by Eve Rabi
***
I walk around my cell. Then I walk across my cell. Eleven medium-sized steps. Fourteen if I wore high heels. I worked it out. Hey, I got time to indulge in useless information. That’s how I spend my time these days. Poor Nelson Mandela. Twenty-seven years – how the fuck did he do it?
I stamp my feet, knock on the walls, then sit down and rock. Bet Lara Croft would blow this joint in no time.
Bet Rambo could rescue Rory and me all by himself. Charlie’s Angels, Steven Seagal, even Austin Powers could do it.
Except the US Military. Thirty-five fucking days in this hell hole and zilch.
Angel-man enters the room with some bandages.
“Let me go, please,” I whisper.
“What?” He glances behind at the open door.
“You heard me. The stuff they’re making me say – it’s gonna get my ass thrown in Guantanamo Bay. You have to release me. Please!”
He carefully places his tray on the floor next to my mattress. “I can’t do that.” His voice is not unkind.
I put my face right in his. “Why? Why can’t you?”
He moves away, takes off his jacket, tosses it aside and rolls up his sleeve.
“Please. My husband will give you money. He’s got money.”
His chuckle is mirthless. “I don’t need your money.”
“Okay, fine … you don’t need our money, but still, I need your help. Let me go, please.”
He purses his lips as he finishes the dressing on my arm. “I don’t run this circus. Don’t ask me to do stupid things.” His tone is suddenly curt.
I grab his arm. “Please, I’m hurt and I’m being held prisoner. That’s stupid.”
“You’re badgering me. Stop!” He grabs his tray and walks away.
I run after him. “No wait! Don’t go. Please!”
He shuts my room door in my face and locks it.
Dejected, I amble to my mattress and spot his jacket. He’s forgotten it.
I pick it up and rummage through the pockets. His wallet. Bingo! I open it and find a photo ID card from a hospital – Dr. Reedwan Kader. Ah, ha, got your name, punk! Driver’s license, a photo of him with a pretty Middle-Eastern woman and two lovely little girls.
There’s also a credit card and a few dollar bills. I hear footsteps approaching. I stick the money in my bra (God knows why), shove the wallet back into his pocket, fling the jacket behind me, and rest my face on my knees.
Angel-man, or Dr. Reedwan Kader, glances at the jacket behind me, glares at me, then snatches the jacket off the ground. My eyes are glued to the floor.
He pats his jacket for his wallet, finds it, and shoves it in his jeans pocket. “Had a good look?”
I slowly raise my head from my knees. I look behind me, then at him. “Who, me?”
Throwing his hands into the air, he turns and walks away.
I pull the money out of my bra and put my hand to my ear. “Hello, can I order a pizza for myself and Reedwan Kader, please?”
He stops walking.
“That’s Doctor Reedwan Kader, please. He’s paying.”
Slowly, he turns around and looks at me.
Grinning, I wave his money at him.
His arms drop to his side, and his look is one of exasperation.
“Um lessee … beef, olives, sun-dried tomatoes … eh, chili … garlic and …” I pause, put my hand over the imaginary mouthpiece of my imaginary phone and whisper, “Let me go, please Reed!”
“Megan,” he shakes his head slowly. “I wish I could. Believe me, if I could …”
I remove my hand off the mouthpiece and say, “Bacon, ham, and more ham.”
Ignoring my insult, he crouches before me.
“Thirty minutes? No problemo. Ask for Reed. He’ll direct you to the injured infidel he’s holding prisoner.”
“Megan. I’m sorry,” he says. “I really am.” His voice is so sincere and kind that my eyes suddenly fill with tears.
Quickly, I turn and face the wall.
“Megan!”
Without looking at him, I hold out his money to him.
He ignores the money. “Look at me!”
I don’t look at him.
“I’m sorry. All I can do is help you, make you better. Other than that …”
To stop my tears, I swallow hard.
Quietly, he leaves and locks the door behind him.
Curled up in a fetal position, I lie blanketed in my hopelessness and despair.
***
Reedwan is lounging in his usual chair outside my cell, studying the photo in his wallet.
“Rory!” I hiss.
“Yep?”
“I’m busting out of here.”
“Megan!” Rory sounds aghast. “Watch what you’re saying, man.”
Reedwan's head jerks to look at me.
I hold his gaze, my look defiant. He looks away first.
I’m disappointed; I was expecting a response, a confrontation, anything that will get him to talk to me. See, as the days go by, I’m going nuts.
“They had me deliver another inflammatory speech,” I say.
“Another?”
“Yeah. That’s three so far. My family …”
“Wow, Trust, glad I’m not you. Your husband … man, he must be in a pickle.”
“Yeah.”
Reedwan looks at me again.
I give him a look that would precipitate a brawl in a bar.
Again, to my frustration, he looks away.
Pity. I feel like a screaming match. I don’t have to win; I just want to take part in it. Yell and scream my ass off like a banshee.
“Forty-seven days, Rory. Forty-seven fucking days and no rescue.”
“Yeah well, they probably saw the videos – assumed you don’t wanna be rescued, Trust.”
“Yeah well, they assumed wrong, Rory. I’m gonna blow this fucking joint soon. Just you watch.”
Chapter Five
I open my eyes and look into Nazim's face.
Quickly, I shut them.
Holding my breath, I slowly open them again. It takes me a few seconds to realize this is not a dream. Nazim’s face really is in mine.
“Fuck!” I cry as I scramble up.
“No fuck!” he whispers and glances nervously at the door. “Please, no fuck!”
A sound behind me has me in a spin. It’s Bilal the bullfrog. Nazim and Bilal in my room, in the dark, in the middle of the night? I’m fucked, literally and figuratively!
My scream is cut short by Nazim’s blow to my windpipe. “Said bousak!”
As I gurgle and gasp, Nazim shoves me back. My head misses my mattress and slams against the cement floor. Dazed, I watch tiny white pearls float above me.
Nazim pushes back my skirt and positions himself between my legs. My gasping eases and the pearls slowly disappear. When he gets closer, I claw at his face.
He jerks back, but holds onto me. “Sharmoota!”
Mustering all my strength, I lash out with my foot and my boot connects with his shoulder. He flies back and lands on his bony ass. Thanks to Reed, I sleep with my boots on.
Now he lies dazed.
“Reed!” I yell as I stagger to my feet.
Bilal jumps in front of me, his eyes wide with excitement. I swing wildly and catch him in the temple. Holding his head, he staggers back.
As I run to the gate, Nazim grabs my ankle. I crash onto the cement floor.
Bilal recovers and knocks me on the head with the butt of his rifle. “Beetch!”
I lie on the ground as blood oozes from my mouth. Through my daze, I hear the sound of a zipper.
No! No! No! Must fight.
Bilal bends as he struggles to get his pants past his moccasins. In his haste, he fails to notice that I’m almost sitting up now. I lunge forward and jab at his beady eyes.
“Fargin beeetch!” he screeches as he clutches his eyes and jumps around. “Fargin! Fargin!”
I push past him and bolt toward the door. It’s l
ocked.
“Open the door!” I yell as I rattle the bars that cage me in.
When the butt of a rifle slams against the back of my knees, I topple backwards and hit my head on the floor. Then darkness.
When I open my eyes, I’m on my mattress again. Nazim is holding down my ankles while Bilal restrains my hands over my head.
Still dazed by the blows, I can only feebly jerk my knees towards Nazim’s groin.
Beady-eyed Bilal rains blows mercilessly down my head until I lie still again. He releases my wrists and fondles my breasts. “You lika, yes?”
“Reed, help me!” I gurgle as I try to wriggle out of his grasp.
Bilal suddenly flings himself across my chest. “Said bousak!”
I inch my head up and sink my teeth into his chest.
He clutches his chest and dances around in pain.
Suddenly, Nazim hauls my wriggling hips from the mattress while Bilal yanks the mattress from under me and shoves it across the top half of my body. He crushes me to the ground by throwing himself on top of the mattress. Nazim is now free to have his way with me while I suffocate.
“No … please,” I beg as he lowers his wiry body onto mine. Injured and helpless, I can do little to stop him – I’m going to be raped tonight.
“Reed, please … please …”
Suddenly, light floods the room. Nazim is yanked off me by the collar and flung aside. Bilal jerks up and yells angrily at the intruder.
“Go avay! Go avay!”
It’s Reed, looking horrified. “You need to stop this shit!” he says in a controlled, but angry voice. “This is not right. You need to leave her alone right now.”
Even though he’s reasoning with them and not fighting them, Nazim and Bilal swing at him.
Reed ducks and weaves as they throw punches at him. “I don’t want to fight you,” he says as he cautiously skirts them.
Suddenly, with a sweeping motion of his foot, Reedwan swipes Nazim off his feet. Nazim lies on the ground staring at the ceiling.
Next Reed circles Bilal. With a snarl, Bilal swings the butt of his rifle clumsily at Reed. Reed dips, seizes Bilal's arm and clasps it behind his back, all the while speaking calmly but sternly to Bilal.
Suddenly, a bullet sings through the air and smashes into the wall an inch away from Reed’s ear.
The shooter is Nazim. His rifle is now aimed directly at Reed. Stunned, Reed immediately releases Bilal.
With what can be interpreted as a smile or sneer, Nazim raises his rifle at Reed again.
Reed raises his palms slowly. Nazim steps forward and shoves the barrel into Reed’s chest, his finger hovering dangerously in front of the trigger.
Reed freezes while I wait with baited breath.
Now that Nazim has Reed covered, Bilal looks at me and smiles. Feeling helpless, I look at Reed. When I see his eyes mirroring mine, dread washes over me. They’re going to kill Reedwan and finish what they started.
Just then, two more militants burst into the cell. Still glowering at Reed, Nazim reluctantly lowers his weapon.
“What happened?” the new guy asks.
Reed tries to explain, but he is hotly interrupted by Bilal.
One of the mediators turns to me and rattles off in Arabic.
“Huh?”
Wrong response. He backhands me across the face. Reed lunges at the man and knocks him to the ground. Nazim pays Reed back by slamming the barrel of his rifle into Reed’s head. Reed falls to his knees as blood streams down his face. Another militant quickly restrains Nazim and yells for everyone to clear the cell.
As they file out of the room, Nazim and Bilal pause at the door and look at me.
“Sharmoota!” Nazim says, his lips curling with disgust.
Bilal smiles and raises his thumb and forefinger at me. “Bang! Bang!”
Shaking, I slowly sink back into my mattress and draw the blanket around my trembling body.
When they leave, Reed turns to me. “You okay?” He’s bleeding from the head wound but he doesn’t seem to notice.
I nod, trying desperately to cover my battered body with the inadequate covers.
“Did he …?”
I shake my head. “No.”
He exhales.
Th …thank you.”
He points to the wound on my forehead. “Back in a moment,” he says and leaves the cell. When he returns, he dresses my wounds.
My trembling makes it difficult for him to treat me. “You’re b … bleeding yourself.”
He touches his head, looks at the blood on his hand, and shrugs.
I clutch his arm. “Please d ... don’t leave me.”
He nods.
After he finishes my dressing, he drags a chair into my room and lowers himself into it.
“Go to sleep,” he says in a weary voice when he notices my wide-open eyes.
Sleep eludes me, and I lie on my mattress on high alert. The slightest sound causes me to jump.
My worst nightmare almost came true tonight. Every female soldier’s worst nightmare. As a prisoner of war, I expect to be raped – sometimes more than once. Tonight, I came so close.
Pumped up with adrenaline, I lie in the dark, listening out for sounds. Reed is asleep in his chair, threatening to topple over each time he exhales.
Please let Reed be a light sleeper.
***
My bruises from the assault are purple and angry. I’m anxious all the time, I have dark circles around my eyes, and my fingernails are now non-existent. Horrible nightmares of Bilal and Nazim invade not just my dreams, but also my daydreams. At times, my mind goes AWOL.
Escaping dominates my thoughts. Sure, I might get killed while escaping – so what? Better that than to live in fear of Nazim and Bilal.
“Megan!” Rory calls.
I walk up to my cell door. Reed sits on a chair outside my room and gazes at the photo in his wallet.
“Megan? What happened? I heard screams last night.”
“I … Rory …” Suddenly, my bottom lip trembles.
“Megan? You okay? Something is wrong. Tell me!”
“Rory, last night … these two guys …” Overcome with emotion and feeling sorry for myself, I slide to the floor, cover my face with both my hands and weep loudly.
“Aaawww, man, Megan! Fuck, man! Fuck!”
Angrily, I wipe away tears. “Almost. I’ve got to get out of here, Rory. I have to.”
Reed stares at me, a concerned look in his eyes.
“Shhh!” Rory says. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m taking you with, Rory.”
“Roger that, but please …”
“I know, I know.”
“Be strong, Megan. Think about your husband, your family.”
I say nothing but swallow the lump in my throat.
“Megan?”
“I’m here.”
“What’s he like?”
“Like? Who?”
“Your husband?”
“He … he’s probably devastated without me.”
“There you go. Your strength. He’s your strength. Every time you feel weak, think of him, okay?”
Silence.
“What’s his name?”
“D … Damien.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Four years. It’s our anniversary on the twentieth. Will be five years.”
“Five years … okay. I want you to start planning your anniversary party, okay?”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingers to my mouth. “Okay.”
“Think of Damien every time you feel like giving up.”
I nod and take comfort in Rory’s words and start to plan my anniversary party. It will be big. A tiered marble cake, champagne in crystal flutes, tiny canapés and waiters with attitude. My dress will be long, flowing, and scarlet. My stilettos will be the kind that makes a girl gasp and silently plan to pinch them. Everyone will be there – my sister and my two brothers, my mom and dad …
Just thinking about my family brings fresh tears.
Chapter Six
I eat every morsel on my grubby, metal plate. At night when nobody is watching, I exercise. It hurts, but my military training comes in handy and I push on.
Friday. That’s the day.
Most of the militants go off to pray on a Friday afternoon, but Reed never does. Since he’s weaponless, I plan to take advantage of that.
In the time leading up to my escape, I am polite and cordial with Reed.
“Shukran,” I answer in Arabic when he hands me my food.
His head jerks to look at me. Later, to my delight, he hands me a slab of chocolate.
I gasp and stare at it as if it’s a key to my cell door. Holding my breath, I carefully remove the dark blue wrapper and set it aside. Next, the shiny foil – slowly I unwrap it, and a whiff of cocoa and nuts brings a smile to my face.
Macadamias and dairy milk – perfect.
Suddenly, I cram the chocolate into my mouth. No tasting, no savoring; I just stuff my face and eat as rapidly as I can. My first chocolate in more than sixty days. When I’m done, I lick my finger, then use it to seek out the tiny bits of chocolate I dropped on my clothes and mattress. I eat every morsel I can find. When I finish that, I pick up the foil and lick it clean.
I’m an animal now. Captivity does that.
***
It’s Friday – D-day. The farmhouse is quiet. My palms are sweaty and I’m jumpy.
Reed walks me to the bathroom for my scheduled shower.
“Hey Rory,” I say in what I hope is a casual voice.
“Trust …” Even though he says just one word, I hear the anxiousness in his voice.
“Stand by me,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“Roger that.”
As I walk, I case the joint one more time. My eyes linger on the bunch of keys hanging on a wall. Below the keys, against the wall, stand two AK-47s. Please let them be loaded.
As I walk, I drop the towel. Reed stoops to pick it up.
I make my move.
I shove him hard. So hard he falls back and hits his head against the wall. I run back, grab the rifle, and spin around.
Reed’s on his feet and walks slowly towards me, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead.
Shit! I didn’t mean to hurt him.
At the sight of the gun, he stops walking.
“Sorry,” I say, pointing to his head wound. “I have to do this.” I grab the keys. “Sorry.”