Path of Jen: Bloodborne

by Sidney Wood

  Path of Jen

  -Bloodborne-

  By Sidney Wood

  Copyright ©2016 by Sidney A. Wood. All rights reserved. Unauthorized copying or reproduction of this work, in whole, or in any individual part, is prohibited without written consent from the author.

  Epub Edition, License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Acknowledgments

  This book was written with an eye on current events, and features true to life circumstances. For everything it is, I thank my friends and family. I appreciate your patience, good judgment, and honesty. Thank you Christina, for being interested in the storyline and inspiring me to work harder. Thank you Moe, for asking intelligent questions. You helped me find the answers. Lastly, thank you Nathalie, for reading this one! And, as always, for letting me write. I don’t know why you love me so much, but I accept all of it! For everything it is not, I can only say, stick around and see what comes next.

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Note from the Author

  About the Author

  Discover other titles by Sidney Wood

  Connect with Sidney Wood

  Prologue

  Wisps of smoke twisted from the end of a filter-less cigarette as the driver took another drag. His olive colored hands trembled slightly, one holding the cigarette to his lips, the other resting at the top of the steering wheel. He was parked curbside in the arrivals area at Tehran’s IKA airport. To a passerby, he looked like any other cab driver waiting on a fare, but the people he picked up never got to their planned destination. They simply disappeared.

  He put both hands on the wheel and pushed back against the seat. Rolling his neck, he lowered his head and slowly exhaled. Smoke billowed out of his mouth, enveloping his head before escaping out the gap at the top of the window. The smoke washed away the worry and the guilt. It allowed him to relax and focus on the job. That’s what this was, after all. It was just a job. Slowly, he raised his head. His hands were no longer trembling.

  People were starting to come out of the baggage claim area. The driver watched the crowds for a target. His employers would take boys if that was all he could get, but girls were what they wanted…always girls. He glanced at the beaded necklace hanging from the rear view mirror and winced. He stuffed the half-smoked cigarette into the overfull ashtray, and pulled a new one out of his shirt pocket. His hands were trembling again. Cupping his hands the way he once saw on a poster of the American Marlboro Man, he lit the new cigarette and took a long slow drag. “I’m just the driver,” he told himself for the thousandth time. “I just give them a ride.” He opened his mouth just enough to let the smoke seep out of his lips and over his face on its way out of the window.

  Through bloodshot eyes he spotted a pretty teenage girl of about fifteen or sixteen. She was waiting near the doorway, wearing a full length dark blue dress and yellow hijab, and looking up and down the sidewalk for her ride. Without a conscious thought his hand flipped a switch on the dash, illuminating the taxi light on top of his car. He put the car in drive and maneuvered to the curb directly in front of the girl.

  Ten minutes later the light on top of his cab was no longer lit. The off-duty taxi sped through the city to a place the girl had not asked to go. At first she sat quietly and wondered if he knew of a different route than she was used to. She worked up the courage to ask where he was taking her, but he did not answer. She tried to open the door, but it was locked.

  He never spoke to them. That would be even worse. He watched her struggle vainly with the locked door in the rear view mirror. The swaying necklace caught his eye and he winced again. He reached down and stuffed the cigarette he was smoking in the overfull ashtray, and pulled another out of his shirt pocket. He steered the car with his knee as he lit the new cigarette and took a long slow drag.

  After another ten minutes of seemingly random driving he turned down a dark and secluded alley. At the end of the alley he pulled the car into an open garage door and shut off the engine. The girl in the back seat was frantic and shouting for him to tell her what was happening, but he ignored her. Pulling the key from the ignition he grabbed the beaded necklace from the mirror and stepped out of the car. He closed the door quietly, took a drag from his cigarette, and walked out of the garage. As he was leaving he pulled on a rope that hung in the entryway, lowering the overhead door until it was completely closed and the locking pin clicked into place. The sounds of her shouting were muffled to a distant noise and more easily ignored. Tossing the half smoked cigarette on the ground, he pulled another from his shirt pocket, cupped his hands and lit it. He took a long slow drag, exhaled, and then turned and walked away.

  In the dark garage, the girl in the yellow hijab kicked at the doors and windows, trying to get free. She screamed and sobbed uncontrollably, terrified at what would happen to her. She prayed to Allah and cried for her mother. “Help me!” she begged in Farsi, over and over. She fell silent when she saw the door in the corner of the garage open and two dark figures entered. An overhead light came on and the men approached the car. She screamed and tried frantically to open the opposite door. It wouldn’t budge. One of the men opened the other door and reached for her. She kicked at him, but he easily brushed her feet aside and grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out of the car. He hoisted her upright and wrapped his arms around her as the other man placed a black bag over her head. She screamed again, crying for them to stop, but they did not. She felt a sharp prick in her shoulder and soon, despite all of her efforts not too, she stopped resisting. Her head spun and her body felt heavy. She slowly drifted off to sleep.

  Ahmed roughly threw the teenage girl over his shoulder and followed Hassan back through the same door they had entered. Hassan’s broad shoulders blocked Ahmed’s view as they walked through the narrow and poorly lit hall of the old building. Ahmed didn’t need to see, he just followed the black leather jacket and black slacks of his partner until they exited the opposite side of the building. He brushed against Hassan’s shoulder smelling leather and spiced sweat as he passed him to unload the unconscious girl into the side of a waiting minivan. Hassan moved to stand near the front of the van and kept watch as Ahmed closed the sliding door and fished the keys out of his gray “Member’s Only” jacket. Ahmed opened the driver side door and hopped in. He waited for Hassan to climb in the other side before turning the key and firing up the engine. Ahmed put the van in gear and pulled away from the empty storefront. Hassan lit a cigarette and handed it to Ahmed before lighting another for himself. Neither said a word as they drove the unconscious teenage girl in a dark blue dress and yellow hijab to her next destination.

  Thirty minutes later Ahmed parked the van in an empty parking lot. He turned off the engine and put out the cigarette he was smoking. Hassan continued to smoke his own. Ahmed looked at Hassan and then pointedly at his cigarette. Hassan shrugged his shoulders and looked out the window. Ahmed leaned back in his seat and sighed. He hated waiting. He looked over his shoulder at the girl on the floor in the back, and then glanced at Hassan. He was still looking out the window. Ahmed looked over his shoulder again, watching her chest rise and fall slightly with each breath. He imagined how soft her young teenage skin must feel, and his heart began to race. He wanted to get in the back with her.

  His partner was looking at him now and Ahmed smiled mischievously. He gestured with is chin toward the girl and winked at Hassan. He grab
bed the door handle and pulled. The door jarred open, but before he could step out a strong hand grasped his jacket by the shoulder and yanked him back. Hassan’s cigarette was hanging from his mouth. One of his hands grasped Ahmed’s jacket, preventing him from exiting, and the other was curled into a tight fist, ready to strike. Hassan looked Ahmed directly in the eyes and slowly shook his head left and right.

  Ahmed jerked his shoulder away from Hassan and sat back in his seat. He slammed the door shut and stared out the window, avoiding his partner’s accusing look. It wasn’t as if it mattered. The girl would endure much worse in the days to come. He spit out the window. Hassan tapped him on the shoulder. Ahmed refused to look at first, but he smelled the offered cigarette and changed his mind. He turned and nodded at Hassan. He took the cigarette and tried to forget the girl.

  Ahmed saw a truck approaching the parking lot. He reached over and tapped Hassan on the arm. The two men stepped out of the van and took a moment to smooth the wrinkles out of their clothes. Ahmed walked around to Hassan’s side and opened the sliding door. The girl was lying still, breathing softly. The black bag was still over her head.

  The truck, a shiny black Toyota SUV, pulled up alongside the minivan and stopped. The doors opened and a muscular man with a crew cut and neatly trimmed beard, wearing a green jogging suit, stepped out. A smaller man wearing blue jeans and a tight fitting black t-shirt climbed down from the other side. The big man nodded at Hassan as he stepped closer to look at the girl. Ahmed pulled the bag off and turned her head to show the big man her face. He pushed Ahmed aside without looking at him and inspected more closely. Starting with her scalp and working his way down her body, he searched her for obvious wounds. Satisfied that she was in good shape he nodded again at Hassan and stepped back. Hassan and Ahmed picked her up and transferred her to the back seat of the truck.

  Once she was loaded and the back doors were secured, the big man and his partner climbed back into their vehicle. The big man’s window rolled down and he placed an envelope into Hassan’s hand. Without a word, the window rolled back up and the shiny black Toyota sped off.

  Two days later, a teenage girl in a dirty blue dress lay on her back in a small bed in the back of a Syrian brothel. Her uncovered head was turned toward the door and a yellow hijab lay on the floor nearby. Her eyelids drooped heavily as opiates continued to sedate her and overrule her wishes to escape. As she stared blankly, the single door opened quietly and a skinny man with weathered brown skin and a curly black beard stepped in. He had not bathed in many days, and the smell of his sweat flooded the room. The door swung quietly closed and she shut her eyes

  Chapter One

  Jen pushed the white lace curtain aside and looked out of her bedroom window. She could see her father, dressed as usual in gray slacks and a white shirt, loading his suitcase and carry-on into the back of their silver Jeep Cherokee. Mom stood near him with her arms crossed, wearing her favorite tan capri’s and a blue tank top. Beyond the family car was a short paved driveway and their quiet neighborhood street. The tree in their front yard was in bloom and some of its tiny pink blossoms spotted the perfectly trimmed lawn.

  “Come on Jena,” her father called from below. “We have to check in early." Her father was not the kind of man to complain, usually, but airport security was a sore spot for him. He travelled within the states frequently for his job, and was always subjected to full scrutiny, including body scans and pat searches, from TSA. Now the two of them were traveling abroad to the Middle East, back to his home for Jen’s sixteenth birthday, and he expected even more of a delay. Jen’s parents were naturalized Iranians, and although Jen was born in the US and fully American, she would probably face the same scrutiny as she travelled.

  Jen hurriedly closed the bedroom window and let the lace curtain fall into place. Despite the hot June weather, her room was comfortable and cool, just the way Jen liked it. She took one last look around as she stooped to extend the handle on her rolling luggage. Her TV and Xbox were turned off, her bed was made, and her MacBook Air was closed on her desk. Her room was spotless. Her mother, a doctor at the local hospital, had purchased Jen the matching luggage set when her father had announced the surprise trip a month ago. She wished her mother could go with them, but there was no time to renew her passport and Jen suspected that a trip to Iran was not something her mother would be excited about. Her mom had shared stories of her childhood in Iran with Jen, and although she had many fond memories, the stories were always to point out the dangers and flawed thinking toward women within an Islamic state.

  Jen’s father was more traditional than her mother. He was less critical of Islamic Law and still practiced their faith, although only as often as his hectic schedule allowed. He was a loving and patient father and loving husband, but Jen knew he had trouble reconciling his faith with the liberal and tolerant culture they were living in. Discussions about her future were the times his frustration was most apparent. Mother wished her to go to college and to pursue as much in life as she could dream of. Her father wanted Jen to find a husband, a Muslim husband, and learn to be a devoted wife. Even so, he showered her with popular American gifts and let her listen to American pop music. Jen often thought that if her dad’s Muslim faith were described in terms of being a vegetarian, he would be semi-veg at best.

  Jen’s best friend, Sarah, teased her about it all of the time. Sarah would point out a cute boy at school or at the mall and say, “Ooh, there’s one Jen! Oh wait. I’m sorry; he’s not going to pass the mustard: definitely not a Muslim." They would both sigh and pretend to be sad and solemn for a second. Then they would break out giggling. Sarah and Jen had been best friends since the first day of second grade when they sat next to each other on the swings at recess. Jen wished Sarah, or even her mom was going along on this trip. A whole week with her dad in a foreign country, visiting family she had never met, seemed like an eternity. At least she had her iPhone. With that thought, she patted the back pocket in her American-Eagle jeans to make sure it was there.

  “Oh crap!” she said aloud. Dropping the handle to her luggage, Jen hurried to her nightstand and unplugged her phone charger. “That was close,” she thought as she wound the cord around the block and shoved them in her jacket pocket. She sighed and tried to relax, but she was a bundle of energy.

  “Jena!” she heard her father yell from outside.

  “Coming!” Jen yelled in return. She took hold of the luggage handle again and rolled the piggy-backed suitcases behind her to the top of the stairs. Instead of carrying them down or pulling them down the stairs behind her, Jen unstacked them, collapsed the handle on the big one, and slid them down the carpeted stairs one at a time. The hard plastic suitcases slid down dangerously fast and skidded to a stop at the bottom. “Yes!” she said with arms raised in victory.

  Jen raced down after them and scooped them up by the carrying handles on the side, one in each hand. She leaned away from the big one for balance as she struggled through the front door and out to the car. Her dad took them from her and loaded them carefully into the back with his own mismatched and well-used luggage.

  “Give your mom a hug so we can go,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Her mother smiled warmly as Jen skipped over to her and gave her a big hug. “I love you, mom." Then leaning her head back she looked at her mom and added, “I don’t understand why you can’t just drop us off at the airport."

  Her mom sighed and glanced toward Jen’s father. She ignored the question rather than re-start the argument. “Happy birthday, Little Bird,” she said as she hugged her only daughter. Little Bird, the meaning of Jena in Farsi, was her mother’s nick-name for her since she was a baby. Taking Jen’s face in her hands she looked her in the eye and said, “Enjoy this trip Jen. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to experience a completely different world." Then after another quick glance at Jen’s father, she quietly said, “Be very careful and stay near your father, always."

  Looking
puzzled, Jen answered, “Okay mom, I love you! Bye!" She blew her mom a kiss and ran around the back of the jeep to get in the other side.

  Seconds later Jen and her father were on the road and headed for the Dallas airport. The buzzing energy she felt moments before dissipated as her father’s quiet demeanor set the tone for the ride. When Jen was younger her father had been fun and loved to play with her. Now that she was a teenager, he always seemed to be frowning. Even when he had time for her it was a different kind of relationship. “Maybe he’s disappointed they never had a son?" Jen put her red Skull Candy earbuds in and hit shuffle on her favorite playlist. “It Ends Tonight” by the All American Rejects filled her head with sound and she leaned the seat back and closed her eyes.

  An hour later Jen stood next to her father as the TSA agent posted at the entrance to the security screening looked at their passports. She was a slender black woman with stylishly cropped hair and manicured French Tips. Her uniform was nearly as flawless as her skin, and Jen thought she would be beautiful if she would just smile. She couldn’t help staring at her. McNair was the name on her identification tag. “Line two,” officer McNair said flatly, handing the passports and boarding passes back to Jen’s Father. She turned and waved a hand at another agent in the screening area and held up two fingers.

  Jen followed her dad through the tiny gate and into the line for screening lane number two. It was the line for the body scan machine. Looking back toward the entrance, Jen saw officer McNair smiling and making small talk with the white couple who were next at her podium. “Awesome,” she thought sarcastically. Her dad saw her looking and simply nodded in understanding.

  A little while later Jen was sitting next to her father at the Lufthansa departure gate, sipping on a chai tea latte and playing “Trivia Crack” on her iPhone with Sarah. While she waited for her next turn she looked around the terminal. Two women in opaque black burqas stood near the check-in counter with a young girl of perhaps five standing between them and dressed in a cute, pink summer dress and pink sandals. The stark contrast made Jen wonder. “Why would anyone choose to be hidden under a cloak like that?" It seemed like once a girl became a woman she stopped being a person.