Kidnapped (A Short Story by Martie Coetser)
The sound of a speeding car close behind urged Mia to steer her bike onto the pavement and almost through a shrubby fence. Anger overwhelmed her. The yellow Honda was her heart’s desire for more than three years. At last, a week ago, on her sixteenth birthday, she finally got it. And now she was battling to free it from this shrubby fence. The wind was blowing her hair all over her face, making it impossible for her to see what she was doing or the scoundrel who was speeding like a maniac in a built-up area.
Abruptly she became aware of the car that had come to a standstill right behind her. It was a black car with dark-tinted windows. A man who was dressed in jeans and a red T-shirt was standing between her and the car’s opened door.
The next moment she found herself inside the car, gasping for air under the unbearable weight of a man's body, stinking of fish, old sweat and garlic. The car was moving fast, cutting corners evidenced by screaming tires.
Her mouth was as dry as a whistle, her heart was hammering in her throat; the realization that her life was in danger paralyzed her like an anaesthetic.
A power inside her took over. The next moment she found herself sitting in the corner of the back seat, twisted with her arms around her legs. In the process of freeing herself, she had kicked the man where no man should be kicked. She expected to be killed with one blow the moment the man caught his breath. In vain she tried to open the door.
They were driving on the N-1 highway. Nobody on the outside could see her through the tinted windows. The steel-blue eyes, in the rear-view mirror, of a driver with a big shaved head, sent shivers with blades through her veins. She had no doubts, she was facing Death.
When the man next to her, the ugliest man she had ever seen, started to hit her in the face, she felt no pain. The hate and contempt in his eyes penetrated her soul and released the tears no one was supposed to see.
“So you are a fighter?” he snarled, and, with his fingers around her neck, he slowly started to strangle her, as if her agony was his delight. “Just because your daddy is a judge..."
“Shut-up!” bellowed the man behind the wheel. “I said no talking!”
Fighting nausea and dizziness, Mia covered her face with her hands. The darkness reminded her of praying but 'Jesus' was the only word she could find in her mind. She could feel His absence; she was all alone like a lamb, caged with two hungry lions.
Random pictures of her parents, imprinted in her memory, flashed through her mind. Her father, Judge Gerry Nicholson, and her beautiful mother, Maryanne. She could see them standing next to her grave, petrified with grief.Suddenly she knew what they were talking about the previous day when she burst into the kitchen with the good news that she was going to be awarded as best achiever on piano. "What can they possibly do to us?" were the words of her father before he pretended to be his calm and contented self. The release of prisoners who were convicted by him was a constant concern of her mother.
The car was no longer on the highway, but on a bumpy, graveled road leading to the dam. The man was pulling her hair, forcing her face into his lap. He was calling her names, shouting, demanding the unimaginable, threatening her with an enormous flat-file.... "Please me and maybe I will let you live, or would you like them to rake you together with scoops...."
“For f-c-s sake!" bellowed the man behind the wheel again. "Just kill her and throw her out.... this road is a f-ck-ng nightmare!" Indeed, he had chosen an unlit, abandoned road on the edge of a precipice.
Mia was no longer afraid to die. She made up her mind; she would die fighting. While using her teeth, nails, feet and fists, she targeted herself towards those brown eyes burning with hatred. She was no longer Mia Nicholson, but a wild cat in a tearing rage. He was stabbing her with the file, but she felt no pain.
© Martie Coetser
When she opened her eyes she saw fluffy white clouds floating in the air. A couple of yards away was a fire busy devouring a black car. Inside the car, draped over the steering wheel, was a human body in flames. Pinned to the trunk of a tree was another body burning.
“This can’t be real,” was the only thought in Mia’s mind. One minute she was trying to free her Honda from a shrubby fence. The wind was blowing her hair all over her face.... her face. Her face was now bleeding in her hands.
© Martie Coetser