Arghhhhhh, what’s that smell? What’s that? Who’s touching me? I open my eyes in a hurry to realise, my hotel door is shut but there is more than 4 guys in Chelsea and I’s room. That guy from yesterday is in the corner near the door watching me with his un-easy gaze. I look up, there is a man, abit older than the other guy with his hand over my mouth. I start trying to scream, but all I can let out is a faint murmur of ‘help’ desperately trying to kick and punch and wiggle my way out of this situation, the other guys rush over and put their hands around my hands and legs. The guy from the corner walks over with a sad look on his face, pours some foul smelling stuff on a cloth, and comes up close next to me. The older man with his hand over his mouth removes his fingers from my lips fast, and the younger guy puts the cloth to my mouth. I feel a slight dizziness, and within a few seconds I can’t help but un-willingly, un-wanting, my eyes draw to a close, my legs and arms go still, im out, all I can see is black.
I hear people talking, I realise im becoming conscious, im waking up. i can feel my hands an legs are still tied up though, I start trying to scream, I look around, im in a car, a ute, in the back seat. I glimpse out the back window before a hand slowly covers my eyes. I can see the resort back in the distance. I can vaguely see Chelsea and the group walking back towards the resort. I wonder to myself what will happen when they get back, see my bed a mess, and realise im not there. Well Chelsea panic? What will Mr Pridgeon do? I small single tear sheds from my eye as I realise the world, environment I have been pulled away, kidnapped, taken from by these strange, other-worldly men. Like a group of monsters out of a children’s book. Fast around the wet roads, there is no point in struggling; the car is going way to fast, plus the fact that it is filled with 4 men. I turn back around and sit down in my seat, they realise at this point im fully awake from whatever they put on my mouth that smelled like old petrol from a dirty service station. I look to the guy at my left, the one who watched me for the first day or so. He’s pulling a rather excruciating facial expression. He senses im staring at him, he turns his head, and looking at my eyes he sees my second hand eyeliner from the day before mixed with my tears and old foundation all over my pale yet red face from the point that I still feel quite sick. Raising his eyebrows into a puppy dog kind of face, he starts at me, his eyes moving up and down my body, he realises the rope around my wrists has gradually worn to the fact, my arms are now cut and bleeding from the tight rope. The same with my feet. I wonder what he’s thinking but it’s obvious soon. This man I don’t know the name of lifts his hand down into his backpack and pulls out a bottle of water and a cloth. He loosens the lid and unscrews the drink bottle pulling the brown hacked-up cloth to the opening of the bottle, presses it tight against the hole, and tips the bottle upside down on the cloth becomes drowned in water. Lifting it back up to the bottles original position he screw the lid back on and sits the bottle between his legs and holds it tightly. Lifting the cloth towards me he lowers it and places it on my wrists, gently and so caringly it shocks me, he wipes the access blood from my arms and wrists, then repeats the process with my legs. Finally he turns the cloth over, grabs my chin and softly wipes my face, and removes the old eyeliner, foundation and tears from my now red face. I look in his eyes, he looks in mine, he has kind, sweet eyes, and from being a part of this whole situation, he looks saddened. He doesn’t look much older than me, maybe just 18. The guy in the front passenger seat says something sternly to him in a different language, and the sweet-eyed guy quickly drops the cloth and turns around to face the front. He replies to the guy saying something else back in a language I don’t recognise and for the next what seems like hours we sit in silence as the oldest looking guy drives along the snowy, wet roads towards suburban population.
A long time later, we are driving towards Sydney international airport. Before I have time to speak the sharper, more unkind man on the other side of me pushes my head down onto my cold knees. But instead of driving around in the front entrance, I can see out the corner of my eye, we are going around a bag, more private entrance, it gets dark and then light again, we have driven into a massive garage at the airport. I realise without looking to excited this is my chance to get away, cry for help by civilised, normal people. There are security guards normally in airports. They will help me. I just have to get out and be silent, then bit the guy holding me and run like the wind. My plan was set. The kind guy opens the door and slowly gets out. The mean guy puts his hand around my mouth and the other arm on my stomach, he forces me out of the car, I do as he wants, careful not to create any thinking as to what im about to do. Si look around, there are two pilots standing near a small, seater fly plane. To the left of them, there is a small door. I can see bright sunlight rays shining through, showing me the way. Again they start to speak in a different language, and while they are not paying attention I see my chance. The pilots are getting bored and start to head for the door of the aircraft. I bite the guy holding me’s hand, and back kick my foot into his groin, after doing karate for 5 years I remember a great deal of it. He is now plummeting towards the cold concrete grey floor. Im running like the wind, getting closer and closer the door, which im now within 10 metres off. The kind guy is chasing after me until the driver of the car, before I have time to notice, pulls out a gun. I hear a loud bang and before I have a second to turn and look there is a sharp, hysterical pain in the back of my left leg. My other leg gives way and I fall to the ground. Not worrying about how much pain im in, I start trying to call to the door, im almost touching the outside sunlight when everything goes black; my head hits the ground with a silent thud.
I wake up again, still with a nauseating, excruciating pain in my leg, and a throbbing headache. My legs has been bandaged and cleaned and once again, instead of using rope, there‘s duct tape wrapped around my wrists. Listening quietly I hear a slight whistling sound. I begin to realise I am in a plane, headed for god knows where. The kind, caring guy is sitting next to me, im lying on the floor, he looks at me with that sweet smile, I look him in the eyes and a single tear runs down is cheek. He obviously knows something I don’t, and that puts a scared tone in my voice, he reaches down and grabs my arm to help me to sit up, wrapping his strong arms around me he rests his name on my shoulder and gives me the quickest yet faintest hug. I whisper in his ear, wondering if I will get a reply at all, “what is your name?” “he stares at me with genuine fear in his eyes, “my, my name is Jamal. Please don’t tell anyone you know that, just call me mister or something.” “I won’t” I promise him, and for a second a certain little glimpse of happiness rises in me.
He rises to his feet, turns and looks at me and replies to me, “stay here, I will be back soon with some food, I suspect you’ll be hungry by now.” “Thankyou” I say with a small faint giggle. . I want to ask him so much more, he has those kind of eyes you could stare into for days and never get bored. I want to know so desperately, where are they taking me? What have I done? How did they know I was going to the Hotham resort? But the question that’s dangling back and forward in my mind, like one of those old fashioned hall cocks with the long metal ball that swings back and forth constantly is, why? Why is this happening to me?