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Chained to the wall with her mouth taped shut, Natasha looked around. Her eyesight was blurry, and she felt groggy from whatever drug she’d been given.
Her legs felt numb, and her bladder was full.
Realization set in. She wasn’t alone.
Intense fear danced up her spine.
Natasha blinked several times as she tried to make out the image in front of her.
She gasped.
Two shoeless feet and long dirty legs.
She waited and listened.
Natasha opened her eyes again. Same shoeless feet, same dirty legs.
She peeked at the chipping and peeling, yellow paint of the small room that held them bound. It reminded her of a long forgotten little girl’s room. Long wooden boards were attached to the walls with several large bolts. Iron cuffs and chains were attached to the thick, flat boards.
Natasha shook her head.
Fearful, she allowed her eyes to drift upward and off to the side. Her mouth salivated as acidic bile rose in her throat. Natasha felt the room spin. It became hot and sticky. The horrible stench of body fluids assaulted her nose. Her gaze traveled the room searching for the origin of the horrible smells.
Natasha counted seven women all chained to the wall. Like her, their mouths were taped shut.
Her heart thumped in her chest. This can’t be happening.
The girl beside her had fiery red hair. Her head hung to her chest and her long, thin legs were crossed at the ankles. She reminded Natasha of a doll thrown away in a corner. The girls were in various stages of undress, their clothes ripped and torn. Natasha looked up at the little dust covered window with panes that had been painted to prevent anyone from looking inside.
Shuddering, she began praying.
At some point, Natasha heard the vibration of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs.
She froze, then released a sigh of relief after the footfalls passed the room.
Natasha listened to the scraping of chairs above her. Her mouth went dry when she heard the sound of more footsteps. This time they stopped right outside the door.
She squirmed.
The clicking sound of the lock turning sounded like a gunshot in the night to her.
The door flung open, revealing a tall, brown-skinned Hispanic man.
He stood in front of each of the girls, checking locks and chains.
Wide-eyed, Natasha watched as he jerked the chains holding her prisoner. Her feet slid from under her as she lurched forward. Her captor smelled of stale cigarette smoke and beer—the scents caused her stomach to roll.
Trembling, she watched as he snapped a metal chain around each of them at the waist, connecting them together.
He opened the door to the small bedroom, instructing them to move forward. He pulled a large caliber gun from behind his back and said, “I want your eyeballs straight on the back of the person in front of you.” The gun made a cocking noise.
Natasha felt her knees knock and her hands trembled.
Several of the girls in the front collapsed to the floor, moaning in anguish.
She glanced upward at a small sign above the door which read: the door of no return.
Natasha began swinging her arms and bucking. She tried her best to scream around the tape plastered to her mouth. Natasha fashioned her fist and tried to fight. The sound of the gun cocking muzzled each of the girls. She froze. Dread rolled down her shoulders. She followed the line downstairs and stumbled out the door when she saw the writing on the side of the white church van “Mockingbird Baptist’s Crisis Pregnancy Center for Homeless Pregnant Women.”
Natasha had no idea how much time had passed when she felt the chain around her waist drop off to the floor.
“Be still,” a male voice ordered.
She felt him lift her off the floor.
Natasha shivered.
~~~
Her eyes fired off neat little circles of light as they adjusted to the darkness. Natasha’s stomach rocked and swayed as if she’d partied too hard the night before.
Tears pooled under her chin. Her heart ached and thumped while she prayed to see her family again. Her wrist and ankles were raw from rubbing against the ropes which held her bound to the chair.
The sound of keys jingling prompted Natasha to try to free herself. She wiggled her body back and forth.
The door opened and in walked two men.
One came over, grabbed her by her wrist, pulling them chest high as he examined the rope burnt skin beneath them.
“Who are you?” Natasha asked as she shrank from his touch.
“What does it matter?” His heavy accent felt thick in the air. “We’re going to take care of you. Doctor Jefferies is going to look at your ankles and wrists, then we’re going to take a little boat ride. Do not worry, Natasha. Everything will be all right.”
“Where am I? Who are you, and why did you take me?”
“All in good time, Natasha. You will get all your answers. Relax and let the doctor look you over. He’s going to give you a mild sedative to help you relax.”
Natasha felt a small pinch on her arm, and she began to feel woozy. She blinked trying to focus, but her eyes were too heavy. She wanted to scream but could only manage a high-pitched wail. She struggled against the ropes until there was no energy left. The room began to spin, and everything went black.
~~~
Verna hammered the nail long after it had disappeared into the utility pole. The scent of hot asphalt and oil infiltrated her nostrils. She tilted her hand in front of her face trying to shield her eyes from the sun. The sunglasses perched on her head, long forgotten.
Where’s my daughter?
She reached down and gathered another flyer and almost burst into tears. She stepped off the pavement around to the other side of the pole and hammered in another nail.
So, this is what it feels like?
Living through the horror of her husband’s death was a pain she’s learned to live with...but this. She didn’t know if she’d get over this. Whatever this turned out to be.
At first, she thought it was a joke.
Who would take Natasha? She’s a college student with no money. Her heart tightened in her chest. I pay all her bills. She whammed another nail into the pole if it’s money they wanted they’d been better off taking me.
For three days and nights, she and the church group had been out nailing up flyers and walking through neighborhoods looking for Natasha. She was exhausted but could not stop. Somewhere her baby girl was depending on her.
Horrible images troubled her mind, thankfully the sound of a car horn snatched her away from her thoughts. She felt her son's hand grab her shoulder; he gently pulled her out of the intersection and redirected her back on the sidewalk.
“You been drinking today,” or is that left-over fumes?” She dropped her arms alongside her body.
Wilson’s eyes widened in surprise “What?” He took two steps backward.
“Ma, you ok?” Gina stepped over in case this disagreement got loud. She loved her mother and brother, but sometimes their arguments could get loud. Now wasn’t the time for everyone to see their dysfunction.
“Yea, I’m fine. Just wondering how long your brother has been drinking again, is all?” She looked up at her eldest daughter.
“Oh Lord,” Gina mumbled under her breath. She placed her hand on Wilson’s shoulder “Come on bro, we need you sober. Not drunk and causing trouble.”
Wilson blew out a long breath “Really?” He dropped his arms and sulked off.
Gina slid closer to her mother “Ma, let’s get you home and wash off some of this sweat.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m not going to just go somewhere and sit down.” She pushed the flyers into Gina’s hands.” You stay, it will help you walk off some of that weight you’ve put on.”
Verna pulled her sunglasses off her head and tried to hide the tears leaking down her face. She could swear she heard Natasha’s voice everywhere calling out to her. Sometimes it would stop her dead in her tracks and she’d be forced to follow the melodic sound.
Where’s my daughter?
She wiped her slick hands down the front of her pants and made her way back to the command center. Praying that her son would sober up and her daughter would stop killing herself with food.