cooler. I wrap my arms around myself while walking through the living room. Frank instructs me to search for some matches in the kitchen to lighten up the fireplace. While I do so, he turns on the electricity and installs a primitive-looking radio.
I sit down before the fire and let the flames hypnotise me. Soon, I forget the radio is even on. The flames slowly grow bigger and their heath stings on my skin.
I'm curious how much more of the demanding sensation I can tolerate, until Frank comes up to me and my attention shifts partially to him.
He observes me for a couple of moments before he speaks. "What are you thinking about?"
I lightly shake my head, while moving a bit away from the flames, yet not looking away from them. "I don't know. A bit of everything."
We are quiet for awhile.
Frank crouches down next to me. He stretches out his hand and softly pushes a couple strands of hair over my shoulder. It was all tucked away at the beginning of this evening, but the struggle with Jabari messed up my hair and clothes.
"You have a graze on your collarbone." Frank points out.
"Not only on my collarbone." I say back.
Frank inhales deeply before standing up and walking away again. "Let's get you fixed up." He says when he beckons me to follow him to the kitchen.
I almost stumble over my long, ruined dress on my way.
"You don't think you'll be wearing that any time soon, do you?" Frank comments on my red dress.
"I doubt if it will see daylight ever again." I say with some sorrow when I enter the kitchen.
Frank nods and takes a pair of scissors from an ehbo-kit he found in one of the kitchen cabinets. He then gets down on one knee and takes the fiber of my dress between his fingers. "Stay still." He swiftly makes a cut just above knee height, puts down the scissors and in one fluent movement, rips my dress.
"Jeezus, Frank!" The loud tear takes me by surprise, just as the forceful movement. I support myself by laying my hands on Franks shoulders.
He slightly moves his position and rips the fabric until I am left with basically a skirt.
It's much more practicable, yes, but he could've given me a warning though.
Now I notice all the grazes on my legs; two on the left one, three on the right. I haven't even noticed the cut on the side of my right leg, along with a stream of dried up blood reaching my knee.
Frank takes a clean cloth and immerses it in water. He helps me get up onto the counter and puts the ehbo-kit besides me. I take my hair pins out, while Frank cares for the cut on my leg. It stings in contact with the water, but I can handle it.
"This reminds me of my time with the GSG-9 in Germany." He tells me. "Most of us would have cuts and bruises all the time after training and missions. Every evening, you had to patch yourself up enough to be ready for the next day." He disinfects the cut on my leg and moves to the graze on my collarbone.
I take off my hoodie so he can reach it more easily. I am conscious of the fact the bullet wound on my shoulder is at display. It's almost completely healed, but it's visible if you know it's there.
Frank's gaze is locked upon it, when he says: "You look like a soldier."
I cover the bulletwound with my hand in shame. "I don't want to. It's a reminder of the most scary moments in my life."
Frank takes my hand away. "It's also a reminder you have survived them."
I am quiet while Frank disinfects my grazes.
His words stick in my head.
I wonder what kind of wounds make him look like a soldier.
I'm considering if I should ask him about it, and whether I even have the courage to do so, when my attention gets forcefully drawn away to a voice on the radio. I almost forgot it was there, until I hear a stranger call my name.
"... Giselle Paques is an eighteen years old female caucasian, approximately 5'8'', has brown hair and was last seen wearing a long red gown. Abductor is called Frank Reinhardt, male, twenty-five, also caucasian, 6'0'', wearing a suit. He's German, but speaks English fluently. All units be cautious and do not engage directly, he's suspected to be armed and has a military background. Last seen..."
My lips part and I almost forget to breath, afraid to miss a word of what is being said.
This is not happening.
I look at Frank, who is standing closely in front of me, while I am still sitting on the kitchen counter. He heard what was said on the radio as well, and awaits my reaction.
"What the hell?" I silently say, releasing my breath.
I'm guessing we were listening to a police radio. How he got connected to it, I don't know.
"Frank, talk to me."
Frank didn't really abduct me, right? That sounds absurd.
All the possible explanations race through my head.
On the other side, Frank maybe working together with Jabari. Think about it: I escaped Jabari and ran straight into Frank's arms. Frank even told me to go to Jabari if something might happen. It's the perfect plan.
He finally reacts by running his hands through his hair once. He exhales when dropping his arms alongside his body. "I was afraid this would happen."
A shiver of uncontrolled fear runs down my spine. I've been in this kind of situation one time too many. My most basic instinct tells me to trust no one but myself. Yet, there were so many times trusting Frank was the right choice. I end up being cautious, but sceptic.
Frank appears wanting to explain to me what's needed to be explained, but first he asks: "Do you have any other bruises or grazes I need to look at?"
I swallow before answering. "I don't know. I haven't really checked yet."
Frank nods. He has clearly noticed my alertness. He points to a room on his right, without breaking eye contact. "There should be some clothes in the bedroom that may fit you. There is an adjacent bathroom if you want to freshen yourself up."
I want to get off the kitchen counter, but my painful body makes it a difficult task. I try not to appear in pain, but my slowness betrays me.
Frank's standing so close, that he doesn't even need to take an additional step when gently laying his hands around my middle. That way, I'm being relieved from a portion of my own body weight, making it easier for me to get down.
Although Frank helped me up onto the kitchen counter in the first place by helping me in the same way, the touch of his hands feel different this time. I'm aware of how little effort he puts in this action, and it makes me wonder about the full ability of his strength. How easy it must be to just...
... squeeze a little too hard.
I shiver by the sudden morbid thought and rush off the counter.
I accidentally hurt the cut on the side of my right leg, by scraping it on the edge of the counter. It starts bleeding again.
I curse under my breath and take the cloth Frank previously used, and press it onto the cut.
He takes over, putting one hand on the cloth against the wound. "Take it easy, Elle, you've been through enough tonight." It sounded as advice and a command at the same time.
He lays his other hand on the other side of my upper leg as counterpart. Because of our height difference, I have to slightly raise my leg, and he has to bend over a bit.
I honestly would appreciate some more space right now.
Frank uses bandages around my leg to prevent me from cutting open the wound again. He's back on one knee and, me being aware he's so close to my legs, touching them, blood raises to my cheeks. I'm so confused to what I'm feeling. It exhausts me.
When he's done, I thank him and walk to the bedroom.
"We'll talk when you're back." He calls after me. "Don't bail on me, Giselle."