Page 79 of Mouse Trapped

Chapter 31

Mariana

I estimate it’s been about a week since Miguel led me along a dark, dismal passageway, through a larger room almost devoid of furniture, then down another equally depressing corridor, but it’s easy to lose sense of time, and it feels so much longer.

Eyes widening in disbelief and horror as he led me into a larger area, past cage like cells to each side occupied by women and young girls, several little more than children. Weeping and wailing came from some, in other cells they sat quiet, looking resigned. A couple of the women looked catatonic, one rocking back and forth on her heels. In each cell were two dirty mattresses and a bucket in the corner. It smelt of fear, of human waste and dampness. I could see moisture dripping down the walls. This place wasn’t healthy, the women held for no good reason.

As I lie on the filthy mattress that has become mine, in a cell I have the privilege of not having to share, I think back to the first day I was brought here. Miguel’s explanation, delivered in a business-like tone, had chilled me then, the memory now is no less frightening.

“For most, this is only a temporary stop off. They’ll be sold as slaves and shipped out soon. Your father is a brilliant man; he knows how to make extra income on top of the slave fee. You’ll see in time.”

He’d stopped in front of an empty cell and had pushed me inside. I tried to hold onto the bars to stop myself being thrownin, but his fist to my back had me off-balance and I stumbled, falling to my knees. The door slammed shut behind me, the iron clang causing a ring to echo around.

“I haven’t quite decided yet what to do with you. I could use more, shall we say, personal methods to break you? Hmm. Are you worth the bother, I wonder? Maybe if I leave you here, you’ll be begging to come to me. We’ll see. Just understand, your father has washed his hands of you. Your fate is mine to determine. There’s no one here you can appeal to.”

I didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear. When cooped up in that detention centre I thought I had known what hopelessness was, but at least there I had the hope that eventually I’d be free, even if it wasn’t in a country of my choice. Now any chance of a future where I’m able to live a life of my choice is fast disappearing like light down a tunnel.

He’d walked away to the symphony of cries and wailing around me, pleas that rang out unanswered. I’d always known my father was evil. It was at that point I realised how malevolent and vengeful he really is.And I’ve put Drew in his sights. How could I have been so damn stupid?My only excuse that I’ve never come up against men like this before, so manipulative, so powerful. So immoral.

A week or so I’ve been in this filthy place. I’d found it difficult to eat in my father’s presence, but at least what was put in front of me was gourmet food. Here it’s barely edible, just a substance to keep the women, of whom I’m now one of their number, alive, and just barely.

There’s a number of different languages spoken, some speak English. There’s another American woman, who was snatched off the street. She’s in the cell a few doors down from me, our only communication is a few sentences we can call out. I’d spoken to her when I heard her crying fruitlessly for help inEnglish. She’d come to Colombia backpacking, wanting to explore this beautiful country, believing the worst of its troubles behind it now. She found she was mistaken when she’d been seized. She didn’t think it was byEl Procurador’s men, as she didn’t even need the Spanish she could speak, money changing hands showed she’d been quickly sold on. That’s when she ended up here.

There’s a regular change in women. My English-speaking friend went after a few days. Some women stayed a night, some had been here longer than I.

Fear taints the atmosphere, horror at the current situation, terror at what may lie ahead. It’s hard not to be affected. While I may not understand all the languages, sounds of distress are universal. I try to stay strong. Try to keep the fight within me. But it’s hard.

Occasionally men come into the cells and rape the women. I tried to turn away when one used a pretty young girl next door. He was hurting her, hammering into her tiny body. Her screams annoyed him, so he clamped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes had turned my way, full of pleading. Tears rolled down my face, I was unable to help, my own cries begging him to stop were ineffectual. Her fear, her pain, her utter desolation when he at last got off. Presumably because I’m my father’s daughter, they leave me alone.For now.

The next day they come for me. I don’t know what to expect, don’t like to think what might lie ahead as an armed guard waves me out and another steps into line behind me. I’m taken back to the room I walked through before on my way to the corridor of locked up women.

Miguel’s standing in the middle of the room, he smiles when he sees me. “Ah, Señorita De Souza. Mariana. I’m so pleased to see you again.”

I deign not to answer. If I’d ever wanted to be polite, my manners have been knocked out of me by the way I’ve been treated.

His nose wrinkles. “A shower first, I think. And a change of clothes. Then we’ll talk.” He nods to my guards. One takes my arm and leads me off to a short hallway. There’s a bathroom without a lock on it. Set out inside is a towel, shampoo and soap. A pile of fresh clothing is laid on a chair.

I could refuse.Where would that get me? Would they force me into the shower themselves? The idea of clean water, clean clothes is sufficient to tempt me. With one eye on the lockless door, I strip quickly and jump under the water, relishing the feeling of being able to get clean again. I waste no time, I soon have my hair and body washed and dried, though my hair is left damp and hanging.

There’s a pair of jeans and a tee shirt, fairly plain, but fresh. I dress quickly, still worrying about being disturbed.What happens now?

“Ah, that’s better.” Miguel nods approvingly as I walk back to join him. “Now you’re going to find out how brilliant your father is. How he gets double profits on the slaves he sells.”

Am I to be sold as a slave?

“You’re lucky. You’ll get to go back to the US,” he continues.

For a moment, my heart leaps.I’m going home?Then doubt fills me.How could I go back if my father’s bringing Drew here?I could never desert him.But he’s an American citizen. Maybe I could get the authorities involved. Tse could help me…Then I think about myself. It’s a trick, it has to be. They wouldn’t be letting me go that easily.

Seeing the doubt on my face, he smiles in what is probably supposed to be a reassuring way. “Yes, back to the United States, Mariana. I’ll be accompanying you to the border.”

I’m suspicious. “How will I cross it?”

He laughs. “Oh, we’ve got a route in, don’t worry your pretty little head about that,querida.We’ll get you in.”

“Why are you letting me go home?” There’s something decidedly wrong with this scenario.

Now he shrugs. “Your father and you haven’t exactly got on. You’ve been corrupted by the Americans, not good material for a Colombian wife. He’ll have his son, and be rid of a troublesome daughter.”

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