The Devil Couldn't Break Me

by Laura Aslan

  I looked down at the table again. My God! He had left his gun there too. I stood staring at the keys and the gun and wondered what to do. I had never fired a gun in my life so took the decision to leave it where it was. I lifted the keys ever so gently from the table and congratulated myself that they hadn’t made a sound. I crept towards the door wondering which key was for which door. Naim was whistling and I sensed he was nearly dry and would be out of the bathroom in seconds. There were two keys, one of them quite large and I convinced myself that it had to be for the big steel exterior door. The other key was more in keeping with a standard apartment door and I prayed to myself that I had made the right choice because I knew I wouldn’t have the luxury of spare time. I could hardly hold the key as I was shaking so much and then I cursed to myself as the tears welled up in my eyes and I began to weep. Stop it! I told myself. Stop crying. I was so close. They were tears of expectancy. Was I going to make it out of there?

  Naim had to be coming from the bathroom any second and would walk towards the lounge and realise I wasn’t there and then he’d run towards the door and he’d catch me. He would be angry and he would rape me, probably there and then and then drag me through to the lounge to complete Kupi’s orders.

  I reached the door and held the smaller key to the opening of the lock and pushed. It slipped in like a warm knife in butter and I held my breath as I turned it quickly and the lock released. I pulled the door towards me and rested it gently on the wall as I fumbled for the large key. I heard footsteps behind me and looked over my shoulder as I saw Naim walking away from me towards the lounge. I had no more than thirty seconds. Shit! My hands were sweating, the key felt as if it was covered in olive oil but eventually I managed to get it into the lock. I tried to turn it anti-clockwise but it wouldn’t budge. Shit shit shit! I was so close, why wouldn’t it turn?

  I heard Naim calling.

  “Laura where are you?”

  I twisted my hand clockwise and the key turned as the lock sprang open with a deafening clunk.

  “Hey!”

  Naim sprinted down the narrow corridor as I threw the heavy door against the wall and broke free. Naim was right behind me but I ran for my life in the direction of the stairs to the left. I almost fell down the first flight as I ran faster than I had ever run in my life. The decisions I had or rather hadn’t made flashed through my head. Why hadn’t I picked up his gun? Why hadn’t I closed the door and locked it behind me? Silly decisions, wrong decisions, decisions that could cost me my life. I threw myself down the next flight of stairs, jumping from half way and clearing six or seven stairs at a time but even then I could hear that Naim was closing in on me. I was almost in a daze as my body seemed to operate on automatic pilot and the only thoughts in my head were that I had to survive so that I could tell my parents everything that had happened to me. If I died soon after that, then that was okay but I couldn’t die right now.

  He was shouting.

  “You fucking bitch, you won’t get away from me.”

  We were two flights from the bottom and his screams and curses grew ever louder as he got nearer and nearer. He made a lunge at me over the stair rail as I turned into the last flight of stairs and I felt his fingers drag through my ponytail and he cursed as he slipped on the bend and his fingers caught nothing but fresh air. I could see the door to the front street but Naim was on me like a leech as I felt his hand on my shoulder. I managed to push the door open but I knew it was over, all Naim had to do was pull me back and he had me. He was young and strong, well built and well nourished and I was skin and bones and as weak as a kitten. As much as I fought him I knew it was over. It was at that moment Naim made another fateful, silly decision. He decided to punch me. Such was his temper, his anger at what I’d dared to do, he couldn’t control himself and he spun me round and punched me as hard as he could. He caught me on the side of the cheek and he hit me so hard he lifted me off my feet and I flew bodily through the air. I cleared the pavement and landed in the middle of the street. I heard a screech of tyres behind me and although I was disorientated and on the verge of unconsciousness I was aware of a big jeep parked in the road. It was dark and I noticed the red brake lights shining underneath from the rear. I wanted to close my eyes and drift off into another place but I fought the feeling and raised myself to my hands and knees. I stood up and focussed on the white bonnet and noticed the letters UN and to the right a small Italian flag.

  Naim had punched me into the path of a UN jeep and I couldn’t have been happier as I waved my hands in front of it and started shouting for help. The Italian soldier jumped out and I instinctively ran around the truck towards him. As I reached him I remember his uniform being similar to that of Brian and Peter but as I looked up I noticed the look of horror on the soldiers face. He was looking over my shoulder. He was looking at Naim... what was wrong? As soon as I had reached the truck door the gunshots started. I had never heard gunshots before except on the DVDs of the movies I had watched in my childhood and I instinctively threw myself to the ground as the bullets bounced off the bonnet. The soldier reached for me shouting something in Italian that was indecipherable as he dragged me behind the truck. He was yelling into a walkie-talkie as he fired shots from a pistol out of the open window. I don’t know how long the shooting lasted but probably no more than a minute. People were screaming and running in all directions. I had pulled myself into the cab and for a second I looked over the top of the steering wheel to see Naim crouching in the doorway firing off shot after shot. I was aware of another lorry that had pulled into the street and then a white jeep and suddenly there seemed to be UN soldiers everywhere. The next time I looked up Naim was gone and as I flopped back in the seat of the Italian UN jeep, I dared to believe that perhaps it might be over.

  I was weeping tears of joy and yet at the same time I was wary. There were policeman around the truck now and they were asking me questions in Albanian but I was too paranoid to reply to them because they sounded just like Kupi and his gang and it was in the back of my mind that the phone call Kupi took in the bar may have been from someone connected to the police.

  It was the Italian soldier who had dragged me to safety who I listened to. He spoke a little Albanian and he said it was over. He spoke softly while everyone in the immediate vicinity seemed to be shouting or screaming. It was utter chaos and the street filled up with more police cars and UN vehicles that I’d ever seen in one place, with flashing blue lights everywhere.

  Someone produced a blanket from somewhere and they wrapped it around me. I refused to get out of the Italian jeep so they gave us an escort to the police station. I hadn’t a clue where the police station was or in which direction we travelled. Everything was a blur, a fog of blue lights and sirens.

  There were people waiting for me when we arrived at the Police Station and I remember being quite happy that they seemed to be taking the shooting so seriously. I still hadn’t told anyone about my kidnap or what I had been through. No one had even asked my name. The Italian soldier helped me from the vehicle and put his arm around me as he guided me into the police station. Almost immediately a lady appeared speaking Albanian and said she was the official police interpreter.

  I looked at her suspiciously.

  “Get the fucking bitch away from me,” I said.

  Looking back on the incident I’m quite ashamed of myself for my attitude towards the interpreter who was only doing her job but her first words to me were spoken in Albanian with a Kosovo, Pristina dialect, exactly the same way Kupi and his gang had spoken and I was paranoid that somehow they were part of the same gang. Something inside me wouldn’t allow me to trust her and it was impossible for me to relax.

  The adrenalin was pumping through me. Unless you’ve been shot at and saw your life flash before you, it’s impossible to describe that feeling. I was trembling and crying at the same time and a few minutes later the tears had dried and I felt cal
m, but all the while I watched and listened to every door that opened, studied every single person who entered the large room and I looked at everything and everyone with suspicion, I was almost welded to the seat I sat on.

  “I need to pee,” I said to a Kosovan female policewoman.

  She was very nice and said the toilets were on the next floor up. I was too terrified to leave my seat.

  I shook my head.

  “I’m not going.”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “There are no toilets down here I’m afraid.”

  So I peed myself there and then. I felt strangely safe in that huge room with so many people fussing around me. The last thing I wanted to do was go into a quiet environment where I could be kidnapped again. I raged at everyone, I cursed and swore at anyone who spoke Albanian and insisted that the Italian soldiers stayed with me. I wanted to die so much. I had escaped from them, I had beaten them and now I wanted to die. It would be such a sweet moment.

  One Kosovo policeman spoke softer than everyone else. He was a little older than the rest and at one point he leaned over and touched my arm. I jumped about a metre in the air and that’s when they noticed I’d peed myself. The policeman spoke to someone and they brought me a fresh blanket.

  The policeman smiled and told me I could sit in my own pee for as long as I wanted. I remember looking into his eyes and laughing.

  “You clean yourself up when you’re good and ready and not before,” he said. “I’ll stay here with you all night if you want.”

  It was at that point I realised that the policeman who was now kneeling before me was almost certainly one of the good guys.

  “You’ll stay here all night with me?” I asked.

  “Yes,” he said, “as long as you want.”

  We sat in silence for some minutes before he spoke again.

  “Who kidnapped you?”

  I was puzzled. I had told no one I had been kidnapped.

  “Who kidnapped you?” he repeated.

  “Azem Kupi that’s who.”

  The policeman looked as if he was about to burst into tears as he let out a deep sigh and buried his face in his hands.

  “How did you know I’d been kidnapped?”

  He reached for my hands and I let him hold them.

  “You are the only survivor. I’m so glad we’ve found you. We know people have been going missing for months but we can’t find anyone to testify against hi,.”

  He then leaned into me and hugged me and I let him. He cried, I cried some more and I wouldn’t let go of him because for some reason I trusted him with my life.

  Eventually he persuaded me to get cleaned up and we went to an interview room. It was full of people taking notes and now I was happy to talk and tell them everything that had happened. It was strange, like a huge weight had been lifted from me. When the interviews were over he gave me a case number in a little transparent plastic bag. He told me to call him whenever I was ready to tell them more.

  Finally he asked me where I wanted to go, did I have any family in Pristina? I thought for a moment. There was only one place I wanted to go.

  “I have two American friends, they are UN peacekeepers.”

  I told the policeman I didn’t know the address where they stayed but gave him their full names. Within thirty minutes they had found them. The policeman said we would drive over there in the Italian truck and he would come with me himself.

  I thanked him so much. I couldn’t wait to see Brian and Peter. At last my torment was over.

  Reunited with Friends

  I was trying to piece a timeline together and wondered how long I had been in the police station. I think I’d escaped at about midnight and it was now 4 a.m. The policeman had heard enough, taken enough statements and said I was finished for the time being, it was more than enough for one night he said and it was time to go. I had insisted that I would only travel back in a UN vehicle, I would not get in a Kosovan police car no matter how much I trusted the old policeman who had sat with me since I had arrived. The policeman was patient and sympathetic and said he understood, said he had called on the original two Italian soldiers who had rescued me. They would accompany me back along with a translator.

  I remember staring at the clock for some time and eventually a policewoman announced that a car was outside waiting to take me to Brian and Peter. I recollect being upset that they had been woken at such an unsociable hour. The Italian soldiers greeted me with a handshake and I climbed into the back of a large jeep with the policeman and a translator. The translator leaned forward and directed the Italian driver through the deserted streets of Pristina until I started to recognise the buildings leading up to the apartment in the street where I had been originally captured. I started to panic a little as I began experiencing flashbacks but tried to compose myself and reassure myself that I would soon be safe.

  As the jeep came to a stop at the very spot I had been kidnapped I broke down again. Everything came flooding back as if it was yesterday. The policeman put his strong arms around me and I buried myself into his heavy coat as the tears flowed again. I was shivering, I was so cold and tired too and yet it was a strange tired feeling because I felt that if I succumbed to sleep I might never wake up again. My whole system was at breaking point and somehow I realised it. But I knew I needed to summon my last residues of energy just to make it to my feet.

  The policeman shook me.

  “Is that your friend?”

  He said pointing to the doorway.

  Peter stood in his pyjamas peering into the jeep.

  “Yes,” I said, “that’s Peter.”

  It was raining but Peter came over to the jeep and I had an urge to run to him. The translator was the first out of the jeep and she began to explain in English exactly what had happened. Peter looked as if he wasn’t listening to her. He just kept staring at me with a look of devastation written across his face.

  I wondered where Brian was, why hadn’t he come to meet me too?

  “I’ll take care of her,” Peter said as he reached into the vehicle and took my hand.

  I climbed out and he held me in his arms as he wept like a baby. Despite the heavy rain that was now falling we stood rooted to the spot for some minutes. The translator was still filling Peter in on everything that had happened to me and I heard Kupi’s name several times. I looked over Peter’s shoulder and noticed the old policeman looking on. He looked happy and seemed to approve of Peter and figured that I was in safe hands. We walked into the building locked together. Peter wouldn’t let me go as he held me close to him. He opened the apartment door with one hand that seemed to take for ever as he struggled with the keys in the locks. I wanted to tell him it would be easier with two hands but I knew he wouldn’t let me go.

  He took me straight into the kitchen where the small sofa I had slept on was still in the same place. He sat me down and we tried to have some sort of a conversation but as soon as I managed to blurt out half a dozen words I’d break down again and again. I couldn’t stop crying, I felt so ashamed. Brian and Peter had warned me of the dangers in leaving the apartment, they’d told me a hundred times and yet I genuinely hadn’t known just what lay outside the four walls otherwise I’d never have ventured out. Peter was trying to calm me down and all I could do was to keep apologising. I kept looking over towards the kitchen door expecting Brian to appear at any moment but it never happened. Perhaps Peter was on his own now, perhaps Brian had a girl in his room and thought it wasn’t right to make an appearance at this time?

  “You need a shower or a bath,” Peter said, “you’re cold and wet.”

  I nodded and I stood and Peter guided me towards the bathroom. There was a bath in there and Peter started to fill it. I recall the steam rising up from the water as it gradually filled while he was saying something about the powe
r cuts being few and far between at the moment. Peter started to undress me. I didn’t have the energy and sat there like a child being undressed for bath night by her mother. Peter stripped me down to my bra and panties and bizarrely left them on me as he lifted me into the warm water.

  Peter washed me all over. He washed my hands and massaged my back with hot soapy water and then he washed and rinsed my hair. He washed me until the water was turning cold and then he filled it with more hot water but eventually, as my skin started to crease and wrinkle, he lifted me out and towelled me dry. He brought me a pair of his pyjamas and left me to change. He then came back with a pair of his slippers, three sizes too big, in the shape of ducks. They were yellow in colour and he slipped them onto my feet. We both laughed and then once again he took me in his arms and hugged me tight. We slid onto the bathroom floor and I sat in his lap. I fell asleep in Peter’s arms. I fell into a deep, deep sleep and I slept better than I had slept in months.

  When I awoke I was on the sofa in the lounge. It was daylight, perhaps mid-morning and I was still in Peter’s arms. I could hear someone in the bathroom.

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  Peter frowned.

  “Brian, who did you think it was?”

  I remember being disappointed that it was Brian. Why hadn’t he come to see me? I looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 10.30 am. I had been there for hours and it was as if Brian was ignoring me.

  Peter looked nervous, as if he had something to say. I asked him what was bothering him.

  “It’s that clear?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “The thing is you can’t stay here Laura, we have to work. Things have changed. You can’t spend one more night here. It’s not safe for you and it’s not safe for us.”