The Taken

by Casey Kelleher

  ‘Well, seeing as it’s my name above the door, I think ultimately it’s for me to decide who gets employed here, don’t you?’ Joshua curtly reminded Misty.

  Misty pouted. She was House Mother; that meant she was in charge of recruiting the girls. Still, she wasn’t stupid. She knew when to keep her mouth shut. Once Joshua got an idea in his head there would be no persuading him otherwise. Besides, he was right, it was his club. If he wanted to employ any old plain Jane from the streets, that was his call.

  When it all went tits-up it wouldn’t be down to her.

  Feeling the tension in the room, Saskia interjected. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just that, when I said I needed work, this wasn’t the sort of place I had in mind. I’m sure it’s really… lovely. It’s just that I’ve never danced in front of, well, men before. Not in that way… ’

  Saskia could feel her face burning.

  She sounded pathetic.

  She should be biting Joshua Harper’s hand off for the chance he was giving her, but she felt so far out of her depth, suddenly, she was barely treading water.

  ‘You’re not going back on your word already, Saskia?’

  Joshua had wondered how far he could go along with it; how far he could push the girl to see if she really meant what she said about doing anything to pay the debt off. Well, here was her chance. He was handing it to her on a plate.

  Would she take it though, that was the question… ?

  ‘Well, you can’t say I didn’t try and offer a solution to the predicament you found yourself in,’ Joshua said, no longer bothering to suppress his smugness. ‘If you change your mind, my offer’s on the table for you. You work for me for one month. On a trial basis. Then and only then will I be happy to sit down once more and discuss your little proposal. They’re my terms; take them or leave them.’

  His tone was condescending as he challenged her. He obviously didn’t think that she would do it. He knew that she would turn a job down here at the club. That’s why he had offered it to her in the first place.

  Who was she kidding, Saskia thought to herself. Even she didn’t think that she would do it. What other choice did she have though? If she didn’t step up to the plate now, she’d lose everything.

  She had to at least try didn’t she?

  ‘Okay.’ The word rolled from Saskia’s tongue so softly that Joshua barely heard it.

  ‘Okay?’ he repeated.

  Saskia nodded. Scarcely believing that she was actually agreeing to this madness herself.

  ‘I’ll do it, but I get to stay in my house during the trial.’ Her voice betrayed her. Her words shaky, nervous.

  ‘Done.’ Joshua nodded in agreement.

  He was impressed.

  The girl really did have balls; he’d give her that.

  Joshua had nothing to lose. Misty was right. Saskia wouldn’t last five minutes in a place like this. She’d be chewed up and spat out before she even got her kit off.

  He needn’t worry about the house. It wouldn’t be going anywhere. In the meantime, Joshua decided, he was going to have a bit of fun. He wanted to see how far Saskia would go to get her precious house back.

  ‘Misty will show you around so you can get a feel for the place. Watch and learn, because tomorrow you’re out on the main floor.’

  Saskia’s face paled.

  Joshua had a feeling that he was going to really enjoy this.

  ‘Well, there’s no time like the present, is there?’ Opening his arms out, Joshua smiled. ‘Saskia Frost, Welcome to Harper’s Palace!’

  6

  Flinging herself forward in the bed, Lena sat up, disorientated, trying to gather her bearings. Something had woken her. Perhaps it was the screeching noise of the metal farm gate? It needed oiling. Another of the many jobs around the farmhouse that never got done because Ramiz couldn’t venture out any further than the front porch.

  Straining to hear who had opened the gate, Lena listened carefully.

  Drita?

  The woman wouldn’t come up here this late at night though. Not unless something bad had happened.

  No one would.

  Set in the vast green plain, surrounded by nothing but trees and shrubs, the farmhouse was so far up a dirt track it was rare for anyone to come this far up the mountain. Especially at this time of night.

  Her heart thudding inside her chest, she could hear a vehicle pulling up outside her bedroom window. It sounded like a truck, but she couldn’t see any lights. Why couldn’t she see its headlights?

  The realisation suddenly hit her then. Horror engulfing her body, she felt the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stand on end, a surge of adrenaline rushing through her veins.

  They had come.

  The Bodis were here.

  ‘Ramiz, wake up. Wake up… ’ Screaming, Lena reached over to wake her husband, but his side of the bed was already empty.

  Scrambling from the bed, Lena knew that there wasn’t much time. Fleeing the room, she needed to get to her daughter; she needed to protect Roza.

  Drita had finally brought her back after a week of torturous separation. She was asleep in the nursery.

  Running down the hallway, in her haste, she slipped. Losing her footing on a cracked floor tile; her body slammed forward against the wall.

  Somehow, she managed to regain her balance as she pulled herself upright.

  Engulfed with panic, she continued to run down the corridor that stretched the length of the house; Roza’s bedroom door in her sight now.

  But then she was down again. Her body smacking with force against the tiles this time. Two strong arms gripped her body tightly, pinning her down on the floor.

  ‘Let me go.’

  Screeching, Lena struggled to break free, desperate to wriggle out of the hold she was in. She had almost made it to her daughter; just another few steps and she would have reached her.

  ‘Don’t move.’ It was Ramiz. His voice deep, whispering, thick with fear.

  He pulled her to him then. She could feel his heart pounding inside his chest.

  He was scared.

  Of course he was. This was his time.

  The Bodis had come for him.

  ‘Please Ramiz, I need to get to Roza. Please, let me go to her… ’ Whimpering as she stared through the darkness, Lena focused on the front door before looking back towards the baby’s bedroom.

  She still had time. The Bodis weren’t here for her. They wanted Ramiz. She could still make it if she ran. Just a few strides and she’d be there. She didn’t want the child to be left on her own.

  ‘Quiet!’ Ramiz ordered sharply.

  Silenced by a noise outside, Lena did as she was told.

  She could hear the heavy crunching on the gravel around the perimeter of the house.

  Anxiously, they waited. Lena could feel Ramiz’s heart pounding in his chest; his breath heavy, laboured.

  Then the footsteps stopped.

  There was a moment of silence – and then the bullets came.

  Screeching in terror as the house suddenly filled with the deafening sound of gunfire, Lena fought mercifully to loosen her husband’s grip, which only made Ramiz hold onto her tighter, refusing to let her go.

  A shower of bullets rained down around them, puncturing holes in the thin wooden walls, covering them both in dust and debris. Lena’s only thought was to get to her daughter.

  She could barely breathe. Ramiz was squeezing her up against him so hard that her chest felt like it was being crushed. The coward. He was using her as a human shield.

  Above them, a bullet tore through the thin glass windowpane. Instinctively, Lena turned her head, pressing her face to the floor. But Ramiz hadn’t been so quick.

  Jagged shards of glass plummeted violently down on top of him; the large chunk breaking over Ramiz’s head imploding on impact.

  Caught off guard, Ramiz shrieked in pain as a pointed sliver of glass was embedded in his cheek. Distracted by the intense agony, he loosened
his grip.

  It was all Lena needed; struggling free, she jumped to her feet. Dodging the spray of bullets around her, she ran towards the frantic cries from Roza’s bedroom.

  Pushing the door open, Lena ran to Roza’s crib.

  ‘Shh, Roza, it’s okay. Néné is here.’ Whispering as she scooped her daughter up into her arms, Lena quickly crouched down in the corner, seeking refuge behind the wooden dresser.

  The gunfire was still going on, destroying the house. Closing her eyes, Lena whispered her silent prayers over and over.

  She felt guilty, then, for all the times she’d prayed for the Bodis to come and kill her husband. Now they were here, but the Bodi family were so desperate for their vengeance that they had no concerns about sparing her or the baby in the crossfire.

  Drita had warned her about this.

  She’d said how women and children were no longer being spared in the bloodshed. The ancient Kanun was being disrespected. The feuds were no longer about honour any more; they were just an excuse for brutal violence. Only, Lena hadn’t believed her.

  She’d thought her mother-in-law had just been trying to scare her.

  That would have been typical of Drita: to deliberately make Lena fear the Bodis so that she would never be tempted to alert them of where Ramiz was hiding.

  Now though, huddled on the floor as bullets tore through her home, Lena knew that Drita had been telling the truth.

  The Bodi family were after blood – Ramiz’s blood – and they would take it any way they could get it.

  As the loud gunshots continued, Lena knew that she needed to try and stay calm; Roza was picking up on her fear, crying, shaking. Lena kissed the child tenderly on her forehead. Closing her eyes, she took slow steady breaths.

  As quickly as it had started, the shooting stopped. There was silence then.

  But still Lena didn’t move.

  She could hear the muffled grinding of the gravel outside: the footsteps retreating.

  Then the truck’s engine started back up, the truck driving away. Then silence once more.

  She stayed where she was, cowering behind the unit.

  Was it over?

  Jumping, she heard a bang.

  Followed by another heavy thud.

  They were inside the house.

  Desperate to keep Roza quiet so that they wouldn’t be found, Lena covered Roza’s face with the blanket. Smothering the child’s cries.

  Lena was petrified now. If the Bodis found her they would kill her. She was convinced of it.

  The noise was getting louder. Coming towards Roza’s bedroom.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Lena held onto Roza as the bedroom door burst open.

  She saw Ramiz standing in the doorway, blood dripping from the deep gash in his cheek.

  ‘Get dressed,’ he ordered.

  Realising that she was in only her underwear, Lena was incensed, full of frustration that her husband was still alive. The enormity of what had just happened suddenly hit her, and all he could do was tell her to cover herself up.

  ‘That’s all you have to say? Get dressed? Are you not even going to ask how your daughter is?’ The force of the hatred in her tone surprised even her. ‘She could have been killed, Ramiz.’

  ‘And whose fault is that?’ Ramiz sneered.

  ‘What?’ Incredulous at his denial, Lena wanted to scream. ‘They came for you?’

  ‘And you think that it is just a coincidence do you? That the Bodis have found me a week after you went down to the village. You stupid little girl. You led them straight to us.’

  Ramiz sounded angry, but there was something else in his voice too.

  A new-found determination.

  ‘We are no longer safe here. Get your things together; we are leaving.’

  ‘Leaving? To go where?’ Lena asked.

  ‘We’re going to make our way across the borders. To England.’ Ramiz glared at Roza now, as the child whimpered. ‘I want her silenced on the journey though.’ Pulling out a small plastic bag from his jeans, Ramiz chucked it down on the floor next to Lena. She knew it contained opium.

  ‘She won’t need it. I will keep her quiet,’ Lena begged, pushing the bag away from her.

  The drug was common here in Albania, some mothers using it daily to sedate their children while they worked, weaving carpets. Lena remembered seeing babies back home in her village near the city of Shkodër. Heavily medicated, their eyes vacant, their bodies limp. Enough so that their parents could do a day’s work without burden. Enough to quieten the child’s cries of sickness – of hunger.

  She didn’t want to use opium on her child. Not ever.

  ‘Do as you are told, or I will leave her here with Drita. I will not allow her to jeopardise our journey.’

  Lena couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Albania, but she knew she had no choice. Ramiz was in charge. She had to do as she was told.

  ‘She’s only crying because she is scared,’ Lena pleaded with her husband. ‘She will be fine. I will make sure of it—’

  ‘Very well. I will call for Drita—’

  ‘No. Please… ’ Lena shouted, desperation in her voice. There was no way that she was leaving Roza behind with Drita. She’d never see Roza again. Not if they were fleeing to England. ‘I’ll do it.’

  Lena picked up the packet.

  Ramiz smiled.

  ‘Shut that little bitch up. We leave in twenty minutes.’

  7

  Cowering in the bushes at the back of Greenwood Cemetery, Colin Jeffries stared out from the thick green foliage as tiny droplets of rain fell from the leaves above him. Wiping the splashes of water from his beard, he stepped back just enough to ensure that he remained firmly out of sight.

  At least the rain had eased off a bit now. It had been pouring down earlier this morning when he had dug the grave out, lashing down around him; his boots caked in slushy thick mud; his overalls soaked, clinging to his skinny frame. Grave digging might sound like a morbid line of work to some people but to him it was an honour. It was the very last act that was carried out for the deceased. Their final resting place was down to him, and it was imperative that every detail of the task be executed to perfection.

  Today’s grave had taken three hours to prepare. The heavy downfall slowed him down, but he had persevered; clawing up the pieces of turf with the excavator before carefully placing the sods of grassy earth into a neat pile.

  Perfect precision.

  If it wasn’t done properly it looked messy. You could tell.

  Even when the turf was covered with the green matting it still had to be just so.

  That’s where the other workers all went wrong.

  Shoddy preparation.

  Unlike him, they hurried the groundwork. Not valuing how crucial every step of the process really was.

  People turned their nose up at his job, he knew that, but he loved it and, despite the heavy downpour, he had been determined to do his absolute best as always.

  His perfectionism made up for his biggest downfall: his refusal to backfill the graves.

  He knew it was strange, a gravedigger who wouldn’t fill the graves back in, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  Burying the deceased under a thick mound of soil was too final, too disturbing.

  It fucked with his head. Gave him anxiety. Panic attacks.

  He’d been so busy concentrating on digging the grave, shoring up the side walls so that they wouldn’t collapse during the downpour, he hadn’t given much thought to the grave’s occupant until he reached for the sack of sawdust.

  He’d thought of the little girl then.

  The local council insisted that children’s graves were lined with sawdust: psychological reasons, they said. As if, somehow, in some small way for the family, seeing their child’s grave lowered down onto a bed of sawdust instead of the cold, hard ground would ease their suffering.

  Maybe it did? Colin doubted it though.

  Dead was dead, no matter how y
ou dressed it up.

  Violet. That was the girl’s name. Violet Jackson.

  Colin had read her green ticket when it had been faxed through to the cemetery’s office earlier that morning.

  It was tragic. Ten years old – victim of a car accident.

  Children’s burials didn’t happen here very often, but when they did, the mood in the cemetery was always charged, and today was no exception. The atmosphere was dark and heavy, mirroring the threatening sky above him.

  Shuddering, Colin sighed as he watched the black clouds dancing around overhead.

  Rain at a funeral was supposed to be a sign of good luck; that’s what people often said. A downpour signified the Heavens opening.

  More empty, meaningless words to ease the consciences of the people who have been left behind.

  Funerals were for the living, not for the dead.

  Hearing a noise, Colin looked over towards the gate. The ceremony was beginning. Intrigued, he eyed the procession of mourners.

  The pall-bearers, shouldering the slim white casket, were leading the way. A couple walked directly behind the coffin, crestfallen, defeated, following Violet to her final resting place. The dead child’s parents, Colin assumed.

  The man’s stocky frame appeared slumped; his shoulders sagging as if he’d had all his strength zapped out of him.

  Colin’s eyes flickered to the face of the mother standing next to him. Her demeanour was weak too. She looked as though, without her husband beside her to physically hold her up, her legs would have just crumpled beneath her.

  Watching as the other mourners gathered around the graveside, huddling into each other for comfort, Colin eyed every single one.

  He wanted to see the pain on their faces. The loss. To feel that it was real.

  The prayers were read out. The final committal beginning.

  The service was short. Bittersweet, as the rain poured down around them.

  It was all over so quickly.

  The coffin was lowered into the ground, and the mother finally gave in to her grief as she collapsed onto the wet, sodden ground, her raw cries echoing out around the cemetery. Her husband rapidly scooping her back up onto her feet – cocooning her in his arms.