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We watch as the car pulls away and turns left, then we have no other cameras in the area to track him. Once we find the exact date and time stamp for that piece of footage, we take our thoughts and video evidence to the few police officers who are working from my office who then call the details through to their street security cameras team at the precinct to track.
As the sun starts to rise on the horizon, Molly has officially been missing for 24 hours. I sit in my chair and wait with Scarlett, Marco, and Shaun by my side. Jake continues to trace the black market of human trafficking sales on illegal websites, and I can only pray that one of us finds something soon.
***
30
MOLLY
Waking up, I have a feeling of deja vu as my vision is blurry and my head is thumping. I can’t move my body as easily as I did before. I am tied with rope, my body feels battered, the strength I had before now long gone. My head feels swollen, and I can’t move my jaw, screaming now impossible.
I lie on the floor of the same bedroom and flick my eyes to look out the window. I can see daylight, the sun now high in the sky, and the heat in the room telling me it is well into the afternoon. If my memory is correct, I have now been here for a day and a half. My stomach is empty and caving in on itself but chewing anything is certainly out of the question. My mouth is dry, my throat is parched, and my lips are cracking. I am dehydrated, and the last thing I remember drinking was the coffee Byron gave me back at the office.
“Molly,” a small voice says, and my eyes go wide as I try to look around the room without moving my body. My eyes frantically try to see where the voice is coming from.
“Molly,” the voice says again, and I must be hallucinating because it sounds a lot like Jasmine. My vision is hazy, but it falls onto a small figure on the floor not far from me. Also beaten and bloody, I squint to try and see her. Like me, her hands and feet are tied, and her hair is falling over her face, partially blocking it from view.
“Jasmine,” I say, my voice is gravelly, and I barely get any sound out.
“Oh my God, Molly,” she says again and begins to cry.
“I’m okay, Jasmine, don’t cry. Are you okay? Did they hurt you?” I scratch out, wanting to offer comfort but not able to move my body even an inch toward her.
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a few bruises. John saw me at a friend's party two nights ago and grabbed me and brought me here. They took photos of me and then left me in a room down the hall. They only moved me in here with you this morning, then they left the apartment and still haven’t returned. What did they do to you? You have been unconscious until now.”
Bruised, beaten, bloody, the dress I am wearing is now torn at my shoulders and hanging limply, but I can’t move to cover up. My head is heavy, and my broken wrist is pulsing in pain. I close my eyes, willing the pain to go away and for my memory to return. I do notice that outside of the room, everything is silent. I can’t hear anything except a slight ringing in my ears.
“I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. Is there any way out? Have you seen any exits?” I ask, trying to understand how I can get us both out of here before the men return.
“No, just the front door, but they have locked us both in here and tied us both up,” she says, defeated.
“I’m scared, Molly,” she whispers.
“We’ve got each other. We will be okay. I will look after you,” I say in reply, not that I know how to look after her in my current state. “Can you move?” I ask her and she nods.
“Can you roll over to me? Maybe if you roll over here you can use your hands to untie my ropes to free me and then I can free you?” I say, not sure where my skills of survival are coming from. I have never been camping or hiking. I have never watched Bear Grylls or any of those shows, I am just running off adrenaline and nervous energy mixed with a strong will to survive.
Jasmine rolls her body across the floor to me, and I move slightly to position my arms next to her hands and she gets to work pulling on the ropes.
It is painful and takes a long time, but eventually we get my hands free, and the pain I feel from my blood rushing back into my limbs, especially my broken one, has me wincing. I slowly try to sit up and immediately feel dizzy, then turn my head to vomit.
I know I must have a concussion because the drugs wore out of my system hours ago. After bringing up more bile, I turn back to Jasmine and get to work freeing her hands. It is harder for me as I can only use one hand, given the other one is still hanging limply off my arm.
The look of it alone makes me want to vomit again, but I swallow and push the thought away and continue to pull on Jasmine’s ropes. It feels like hours but takes about fifteen minutes before I finally get her hands free, and she rubs her wrists and shakes them quickly to get the blood flowing before untying her feet and then untying mine.
The whole ordeal has taken longer than I expected, and I am scared that if we don’t move soon, the men will be back and then there will be hell to pay. Slowly, we both rise to our feet. Jasmine is in much better health than I, standing up quickly and successfully. I, on the other hand, am struggling to find my feet. I lose my balance and Jasmine has to hold me up. I stand for a good few minutes before my dizziness fades and together we walk to the bedroom door to see if we can open it.
I’m not sure why, but the doorknob turns on the first touch. They haven’t locked the door! Did they forget or are we walking into a trap of some kind? Looking at each other, I slowly open the door and peer around the corner, and I see a sleeping figure on the sofa. It is a woman, and she looks oddly familiar. The TV is on low in the background, and the place is a mess, with food packets and rubbish littering the floor, and the sofa has seen better days.
Watching her to ensure she is asleep, I wonder where I have seen her before. Then I jolt at the realization. It is Melanie, Stephen’s Head Barmaid from Nitro. Given that she is sleeping on the sofa, I know that she isn’t here to rescue us. Turning back to Jasmine, I place my finger to my lips to indicate we must be quiet before I open the door wider, and we make our way quickly to the front door. My good hand is gripping Jasmine’s while my other hand is up and resting on my chest.
I don't have a plan except to get as far away as possible from this place. We silently open the front door as I look back and see Melanie still snoring, and then together, we run.
***
31
STEPHEN
