Lucia
New York
What are they going to do to me?
I feel like I’ve been in this place for eons.
I don’t even know if I’m still in New York, or if they’ve taken me across state.
They took Dad and locked me in this… dungeon.
It has to be that. It’s so dark I can’t even see myself.
I’ve been in here for so long I’ve gotten used to the acrid scent of piss, shit, and whatever that something is clinging to the air. My mind is telling me the something is either a dead body or the rotting remains of a person.
That’s the least of my worries, however, because I don’t know if Dad is dead or alive.
Last night—I’m certain it must be daytime now—was supposed to be ordinary, in my parents’ ordinary home, for an ordinary meal.
Dad and I have been eating dinner together nearly every evening since Mom died. This Sunday is the sixth month mark.
He’d just started talking about his day at work when the front door crashed open and men stormed the house. Men who looked like they were from the cartel. They spoke a mixture of Spanish and Portuguese.
The one in charge hit Dad so hard with the back of his gun he couldn’t even talk.
The man mentioned some debt Dad owed as he struck him over and over again and kicked him until he coughed blood.
Two other men grabbed me as I screamed and tried to help him. They carried me away, tossed me into the back of a truck, and brought me here, where I’ve been worried over what might have happened to my father.
A man like Dad shouldn’t know these types of people.
He’s a respectable freelance software engineer with his own business. He mostly works for the government. Dad is as mundane as you can get. He reads the newspaper every morning and the New Scientist at lunchtime. He has the same menu for dinner every week and ends his nights with an episode of Star Trek. Outside of that his time is devoted to computers.
Dad has never mentioned anything about debts to me. Not a damn thing.
But why would he, Lucia? Come on.
I’m the last person he’d tell a thing like that. He’s always taking care of me.
If not for him, I’d be dead. I would have found some way to end my life either through the hard drugs I was taking or by some other means.
Footsteps echo outside the metal door of my prison. When the lock clicks and the door swings open, a bright blinding light shines through along with the man who beat up Dad. This is the first I’m seeing him since I’ve been here.
I christened him the Beast for his size and gravelly voice.
A smile dances across his face as I straighten.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he says in a taunting voice.
“Where is my father? Did you hurt him?” That’s all I want to know.
He laughs. “I’m taking you outside for a little chat.”
“Tell me what you did!”
He rushes over to me so fast I barely register he’s moved. He grabs my shoulders and slams me into the wall so hard stars speckle my vision.
“Listen to me, girlie, you are in no position to make demands,” he growls. “I would have either fucked you all six ways to Sunday or killed you already if not for the opportunity that just fell into my lap. An opportunity you will help with if you want to see another sunrise.”