This is the final part of the story, Freedom?
She had been running, trying to stay away from the bright lights that lighted the area.
Her intention was to find a church or some government institution that might still be open at that time of the night.
She passed by a few people that gave her strange looks. She couldn’t blame them. She only had on a nightgown, and her feet had dried blood that fell off every now and then, as the pieces of glass continued to claim space in her flesh. And she was covered in bruises inflicted by her captors.
As she rounded a corner, she saw a car parked. She started to approach it to ask for directions when on a whim, she turned and ran in the opposite direction. The car followed, slowly at first, and then with increasing speed, to match her pace. The man in the passenger’s seat was on the phone, giving directions. The driver called out to her to get in the car. He was promising everything, saying they would be gentle with her, and that they would let her buy her way out, “You’re a lucky one, you know, we could just come and grab you, but we’ve been told not to touch you”, he told her, “Just get in the car and this night would be over before you know it”.
Before long, two more cars appeared in the distance. She could tell they were after her too.
The man on the phone was asking if they could shoot if things got out of hand. The driver, running out of patience, began to curse and threaten.
As the cars in the distance got closer, her prayers got louder and more frantic.
The thought came to her mind that nothing had ever worked in her favour, all her life. It wasn’t a thought she could argue with because even now, her own blood, sweat, and tears were working against her.
Her blood bled her life out.
Her sweat stung and made her wounds almost new.
Her tears blurred her view.
Seeing that she was now outnumbered and nearly walled in, she slowed down to a halt.
As she crumpled to her knees, she looked up to heaven and asked for one favour she had been afraid to ask for, this whole time—
“Just let me see her face one last time. Please”.
At least, I tried, she thought as she heard car doors opening.
At the very least, she would be locked up for days, with just enough food to keep her alive and well enough to bring in money for them.
W would take his anger out on her whenever he was offended.
T would come in the room randomly and stare at her without ever saying a word.
M — he could have just shot her. Why didn’t he?
“Don’t touch her”, M was screaming as W charged towards her.
“What were you going to do?” W shouted, “Report us to the police? We own you, fool. We bought you with good money”.
“Don’t touch her, Wilson”.
He froze, and turned to his brother, “Did you just say my name?”
He turned to Rebecca, and then to his brother who was now racing towards them screaming, “We can still work this out. We can still work this out….”
The other men looked away. Some got in their cars.
T just stared at her, but this time, with something that looked like pity.
Rebecca remained crumpled on the floor. She closed her eyes, waiting for the end.
It couldn’t have been that long because — how long does it take a man to turn from his brother and shoot a fool he bought with good money?
But still, to Rebecca, the wait seemed endless.
Her prayer for the safekeeping of her soul was still on her lips when a car sped towards them. It stopped in front of Rebecca, coming between her and W. A door flung open, bashing W, causing him to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Another door opened, and the driver said, “Get in”.
She could go with this man and continue the race towards freedom. Or she could remain kneeling, waiting for W’s merciful bullet.
She was tired.
She had been on this same race her whole life.
“Please, get in”, the driver said, “I don’t know what the situation is, but the only other way out of this is your blood spilled all over this ground”.
M reached his brother, took the gun from him, and screamed at Rebecca, “What is wrong with you, Beks? Get in”.
“Remember what you always say”, T said, “Good things can still happen to you as long as you’re still alive”.
A picture flashed before Rebecca.
It was a picture of young girls in search of greener pastures being herded like sheep to slaughterhouses by people they’ve grown to trust. The girls, completely unaware of the fate awaiting them.
She could tell them, and try to stop them — even if they won’t hear or believe her, she would sound the warning.
Even if just one girl turns back, it would have been worth it.
She looked again, and she could almost see her mother smiling, beckoning on her to come.
“Where are you taking me, sir?’ She asked the driver.
“Wherever you need to go”.