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Day Two.
I’m on a yacht.
It’s a fancy yacht. I can tell by the room I’m in and from peeking out of the window of my cabin. You’d think if someone was kidnapping someone else, they’d keep them in the worst conditions imaginable, right? Not in a luxury cabin with silk sheets and embroidered comforters. But even though I’m in these conditions when I could be in a shipping container with no water and a two percent chance of survival, I have to say I’m still terrified. Maybe even more so because whoever has me has enough money to make sure I disappear without a trace. This much I know.
The Gerard Butler lookalike gave me this book I’m writing in. He didn’t say a word. Just handed me the book and walked out. I can’t think why he’d have a notebook in my favorite color or why he was kind enough to give it to me. I’m just taking it with both hands.
Dandy, you don’t know this about me, but I’ve always been too scared to go on a cruise in case I get seasick. My parents bring it up every year for our summer vacation, and I always vote for an option that keeps me solidly on land. I didn’t even know for sure I would get sick, but once I went on the teacups at the fair and got so sick. I was convinced the same thing would happen to me on a boat. I’ve been on this boat for twenty-four hours, and I haven’t felt sick once. Well, not from the boat, anyway. I wonder how many other experiences I’ve missed out on because I was too scared to try. Now I’ll never really know. Wow, talk about random. Mr. Keys, my high school English teacher, would not be happy about the flow of this diary entry, but then again, Mr. Keys probably never tried to write a diary entry while kidnapped, so I guess I get to be as all over the place as I want, right?
The Gerard Butler guy hasn’t come in today. His name is Garett, so I should probably stop calling him the Gerard Butler guy. I don’t know why, but it always makes me feel safer when he’s here, which is bizarre since he’s one of the kidnappers. But I guess when you’re living in a world where you’ve been kidnapped and are sleeping on a luxury ship, your normal changes, and life does become bizarre.
It’s Sunday, mac and cheese night at home. We usually watch a movie together as a family after an hour-long debate on what to watch. Emerly and Mom like watching anything thriller or horror, while Dad and I prefer action/adventure or comedy. When I think about it, my chest feels like it’s being taken apart by a pickax. The pain is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. It hurts so badly that drawing in a breath feels like I’m cracking a rib. I’m so mad at myself for ditching my security detail. I was mad at Dad for having people follow me everywhere. Mad at him for taking a case that would cause us to need security detail in the first place. And yet, even though I was mad, I didn’t really believe I was in real danger. I just thought Dad was being his overprotective self. Now I understand why my dad was so scared. The people on the Lorenzo case mean business. No chance of ransom. The deal is done. I’m being sold.
I want more than anything to be sitting in front of the TV watching the Sunday night movie. Fighting over a bowl of popcorn with Emerly. I want it so bad, but I don’t think I’ll survive this. But I have to survive, because there is no other choice. Because even though I know with almost certainty that I’m never going to get home, I know that I need to hold on to hope.
It’s all I have.
Hope and memories.
Day Three.
Garrett came in today. He was dressed in jeans and a white shirt. He looks good in jeans. Something about the casual clothes makes the lines around his eyes and mouth seem softer. He came to tell me that the buyer was coming on board. I can’t tell you what those words did to me, Dandy. I thought I was scared before, but nothing could’ve prepared me for how it felt after he said the buyer was on his way. He didn’t tell me the buyer’s name, only that I was to never look him in the eye, and I was to call him sir. He advised me to do everything I was told and to be demure and respectful at all times. I swear it was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he and the buyer could both go fuck themselves, but I didn’t. I guess self-preservation is a real thing.
He brought me clean clothes and told me to take a bath. He drew the water and added the scents. Honeysuckle and cucumber. He also brought in a razor and told me to shave. Everywhere.
Do you have any idea what it feels like to know you are shaving your body hair to please a man that is going to rape you? I think the sting of bile is becoming a permanent sensation at the back of my throat. At least when I feel it, I know I’m still alive and can shake the feeling of numbing terror. Dandy, I stared at that damn razor for longer than I should have.
Too long, in fact.
I think Garrett must’ve read my mind from way out in the other room because he came into the bathroom. Shame and humiliation were added to the mix of emotions as he sat on the toilet, his arms resting on his knees as he watched me shave. He looked pissed at having to be there, his jaw clenching the entire time. He told me he needed to ensure I wasn’t going to try to kill myself and then reminded me that if I did, they’d only substitute my sister for me. Tears stung my eyes, making it nearly impossible to see what I was doing, but I managed to shave all my hair off without cutting myself. But don’t think I didn’t think about it every single second. How easy it would be to slide the razor across my artery and bleed out before the buyer had a chance to use me. But instead, every time I slid the razor over my skin, I glared at Garrett and thought of Emerly. They could have me, but I’d be damned if they got my sister.
After my bath, he handed me lotion that smelled like magnolia, the scent so potent it burned my nostrils. I spread the lotion over my skin, and this time Garrett turned his back to me. It’s strange he would do that when he just watched me shave my private bits, but I guess now that I didn’t have anything to hurt myself with, he was giving me privacy. I couldn’t quite fathom the guy, but I had other things on my mind right now, and figuring out the brooding kidnapper wasn’t on the top of my priorities.
They gave me an emerald green ball gown to put on with black lingerie and stockings with garters. Every piece of clothing I put on made me physically ill. I hated that I was doing this of my own free will. That someone wasn’t holding me down and forcing these things on me. When I was done, he instructed me to style my hair in an updo and do my makeup. It took me longer than it usually did to get ready because I couldn’t see through the tears in my eyes. The photo of Emerly at hockey practice was taped to the mirror by Garrett as a silent reminder to behave, and I kept staring at it, knowing what I was doing now was saving her from this. It gave me the determination to see it through, no matter how scared I was.
The sound of a helicopter landing drove the needles of fear deeper into my skin. It honestly felt like ice flames were engulfing my skin. An odd mixture of freezing and boiling rolled over me. The bile rose once more, and I could barely swallow. I couldn’t breathe. I sucked the air into my lungs, but for some reason, I felt like I couldn’t breathe out. I just kept sucking more and more air into my lungs until I was doubled over. Garrett’s fingers curled around my hands, and he forced me into an upright position. He told me I had to get it together. Dandy, it’s like he was pleading with me to cooperate. He stressed over and over that I needed to get it together. That if the buyer was displeased with me, things I couldn’t even imagine would happen to me. Over and over, he told me that I needed to go into a memory and stay there. He said he’d be there the entire time and that if things got too much, he wanted me to look at him, and that would remind me to go back into my memory. I don’t know why he was being this way with me, but I couldn’t think about it for a moment longer because he got a message on my phone. He sat me down on a chair, wiped a stray tear off my cheek, and told me to remember what he’d told me to do. Then he went and stood in the corner. His arms behind his back, stony gaze fixed on the wall.
Day Three and a half
The door to my suite opened, and my heart crashed against my ribcage. I dug my fingers into the pad of the seat to stop myself from bolting toward the door the moment it opened. Two beefy guards walked in, followed by an old lady and a tall, tanned gentleman with a severe mustache. Garret cleared his throat, and when I looked at him, he looked pointedly at the carpet, reminding me to keep my face down. A strong scent of incense, spice, and tobacco entered the room as they walked in, the scent overpowering and burning my nostrils. Every one of my senses was heightened to the point I swore I could hear the sound of the paper burning on the buyer’s cigarette. The pungent smell of Turkish tobacco overwhelmed the space, increasing my nausea.
The door closed, and the guards stood in front of it. I could tell because their shoes shone like little grenades of terror on either side, preventing my escape. Not that I could anyway. I needed to save Emerly this fate. The buyer spoke in a language I didn’t understand, and a woman with a soft but gravelly voice answered. Although I was damn near petrified, it didn’t go unnoticed that Garrett didn’t address the buyer, nor did the buyer speak to him. It was strange, but I couldn’t dwell on the thought for too long.
The old lady spoke, and one of the guards came over and placed his hand on my arm. I wanted to flinch from his touch, wanted to pull my arm away because my skin felt spoiled by having his hand on me, but I didn’t. I rose to my feet. The chair was removed from behind me, and the buyer took his first steps toward me. He circled me, and I could feel his eyes taking in every aspect of me. I felt like cattle on sale at a farm and tried my best not to bristle. Once he made a full revolution, he tilted my head. I met his gaze straight on, his deep brown eyes almost black. He instructed me then in a soft voice, his English flawless, to avert my eyes, and I did. When he told me to remove my clothing, my head snapped up before I could control it. I saw Garrett stiffen, and his eyes flicked to mine. An almost imperceptible shake of his head reminded me to obey before he looked at the spot on the wall. I did as I was told but not before I noticed Garrett’s jaw ticking furiously.
My shaking fingers touched the zipper of my dress. The metal was cold against my touch but scalding me nonetheless as I slid it down the length of my back. Next, I removed the straps, and they slid down my arms, causing the dress to pool at my feet. Something died in me the second the silky material landed on the floor, but it was nothing compared to what was about to happen to me. I hesitated for the briefest of moments before my fingers went to the clasp at the front of the bra I was wearing. They shook so hard that it took me three attempts to undo the bra. The buyer placed his cigarette in his mouth and took a step toward me. His own fingers, deft and confident, snapped the clasp free. My hands flew to my breasts, trying in vain to preserve my modesty, but the old woman crossed the room and slapped them away. She yelled at me in her own language, and tears tracked down my cheeks. I held my hands to my sides, clenched into fists while the buyer slid the straps down and held the bra in his hand. He took a drag of his cigarette and held it out to his bodyguard, who took it from him. He exhaled a plume of smoke, then leaned in and kissed my neck. The moment his lips touched my skin, I felt my stomach heave.
His lips moved to my ear, where he kissed me and asked me politely to remove my panties. I know he wasn’t really asking, and that made it so much worse. I was so terrified that I couldn’t feel my fingers, but I knew if I didn’t take my panties off myself, he would do it for me, and I couldn’t stand that. I eventually got the lace off and didn’t cover myself this time despite the urge being almost irrepressible. He once more kissed me near my ear and asked me to lie on the bed. I don’t know how my feet carried me there when I was frozen to the floor, but they did. I don’t know how I managed to force my body to lie on the bed, but I did.
“Tank?”
I look up from the notebook, the guys all staring at me with concern. “Kincaid’s been tryna call you, man. Eventually, he got comms through the pilot. We’ve got to go back to our rooms and wait to hear from him.”
I look down at my phone, and sure enough, there are three missed calls. I look up at Harry, who’s still frowning at me, and merely nod at him. After what I read, I can’t trust myself to open my mouth without puke spilling out of it. As we hit the motel lobby, Major Kincaid calls to tell me the same message the pilot relayed. We’re to each go to our separate rooms, and there will be guards posted outside the rooms until we’ve been individually debriefed, starting from 0700. I get into my room and throw the diary on my bed, then slam the door shut. Sinking to the floor, I inhale gulps of air. I failed her. I promised her she’d be safe, and she wasn’t.
I stay put for as long as it takes for my stomach to stop sloshing around like wet clothes in a dryer.
I stand and head to the fridge. Grabbing a fistful of mini Jack bottles, I head to the bed. Removing my boots, I lean against the headboard and open the next section of the diary. I don’t know why I’m fucking doing this to myself, but I crack open a bottle with my teeth and inhale it before I start reading the words on the page.
