03
Carmen
Bra, long-sleeved t-shirt, and leggings, stirring in the dark. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and I was already out of bed for some God-forgotten reason, getting ready to run. I clenched my jaw, tying my shoes and pulling my long, messy brown hair, tangled from sleep, into a messy bun on top of my head. I glanced at my phone. Not even five in the morning. Damn it. I definitely wasn’t what you’d call a morning person. So why was I awake at this damn hour, getting ready to drag my body through the streets of Toronto on a cold March morning? Good question.
To be completely honest, I wasn’t sure either. I woke up drenched in sweat from the most vivid dream of my life. Everything was bright, so bright. So bright I could barely see. So bright it scared me. But then, all of a sudden, a hand reached out to me through all that white. And although it had been inhuman and strange, I knew I had to reach out and take it. But I woke up before I could do so, hit by a bizarre and unshakable sense of loss. I couldn’t stay in bed after that; I couldn’t even stay in my basement apartment. I had to escape that feeling. The feeling of sadness.
As I locked the door of my apartment behind me and began to run, I ruminated on the dream. I didn’t need a therapist to tell me what it meant. A feeling of loss, a hand reaching for me, surrounded by white? What other kind of dream could I expect right after losing my grandmother, my last remaining relative on this damned planet? Shit. My throat tightened, and I ran faster, pushing my body so hard I had no time or energy to cry. Grandma might not have left me much, just a little money to see me through the rest of my Ph.D. program in linguistics at the University of Toronto. But she left a giant, gaping hole in the shape of an old woman right in the center of my chest. It had been two weeks since the heart attack, and it was still hard to breathe without her.
Stop. Those thoughts weren’t helping. She’d be telling you right now to stop feeling sorry for yourself and put on your big girl panties. After losing her husband decades ago and her only daughter, my mother, when I was a baby, she dealt with more than her share of pain and came out stronger than ever. I just hoped to have a fraction of her courage. I slowed my pace, pulling my phone and earbuds from my leggings pocket, jamming the cord into the jack and hitting play on one of my Spotify playlists. If I couldn’t escape the pain, I could drown it out in the sweet tones of Lorde and Lady Gaga.
But those earbuds ended up being my downfall. Nestled snugly in my ears, music blasting, I didn’t hear them coming. I didn’t stand a chance. Because before I realized what was happening, I was grabbed from behind, lifted off the ground, and thrown into the back of a van. It happened so fast that I didn’t think to scream or defend myself. Those instincts came late... too late. Because the moment the van’s back doors slammed shut behind me and the vehicle started moving, oh fuck, no. This was why Grandma always insisted I didn’t listen to music while running. Because I’d end up in a real-life version of Taken. Except I didn’t have a dad like Liam Neeson ready to rescue me. I only had... well... me.
After a moment to adjust to the movement of the van, I quickly sat up, propping my hands on the floor and shaking my head in the dim space. It was some kind of cargo van, an empty cube with nothing inside. Nothing but me, anyway. There was barely any light, and my breath came in quick gasps as I wished my eyes would adjust to the darkness. My heart was about to explode in my poor ribs, and my hands were slick with sweat. Panic threatened to take over. I’m just a grad student for God’s sake. I’m not equipped to deal with this. But no. No, that wasn’t true.
The sudden denial, the wave of strength, didn’t come from me. It came from Grandma. She always told me I could do anything. That I was smart, worthy, and strong. And my grandma never lied. Think, Carmen, think. My eyes were adjusting somewhat to things now, although there wasn’t much to see. The back of the van was isolated from the driver’s compartment, so I couldn’t see the assholes driving that thing. There was no way to get to them. My only other option was to try to escape. I wasn’t tied up, thankfully. At least, not yet.
Well, that’s a dark thought. The van turned a corner, slamming me against the metal side, and my shoulder screamed in pain. “Oh come on!” I hissed, trying to breathe through the ache. I steadied myself, bracing against the wall to keep from swaying as we continued driving, pressing my fingers carefully against my arm and rotating it. It wasn’t broken. But I’d definitely have one hell of a bruise. Crawling across the floor, I found my way to the van’s back doors, feeling the metallic surface. It didn’t seem there was any way to open them from the inside. But I couldn’t let that stop me from trying. I had a feeling I didn’t want to reach any destination that was set for me.
I huffed at myself. I didn’t want to find out where the pedophile van I’d been thrown into was taking me? No shit, Sherlock. “Okay.” I said aloud to myself, my voice trembling. “If I can’t open the doors with a doorknob, I guess I’ll have to try to break them down somehow. But the only thing available to attack anything was my own body. So the question is: do I use my good shoulder and potentially mess up both sides of my body? Or do I use the already painful one? Neither option was particularly palatable. But I had to do something. The pain in my left shoulder had dulled to a throbbing ache, and I really didn’t want that sensation radiating from both sides of my body. Messed up shoulder, then.
I stood up, trembling, straightening my posture to try to remain stable as we continued driving wherever we were going. I took a few awkward steps back. Here goes nothing. I lunged toward the doors, the side of my body colliding with the metal in a violent impact. The pain exploded in my shoulder, radiating down my arm, and I collapsed onto the floor, my breath half-knocked out of me. Blinking to hold back tears, I was preparing to get up and try again, and again, and try as many times as it took when words echoed from somewhere above me, resonating in the small space. “Don’t do that.” A bored male voice ordered from what seemed to be right above me. I flinched, then looked up and finally saw it. A black square in the upper corner of the van. A speaker and, next to it, what looked like a small camera. I quickly turned away from what I assumed was the camera and lowered my hand, thinking better of it. I probably didn’t want to piss these guys off more than necessary.
“Where are you taking me?” I shouted at the speaker and camera, trying to make my voice sound steadier than I felt. No response. “Damn it. I stood up again, cradling my aching arm. “Tell me where you’re taking me. Or I’ll keep slamming against that door.” It wasn’t a great plan. But it was all I had. Still no response. Fine. Do it your way. I turned, despite the scream from my shoulder, preparing to throw myself against the door one more time, when the van suddenly stopped short, sending me tumbling to the ground. Before I could right myself, the doors flew open. Instinctively, I crawled back, cornering myself against the front wall of the vehicle. A man, dressed all in black, jumped into the van and grabbed me, wrestling with me beneath him as I screamed, spat, and kicked. I wouldn’t die in the back of this damned van. Not today.
I managed to raise my knee, driving it between the man’s legs with all the force I could muster. He let out a choked grunt, and I didn’t stop to see if the injury prevented him from continuing to hold me. I leaped from the back of the van, throwing myself into the outside world. With the daylight reflecting on me, I could barely see the road I was on, but I turned to run as soon as I hit the ground. But the vehicle hadn’t stopped. It was still moving. And I could only run so far before the driver of the car next to me turned and slammed into my head, sending me crashing into the grass. And even as the world was fading around me, I fought, kicked, and screamed. No. No. No. No. I wouldn’t let them win. Not.