“So this is what they plan to do,” I whisper, fear freezing every ounce of the Ka within me.
He taps play on a video, which shows a close-up shot of a Verguli woman. She looks horrified, but shakily begins to say, “I’m here to tell you that the war in Sector 5 is a lie by the Alliance government officials meant to sway the public—” Her voice breaks and she hesitates, yellow eyes glazed over.
“You get the idea,” Kiva says quietly, exiting the page. “In any case, for the past month they’ve been posting articles claiming that the Kar’Kali genocide is a lie as well, and they specifically mention Ella and quote her, saying she’s a government puppet.”
I slam my fist against the small box that occupies the space between Vala and I.
“And here we are with a dead lead,” I growl. “What will we do? You are certain Ella is not being held on this compound?”
“Certain,” Mori nods. “Not a single translator chip in sight. Not many humans in the less populated areas get chips. It would even still appear in this scan if she were d—”
Vala shoots him a glare to silence the end of that thought.
“No,” I say, thinking on that. An idea strikes me. “No, and these kidnappers wouldn’t have translator chips, would they? Because they are too suspicious. If she is not here, she must be close by. Keep expanding your scan radius, and when you get a hit, I am confident it will be her.”
***
ELLA
Rip. Question. Slap. Question. Slap. Question. Rip.
He’s done this before. He’s controlled, practiced, and perfectly timed.
I cannot see my captor’s face, but I know I will never forget him now. He’s stamped in my mind, un-erasable— his open palm as it approaches my face, his gruff, hateful voice, and the threat of his body which towers over me. His knife slices at my clothes. He asks me questions, and then either hits me or tears at my clothing like some kind of disturbing dance routine.
“Is Kar’Kal a real place? Or have you just believed what they told you?”
If I don’t answer him at all, I learned he will pin himself on top of me with the knife to my throat and whisper horrible things in my ear. At least if I answer him wrong, he only slaps and tears my clothing. For now, anyways.
“It’s real,” I whimper. I tried not to cry for a little while, but that ended quick. He pulls back his arm and I flinch, but he doesn’t strike this time. Every once in a while, he does this. I guess he just likes to fuck with my head, that extra little bit.
I don’t know how long it’s been, but my clothes are in tatters from his little rips. One by one, the rips have accumulated and I’m wondering how much longer they’ll last before my clothing slides away and leaves me naked. Somehow it’s even creepier when I realize he doesn’t seem to be all that interested in sexual violence for his own personal enjoyment. He dishes it out coldly, like a weapon. If he catches a whiff of resistance or bravery from me, he reminds me how easily how can overpower me. He knows I fear that unspoken possibility, so he uses it. The suggestion of what he could do to me hangs in the air, making me shake with anxiety.
“Oh really? Have you been there?”
“No.” Slap. The pain in my cheek explodes.
“You stupid naïve bitch. Then how are you so certain?”
I bite down on my lip and sob.
“I said, how are you so certain?”
I can’t control myself. I start sobbing so hard I can’t even speak. He sighs and sits back. What will he do to me now?
“Let’s take a break,” he says. My captor’s voice changes completely, turning to a relaxed tone.
I tense, eyes widening. I’m sure it’s some kind of trick, but I try not to react. I focus on tamping down on my ugly sobs that I had been holding back for far too long.
“I want you to know I don’t enjoy doing this. You might even thank me. You’ve been brainwashed, and it’s the only way to deprogram your brain,” he tells me sadly, even patting my knee sympathetically. I twitch away from him, and the jerky movement causes my pant leg to finally give way and shred in two. “I’ll have our mutual friend bring you some food, but then it’s back to business. I am hopeful that we’ll be able to help you.”
He leaves me there, and when the door shuts behind him, my body sprawls limp like a puppet with its strings cut. I breathe deeply, cherishing every second that I’m no longer under his questioning. My face throbs. I close my eyes, not wanting to look down and see what parts of me are on display through my disheveled clothes.
When the door opens again though, I snap taught in preparation for what’s coming. But it’s not the masked man here to question me. It’s the woman. The one I can only assume lives here and wishes she was never dragged into this. The one that won’t help me.
Raven-haired, willowy, and severe, she looks young, younger than I am, but she wears a cold glare that ages her flawless face. “I’m untying your hands so you can eat, but before you get any ideas there’s three men out there.”
“I’m not going to try and hurt you,” I tell her. She doesn’t look convinced, but she approaches with a paper plate topped with a sandwich and a handful of chips. After setting it down on the bed, she helps me stand up and then unties my arms.
She steps back and watches me carefully as I pick up the plate. I don’t hesitate to scarf it down. I’m hungry as anything, and the pain screaming in my face isn’t going to stop me from devouring this food.
“I’m Ella,” I say, once I’ve come up for air.
“I heard you the first time,” she says.
I nod, taking another bite. I guess she’s not planning on replying with her own name. She doesn’t want to help me. Maybe she’s as trapped by these assholes as I am somehow.
My voice shakes as I whisper, “What do they want from me?”
Her stony expression falters for a moment. Does she feel pity for me? Anything?
“Just tell him what he wants to hear,” she says. “He thinks he’s doing a service to the fucking universe by un-brainwashing you.”
“What do they think this is going to prove?” I sigh before shoving more of the sandwich in my mouth.
The woman shakes her head. “Stop trying to rationalize it. They’re assholes, plain and simple.”
I turn to her and plead with my eyes. “I can help you. There’s someone coming for me, and when he’s here we can help you get away from them.”
It’s a desperate plea, and as soon as I see her incredulous expression, I know I won’t get through to her.
“You’re an idiot,” she snorts. “No one knows where you are. No one is coming here. If you think you’re fucked… Once they’re done with you, they’ll leave you somewhere and you’ll go back to your regularly scheduled programming. Me? This is my life. I’m stuck forever. So shut your mouth about things you don’t understand.”
She’s awfully confident in the statement that no one is coming here, but I know Kila is looking for me. I know it more certainly than I know my own name. He’s the kind of man that crawls across a desert to survive. He’s the kind of man that clings to the under-carriage of a bus just to eat dinner with me. And even though I didn’t say ‘I love you’ back, he’s the kind of man that won’t stop until he finds me.