In Spain

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Readers are in for a thrilling adventure

Submitted: January 03, 2012

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Submitted: January 03, 2012

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Departure

 

It was a hot summer day and I was sweating like a pig in the airport. My deodorant was not working and people could smell me from a mile away. I didn’t care one bit tho, because I was about to leave Australia for Spain. A great holiday an adventure if you will, two weeks off work, all expenses paid. There is no way in the world I could of payed with my lousy job, I won the holiday. I won it on a stupid game show no one watches, but that does not matter.

  I got on the plane stinking like a rat and sat in my clothes and sat in first class. It was wonderful; you won’t understand what I mean until you experience it yourself. During the flight I had some television programs to watch, they varied from MTV to real life medical shows. I found an interesting documentary while flicking through the channels; it was about my destination, about Spain. It was telling me about the dangers of Spain, the places I should not go, the sort of people I should watch out for, that kind of stuff. But I wasn’t going to let this dodgy documentary ruin my good time, I am a free man and I can do what I ever I please.

 The documentary was boring me and the other shows were not any better, so I slept. I had a few drinks, checked out the attractive waitress and slept.

 

Arrival

 

I arrived at Spain and the sun was shining on in the clear sky. I was at Barcelona airport, very different to Sydney. The plane smashing into the tarmac and breaking woke me from my lazy boy slumber. The attractive waitress was gone; instead a tall blond male was serving me and the other first class passengers.

 It was not long before I had left the comfort of first class and been blasted by the heat at Barcelona. Many football fans flooded the Airport singing their favourite teams song aloud carelessly, the atmosphere was amazing.

 I went through customs just fine, I grabbed a coke on the way out and waited for a taxi. I had been sitting on the hot metal bench (Grill?) for five minutes when a man came to me. A tall bloke with tan skin and black hair, he had a dodgy suit on and big black sunglasses.

‘Need a Taxi sir?’ he asked me courteously.

‘That would be great thank you.’ I smiled at him and he grabbed my suitcase, and threw it into the boot of his taxi. I jumped in the front passenger seat. He got in the driver’s seat and asked me were i was going. I forgot the name of the hotel so I said: ‘Mate, I have forgotten the name of the place I’m supposed to stay at.’ He interrupted me and said: ‘Say no more, I have seen this happen to many people. I will take you to the best place in Barcelona!’ he laughed then patted me on the back.

‘You’re in good hands my friend.’ He stopped and smiled at me.

‘You’re in good hands.’ He repeated.

I told him I was low on cash and I could not stay anywhere to fancy. He reassured me that not a problem and I thought I heard him mumble to himself: ‘Were you’re going, you don’t need money.’ I was not sure if I heard right, but it didn’t worry me.

 

Welcome to the Jungle

 

I had been in the Taxi for at least half an hour. I had asked him many times were this place is. He just said: ‘Not much further my friend.’ By now I was starting to be a little worried. I vaguely remember in the documentary on the plane telling me about the ‘bad’ taxis. It told of ‘bad’ taxis that were not real taxis, they were criminals. They abducted tourists for ransom, and if they could not get the ransom, you have just got to hope for the best. I remember it saying that this is very likely, but totally possible. They advised checking the taxi driver’s licence to verify them, to check that they are not fraudulent. I don’t remember how tho, they said it is very difficult to tell the difference between the legit licences and the fake. So even if I did remember how to check them, I probably wouldn’t; I’m terrible with that kind of stuff.

 It was getting dark, and now I definitely was concerned.

‘You can drop me off at the next hotel thanks.’ I told him, he laughed, that made me worry more.

‘Yeah I could friend.’ He laughed again. ‘I could but, you see friend, I am kid napping you, and doing that would make me an idiot.’ He looked at me and laughed. ‘I kid, I kid!’ He burst into hysterics ‘Yeah sure friend, I will drop you off at the next place.’ He contained his laughter and calmed down. This creep better be joking, he almost gave me a heart attack when he said that.

‘That’s not very funny mate.’ I was very frightened by the taxi driver, he was quite tall and masculine. I was short, skinny and weak.

‘True my friend, I’m sorry.’ His smirk went away and his expression was now serious. I felt a bit better.

 He soon stopped at the next hotel as I asked, it was a dump. We were quite far out from the city, we were in the outskirts. One of the places the documentary advised against.

 I paid my fair, said good bye to the freaky taxi driver, and went to the hotel reception room. I watched the taxi speed off into the night. A short old women came to the desk were I was waiting. She said something in Spanish I did not understand. I looked at her and said: ‘No Espanola.’ The old lady shook her head then pointed to sign on the glass door, I looked at it, the sign read in bald red letters: “NO VACANCY”

My heart dropped to the floor, I was such an idiot, I should have checked before the taxi left.

 I left reception and entered the dark of the night. And too my surprise a taxi sat still on the other side of the rode, just my luck. I ran over and hoped in the front, I out my bag at my feet. The taxi driver laughed, I looked at him, and it was the freaky driver from before.

‘I saw the sign on the door friend, but you were gone. And I didn’t want to walk out in the cold, sorry friend.’ He laughed to himself. ‘Were to friend?’ he looked at me.

‘Are you able to take me to the place you were going to before?’ I was very desperate; his answer came at me like a charging bull.

‘Sure friend, no problem!’ He started the engine and started down the road.

 The view of the old houses and shops on the street poorly lit by an old street light soon changed. The view changed to overgrown grass, trees with vines as big as my wrist, and no lights at all. The road was gravel; I saw cows on the side of the road, alive and dead. I felt like I had been thrown into the Jungle Book.  

‘Were this place?’ I asked him, my worry was coming back slowly, creeping into my mind.

‘My place?’ he asked, that shocked me with a high vault of fright.

‘What!’ I exclaimed. ‘You’re place?’ The taxi driver laughed at me.

‘Yes friend my place.’

‘Why didn’t you say you were taking me to your place?’ He laughed once again, almost sarcastically.

‘I just did, friend.’ 

‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier for crying out loud?’ He took a deep breath, he didn’t laugh this time, and he was serious.

‘If I told before you could have run away, but now we are in the jungle friend, and you can’t.’

 

You’re place or mine?

 

When he said that I tried to escape, I tried to open the door but couldn’t, the lock was no were to be found either. I stared smashing the window with my hand.

‘Stop it you shit, you’re going to break something!’ he yelled.

‘Shut up you creep.’

And as Insulted him, slammed on the breaks, the car slid on the loose gravel. He got out of the car and opened his boot, I stared for his side of the car. I got out and started running.

‘Get back here you stupid shit!’ He screamed. I ran as fast as I could, so did he. The man was gaining on me; he dived and tackled me to the ground, turned me over to face him. He reached behind himself and grabbed an old revolver. He put it to my forehead, and said: ‘Are you going to behave or do you want to play a solo game of Russian rue let?’ I had to be careful what I said. I told him I would behave and he carried me to the taxi, he threw me in the back of the car.

‘Since you misbehaved’ He didn’t say another word, he laughed and brought the handle of the revolver down on my skull, he pistol whipped me unconscious.

 I came to in what looked like a basement, a cellar. I could hear people discussing something, I could not hear them completely, but I have ears like a fox.

‘And what if he can’t pay boss?’

‘He will Hernandez, and if he doesn’t…’

I heard laughter. I could not hear what they were saying after that.

 I was sitting there in the damp cellar with a massive headache for three hours at least when the taxi man and his friend came down to join me. They both had pistols, and bad intentions.

‘Ready to leave friend?’ the taxi driver asked, he punched his friend in the shoulder and they both laughed. I spat blood at their feet, they laughed even harder.

‘Well friend, I guess you are, up you get.’ The taxi man said. The taxi man threw me over his shoulder, he was very strong.

‘Almost forgot.’ The taxi driver’s friend said humorously, and then covered my face with a hemp bag. I passed out moments later, the prick hit my head pretty hard on the door way, adding to the damage from the handle of the revolver.

 I awoke in the same back seat were I was first assaulted, my hands were zip-locked, my mouth duct-taped. My head aching like my brain would explode in my skull, and I would sit in the back of the taxi while my brain residue sloped out my nostrils. The pain was so excruciating I hoped I could play solo game of Russian rue let, I hoped they would just end me. But I came to my senses when I heard them speak.

‘Look Hernandez, we need to make up our minds.’ I recognised the voice of this man, it was very deep, and it was the taxi driver.

‘Yeah we do Paul, we do.’ The other guy must by Hernandez; his tone is a lot more feminine. He sighed then continued.

‘We can go to my place, but the mess from the other idiot is there, I hate cleaning, I never clean.’ They were silent for a while. I could smell their cigarettes and alcohol, and the thick revolting stench of Paul’s (The taxi drivers) cologne. I wanted to throw my guts up into my lap, but I held the sickness off. Hernandez’s feminie voice broke the silence.

‘No more bullshit, we are going to make a decision, your place or mine. Where is this idiot going to Paul?’ This didn’t sound very good; I just had to hope for the best. I had to hope they wanted a ransom and someone payed it, I had to hope they were not bloodthirsty killers planning the vicious ending of their new victim.

‘Ok, my place Hern. We can tie him up the kitchen, I have a good lock on the door and no phones up there, Is that alright?’

‘Yeah sure, don’t fuck him up too early.’

 They didn’t say another word. I lay wounded on the back seat of the taxi, praying for death, watching the red glow of the lit cigarettes move in the dark of the taxi. And for the first time I thought to myself: ‘Is this the end’

 

 

You’re the shit

 

The taxi came to a halt; the whole road we had been on was gravel. The men got of their car; I heard the passenger side door behind me open. A big palm got a hold of my arms, another on my legs. I knew it was Paul; we must be at his house (Prison?). He put me over his shoulder and I swayed with the motion of him walking, I hung like a corpse on his shoulder. I felt like any moment my heart would give in and I would die, but no, it kept on doing its duty pumping my blood. He carried me up some stairs and into his house, once again smashing my skull against the door way. I heard his sickening laugh, he said: ‘Wake up friend.’ And dropped me on the floor, I must be in his kitchen. I didn’t move one bit, I had a perfect view of the floor, and what view. I saw mud, scraps of food and an alien like cockroach. I was very hungry and I knew if it came close to my face I would eat it, the creature’s warm guts exploding onto my tongue as I crunched it with my teeth, loving the feeling of it moving its legs for the last time. I didn’t eat that night, I didn’t drink either, I only slept. And I slept like the corpse I wished I was.

 The hot Spanish sun woke me in the morning, I felt worse than before. I even had half my sense back; I could not stop thinking how I got abducted on the first day of my first holiday. I am an idiot, the biggest these kidnappers have seen. But I couldn’t spend my time thinking of that stuff, I needed a plan. I was tied to an old chair with a couple of zip-locks, no duct tape on my mouth this time. I looked around the room, being a kitchen there should be knives, weapons should be plentiful. And their many possible weapons and I saw a drawer labelled: ‘cutlery’. But being zip-locked did not help me. The men did not come back that day, I was alone and I enjoyed it. I slept well that night.

 I had premature awakening that night; a soccer ball had flown through the kitchen window. Glass scattered everywhere, I cursed at my luck and tried to get back to sleep. Then I thought of way to escape, it had to work. The glass that had spread everywhere on the timber floor might be able to set me free, cut through the zip locks. I thought if I fell to the floor with the old chair I might be able to grab a piece. I swayed side to side until I fell, I hit the floor hard. Missing any injuries from the glass, I knew I knocked a couple teeth out. I felt around with my hands for a piece of glass, at first nothing, and then I got lucky. I got a big pyramid shaped piece of glass in my hand. That brought a smile to my face. I stared cutting at the zip-lock, trying to miss my skin. I failed at that and was giving myself cuts which became more severe as I cut more of the zip-lock. I was close, a little bit was left. Then the lunatic taxi driver burst through the door screaming: ‘What the fuck happened here?’ he must have been drunk. I was so close to getting the zip-lock off. He pulled me and chair up. He grabbed the glass from my hand.

‘What are you trying to do you dumb shit!’ he went over to the drawer which held the cutlery and searched for something.

‘Hernandez said not to hurt you yet, but fuck him. You hurt my window, I hurt you.’ He found what he was looking for, a large carving knife. He came over to me and sheathed it into my left thigh; I scream loud in agony, the pain was so unbearable.

‘Don’t try anything else!’ That was the final thing he yelled before he left. I had managed to get the zip lock off before he stabbed me. I grabbed the handle of the knife, I just rested it there. I had to pull it out for a weapon if he came back. And If I pulled it out and he did not come back for a long time, I would bleed out to my awaited death. I grabbed a tea towel which was on the table next to me and tied it above my fresh wound. I tied it tight then prepared myself for the pain. I grabbed the knife and yanked from my leg, I cursed out in pain but I had to contain it. I took some breaths and looked at my leg. I passed out at the sight.

  I sat on the old kitchen chair which gave the termite infested tabled company, and watched the door. I watched it for hours, waiting, just waiting for him. Waiting in the dark with a knife in hand, he will come soon. And when he does, I will be ready, ready to attack and go in for the kill.

It’s now been four days since my abduction, four days I should have spent baking in the Spanish sun, getting drunk and hitting on the senioritis. But this blood thirsty lunatic had to step in didn’t he, take my holiday and flush it down the can. But I am strong, I am very strong. He is weak, and I will take him out very soon.

 I heard his car drive on the gravel outside this house, then a car door open and shut. I heard his boots on the wooden steppes outside. I moved to the door ready to attack, my heart beating out of my chest, my leg acing tremendously. Step by step he was coming closer to his kitchen door, the knife could slip out of my hand, and I was sweating like a pig as usual. Then he was at the door, I could hear him breathe. He unlocked the door and pushed it open, it hit my hand and I dropped the knife in front of him.

‘What the hell?’ he exclaimed.

I grabbed the knife off the ground and as I did he kicked me in the stomach.

‘You shit, you little shit!’ he yelled then kicked me again.

I moved out of the way and he missed me with the stele cap boot. I got up on my knees and he kicked me in the face, I fell to the ground.

‘You really think you had chance?’ he walked over to his drawer were he kept his knives. This was my chance, my only chance left. If I didn’t throw the knife at him hoping it would land in his back perfectly, I was a dead man, the odds are against me I could hear the cutlery rattling in the drawer. I pulled my arm back and threw the knife. The sound of the cutlery rattling was overtaken by a deep groan. He screamed in pain, I hit him! I did it. He turned around and started at me slowly; he was staggering severely and would fall any second. I got on my knees again; I cannot even describe how hard it was. But I did, and then I got my feet. Leaning on the rotten table, he was coming for me still, knife in his hand. I reached around on the table for a weapon, and their on table was his whiskey he was drinking in the taxi. I grabbed it with my sweaty palm and brought it over his bald head. He cried out in pain once again.

I stared at him lying on the ground moaning in agony, i then said: ‘You’re the little shit!’

And I stepped on the knife stuck in his lower back; it would be sticking out of his stomach. He moaned and groaned then was silent. It was over.

  I found a phone down stairs and called the local authorities, the police came half an hour later. They took me to the station and I explained what happened.

 The next morning I went to the Australian embassy with the police, they flew me right back to Sydney.

 

Epilogue/Back Home

 

‘Yeah right dad.’ My son looked at me and laughed, he is tall and now thirteen years of age.

‘I don’t lie son, I never do.’ He laughed.

‘That there was a lie dad.’ He looked at me and shook his head.

‘Want to see the scar son?’ I asked him.

‘What scar?’ he laughed ‘Stop telling stories dad.’

I pulled my shorts leg up to reveal were Paul had stabbed me in Spain.

‘Gross!’

 


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