It was 17:00. I still hadn't returned home from school and had to wait another ten minutes to do so. It was a Thursday night, which meant that the teacher would coerce all the students (mostly the ones who worked in the student council) to deep clean the hallways and the classrooms, citing that taking care of the environment we live in is part of our duties—first as members of this school and second as human beings.
If you asked me, the duty first falls on the cleaners since they have more reason to tidy the place, but of course I kept my mouth shut like all the others.
I was partially grateful that I had a reason to be away from home on Thursday evenings, since no one was home until around 19:00; everyone had their own occupations. My parents had work as a justification, and my little brother had football practice. The house would get very lonely without the usual crescendo of noise.
While daydreaming, I noticed I was moving the old mop in the same pattern, in the same place. Up, down, stop for two seconds. Down, up, stop for two seconds, and repeat. If someone were to look at me warily, I would be busted, but no one really gave me a second glance since they all wanted to finish as soon as they could and go home. No conversations would be exchanged during this duty, mostly because everyone was a foreigner to each other and it would be quite awkward, but this was quite beneficial from the teachers' perspective. The floor would get mopped by the cleaners in the morning anyway, which made our effort appear useless, so the motivation was low—or nonexistent—for everyone.
After the time was up, I gave some quick goodbyes to my schoolmates, mostly so I wouldn't come across as rude, and set off on the 23-minute journey back home along my usual route. I hate buses, and home luckily wasn't too far away. The road was pretty well lit and far from secluded.
Except that didn't mean I didn't fear the two men who were hoping to look like casual passersby as they eyed my every movement.
They were well built and were positioned opposite each other: one was sitting on a bench to the right, and one was a couple of meters behind me, walking with a book in his arms. I wouldn't have noticed either of them if it weren't for my five euros slipping out of my uniform's pocket. As I turned to pick it up, I spotted the man behind me immediately turning to the left, suddenly becoming interested in the small café down the road. As if to prove he was following me, he impatiently threw a glance at me, thinking I had already turned my back on him long ago.
Immediately after that scenario, my senses became alert to my surroundings, and I became wary of the man on the bench, who seemed to be very interested either in my beautiful red bag or in me. They didn't seem to care, though, that their disguise had been ruined and continued doing their job.
I took the usual turn to the left, which meant it would take approximately nine minutes to get home. I needed to get rid of them somehow, and the thought of sprinting to my house had just crossed my mind when a minivan appeared ahead of me, blocking my way.
The first thing I saw was that the van was black. I didn't understand how or when, but I was inside it. I only felt someone grabbing me like a potato bag and my body slamming against the inside of the vehicle. I immediately tried to get up and spotted the masked figures inside.
This time, three other men were inside the van wearing masks and officer-like uniforms that looked a lot like navy uniforms but in blue. One of them was sliding the door closed, and just as I was about to speak—or more precisely, scream—one of them, the tallest, put a pill in my mouth and made sure I swallowed it. Whatever it was, it tasted bitter with a pinch of vanilla.
The second man held me by the wrist and covered my mouth with a small cloth, trying to put me to sleep, I suppose. The pressure was rough, not gentle; whoever he was probably didn't care much for my well-being.
Soon—maybe too soon for my liking—I felt my mind spinning, and as they placed me on the floor of the rather spacious van, my eyelids started to grow heavy and the room began to shift. The last thing I saw was one of my kidnappers talking while holding a finger to his ear. There was seemingly an earbud in his right ear, and his lips moved in a calm, uniform manner, uttering exactly three words that I couldn't hear. As I struggled to stay awake, he looked at me through his mask, and maybe I imagined it because his features were hidden, but for a split second I felt his eyes mocking me—and then
Sleep invaded me.