If I’d really never seen my little sister again, it would have haunted me every single day, hollowed out my existence, and made every single breath painful. I would resent her then too…for making me live without her.
“What do you think’s going to happen?” Melanie couldn’t hide the tremble of her voice, the way her breathing picked up as her imagination gave her answers she didn’t want.
“We were trafficked and bought by a man who lives out in the middle of nowhere…or I have no idea.”
“Do you have a plan?” She always turned to me for answers, always asked for my help before even trying to find a solution herself. Even apart, she was dependent on me, texting me and asking for help with problems she needed to learn to figure out how to solve on her own. She always asked for money and wiped out what little I had in savings. I never told her how broke I was and just wired the money, knowing she needed it more than I did, even though I was the one who worked for it.
“Do I look like I have a plan?” Until I got these ropes off my wrists and ankles, I couldn’t fight for our freedom. And even if I could, I suspected they would continually drug us into submission, and once the dosage lost its potency, they would crank it up…until our hearts gave out.
She turned quiet.
I didn’t do what I always did and tell her everything would be alright. I didn’t make false promises so she could sleep at night. I didn’t fill her life with pink wallpaper and fake stories of triumph.
The best way to protect her now was to not protect her.
When this wagon stopped, we would be in the presence of evil, with someone who lacked empathy, compassion, and even worse, humanity. Our bodies would be used until they ran out of gas, and then we would be buried somewhere in this forest to later be scavenged by wolves and other woodland animals after the snow melted and revealed our bodies underneath. The cold would preserve our bodies, so the flesh could be ripped from our cheeks by a pair of strong jaws. Piece by piece, we would be stripped down to bones. We had no family, so no one would cross oceans to find us. If someone did uncover our remains, it would be decades later, and the only way to determine our identity would be through dental records. But what would be the point…when none lived to care?
How did you protect someone from that?
“Raven.”
I continued to face the other way, staring at the passing landscape through a small hole in the wood. “Don’t. Just don’t…” I already knew what she was going to say, and her remorse had no effect on me. I didn’t want to hear it, not when I couldn’t forgive her.
I couldn’t forgive her… Not this time.
3
Kill the Weeds
I heard voices.
Lots of voices.
Men. Women.
It sounded like we were approaching an establishment, but what kind of establishment would exist out here in the middle of nowhere? A place that couldn’t be accessed by car? I focused my hearing to gain as much information as possible before we were thrown into the fray.
A man’s deep voice sounded from up ahead. “What do you have for me?”
“Two. Both fresh.”
Fresh? Who described someone as fresh?
The wagon came to a stop. One of the horses released a loud breath, as if he was tired from the long trek through the cold. Our bodies rolled slightly once the forward momentum ceased.
Melanie’s breathing went haywire.
“Save your energy,” I whispered. The unknown was the most frightening thing to all living beings, and I really had no idea what to expect, what my purpose was in this isolated place, but my heart rate was low, my focus primed, my instincts for survival high.
A man emerged into my sight and unlocked the hinge of the wagon, so it opened like the bed of a truck. The man didn’t have a face because it was hidden in a bulky hood, animal fur lining the edge of the heavy fabric, giving it weight so it remained slumped down over his face. The material was gray like London fog, and it was part of a cloak, a kind of garment I thought only existed in stories. His outstretched arms showed the thick leather material of his jacket underneath, the gray stitching matching the color of his cloak. The edges of his sleeves were cuffed with the same animal fur as his hood, and black leather gloves covered his hands. He looked well-dressed and warm.
I would have demanded answers and tried to kick him in the face, but I was stunned by what I saw. It was as if I’d stepped into a nightmare about a cult living deep in the forest of the French Alps.