Sunsets and Car Crashes

Francesca

The building that the car pulled up next to was unfamiliar to me. It seemed to be some sort of disused warehouse. We were a long way out of Seattle – somewhere further north. I hadn’t seen any form of road sign for a while, seeing as I had just had Roberto’s mass crushing me flat for half an hour. My bottom half was totally numb. As the car slowed to a halt, he withdrew himself and zipped his trousers back up.

“How was that?” he asked, leering at me. I pulled myself away from him, laughing with all humour extracted from the noise.

“Didn’t feel anything. You sure you even put it in?”

My remark provoked a snarl from Roberto. He lashed out at my stomach with his fist. It knocked all the air out of me, reducing me to a spluttering mess. He threw my knickers and jeans at me – I had changed after leaving the office earlier.

“Get dressed, ya whore. And believe me, when this little distraction is over and done with, you’re gonna pay for that bigtime.”

I shuddered at the threat. He opened the car door, stepped out and slammed it closed again. I sobbed painfully as the feeling began to seep back into me. I was going to be bruised again, that was for certain, and for the second time I stank of him, of his sweat, of his breath, of his skin...everything he had touched of me reeked. And now I wasn’t anywhere near a magic shower. My hands were shaking as I pulled my clothes back on, the task made infinitely more difficult by the rope that my wrists were trapped in.

The car boot was shut again loudly. I looked up to see Roberto with Will slung casually over his shoulder, almost as if he was just an oversized pillowcase. Will was still unconscious, totally oblivious to the world. The sight brought fresh tears to my eyes. I wished more than anything that we had never met – at least he would have stayed alive. Well, until his dangerous driving caught up with him, at least.

I was vaguely aware of someone helping me to put my clothes on, before picking me up and taking me inside the building. I’d given up on trying to get away – I knew that no matter where I went, no matter how far I ran, or how fast, I would be found, punished and made to do this anyway. There was no escape.

It was Milan who had taken me inside. He took me into a tiny room that was painted a weird shade of yellow, with a single bulb hanging down from a white cord in the ceiling. It was completely bare of any form of art or furniture, apart from a single wooden chair. Will was sat on that. His hands were tied around the back of it, his legs tied to the legs of the chair, and yet he slept on soundly, as if there was no danger to him here. Ignorance is bliss.

Ermanno entered the room then, Roberto following close at his heel. Ermanno seemed pleased with himself, a smug look apparent on his face.

“Bonjourno, Francesca.”

I said nothing, but the silence didn’t appear to particularly phase him. I don’t think he was really expecting a response. He moved past me and began to circle Will. He chuckled to himself, as if something amused him about the situation. His beady eyes were scrutinising every aspect of Will’s appearance. He took Will’s chin between his thumb and fingers, holding his face and turning it left and right. I snarled automatically.

“Get your fucking hands offhim.”

Ermanno looked up, slightly surprised, but then started to roar with laughter. “Oh, cara, cara...I am so disappointed in you! I was expecting someone worth all this fuss! This is just a...how you say...tattooed little boy!”

I growled viciously, which only made him laugh more. I literally wanted to tear him limb from limb, laugh as he screamed from the pain...I wanted, just for that moment, to become the monster he’d trained me to be and make him feel the effects of my anger. But Milan imprisoned me in his arms instead, trying to calm me down by whispering that he just wanted me to be angry because then I’d blame myself for what was going to happen. Roberto came around the pair of us and stood next to Ermanno – the bear protecting the vulture.

When I had stopped fighting, Milan put me down gently. I looked up at him, seeing only pain and sorrow lined in his face. I really did feel for the guy – he still had a heart and a soul. I’d seen so many people like him in the time that I’d been in Seattle. They all hate themselves for the acts that they perform when they first start...then eventually they start to realise that they like being able to decide the fate of another human being. And then, sooner or later, they either get killed or live long enough to realise that they’re devils not angels and get silenced. Roberto had already realised he was a devil – but he liked it. Ermanno kept him around because he was so damn sadistic.

“We should get this show on the road. He’ll be awake in a couple minutes,” Roberto said quietly, looking at Will. He was watching the movements of his chest, analysing the speed of his breathing. He was beginning to breathe at a more aware speed, and now each breath was not as deep. I started to shake. Milan cut the binds around my hands, and pressed a gun into my hands. It felt big and unnatural and I wanted nothing to do with it. I wasn’t ready for this – I wasn’t like him or Roberto. A gun didn’t feel like part of my arm; it felt evil and cold. I wanted to drop it and run away, but where could I go?

Ermanno spoke then. “Roberto – you will stay here and you will make sure that Francesca does her task. Milan, you will come with me.” He clicked his fingers, like a master calling his dog, and the pair of them left the room, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving Roberto and I stood in a crushing silence. Roberto walked towards the back of the room, stood directly behind the line of Will’s chair. He reminded me of a guard outside Buckingham Palace in London – completely immobile, his eyes staring straight ahead and unblinking. I was astounded. I thought he would have taken every opportunity to remind me of the evil that I was about to commit, and yet he was as silent as the grave. Appropriate description really.

Will began to stir then. He yawned slightly and tried to move his arms – I presume to stretch. But, of course, he was tied to the chair tightly, and so he was stuck. His forehead creased up in confusion and discomfort. I moved closer, fresh waves of tears crashing onto my cheeks, and held up the gun, aiming at his head. I found myself praying in my own.

If there is a god – I don’t care which one – then please let this just be a fucking dream.