The Taken

by Casey Kelleher

  Shaking, the two men finalised the arrangement.

  Getting to his feet, Ramiz looked over to where his sleeping wife lay.

  The deal was done.

  He would take Roza now and leave Korab to his prize.

  He could only imagine the horror and disgust on Lena’s face when she awoke to realise that she’d been used as a bargaining tool.

  It was just a shame he wouldn’t be sticking around to see her downfall first hand.

  It was about time the bitch realised that in order to get to England they would all have to make sacrifices, and that included his precious Lena.

  10

  ‘Jesus! I don’t think I can do this. Look at them all. They’re like vultures.’

  Standing at the side of the stage next to Misty, Saskia stared out across the dimly lit club into a sea of hungry faces.

  This was her moment.

  The DJ was playing her in but, rigid with nerves, Saskia couldn’t move.

  She froze, her feet suddenly glued to the spot.

  ‘Girl, you can do this.’ Misty squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. ‘Once you’re out there, I promise you, you will be fine.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do it, Misty.’ Saskia shook her head, unconvinced.

  The place was packed. Crowds of men stood around the stage, waiting hungrily for flesh, for beauty – for her. Just the thought of dancing out there made her feel nauseous. ‘You might have to take my slot for me?’

  ‘Hell no, girl! Have you seen the state of me? I’ll be damned if you think you are going to send me out there in your place in this outfit.’ Still in her tracksuit, she and Saskia had been at the club all day practising Saskia’s set. There was no way that the girl was backing out now. Not after all the work Misty had put in. ‘I’d be lucky if I could turn a kettle on right now in this get-up, let alone a crowd of men. Though saying that, girl, you could make a bin-bag look sexy… ’ Misty smirked, trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t working.

  Saskia looked like she was about to have a panic attack, and Misty needed to do something – quick.

  ‘Seriously, babe. You just need to own the stage. You’re a dancer right? So get out there and dance! That’s what we do. Don’t let them see that you are nervous.’

  ‘Why did I think that I could do this?’ Saskia faltered. Her voice strained. Panic spreading through her. She was losing her bottle. ‘I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter—’

  ‘Oh no, trust me, the ones getting slaughtered are those bunch of Neanderthals when their wives find out what they have been spending all their hard-earned money on. We play them, honey. That’s all we do. We feed them an illusion, and a very expensive one at that. Trust me, from what I saw earlier you can’t go wrong out there… All you have to do is dance.’

  Hearing the chants around the stage getting louder as the DJ played Saskia’s intro for the second time, Misty knew that she’d have pandemonium on her hands soon. Saskia needed to get her butt out there. No matter what: tonight, the show had to go on.

  ‘Remember what I told you. It’s just acting! That’s all you’re doing. A bit of role-play; putting on a show. You know the routine off by heart, Saskia, we practised it enough times today. Even if you messed it up, do you really think any of these punters would notice? You look hot as fuck, Saskia. The routine will be the last thing any of these men will be thinking about.’

  Saskia smiled weakly as she looked down at her outfit, or lack of it. That was half her problem. Strutting out onto the stage in front of this crowd in skimpy black underwear and a pair of sky-scraping high heels was her worst nightmare come true.

  Even after persuading Misty to allow her to wear a black lace bra for the set she still felt vulnerable, exposed. Completely out of her comfort zone.

  ‘Do I have to do the stage set? Can’t I just do a few private dances instead?’ Saskia asked meekly.

  Misty shook her head.

  ‘The stage is what sets you up for the night. You need to get out there and dance.’

  Seeing Saskia slowly coming round, she knew the girl just needed that last final bit of encouragement. Nodding to Joshua Harper on the VIP balcony above them, Misty played her ace card.

  ‘You see him up there watching you?’ Misty glanced up to the VIP section to where Joshua was waiting, and Saskia followed her gaze.

  ‘I know and I don’t want to let him down… ’ Saskia felt guilty.

  Misty laughed. This girl really was as naïve as they came.

  ‘Oh you ain’t letting him down. You’re playing right into his hands.’

  Saskia looked confused then.

  ‘You really can’t see it, can you?’ Misty was genuinely sorry for Saskia. ‘I told you earlier that he doesn’t throw favours, didn’t I?’

  Saskia nodded, remembering the conversation.

  ‘You didn’t hear this from me, but I overheard heard him telling one of the guys here earlier that he was going to enjoy seeing how far he could get you to go tonight. They’re all placing bets on you walking… This is just another one of Joshua Harper’s games. He’s fucking with you.’

  Shaking her head with disapproval, Misty felt awful at being the one to break the news to the poor girl, but she couldn’t just stand back and let Saskia be made a fool. Not when she knew how much the girl had riding on all of this.

  ‘He doesn’t think that you’re going to go through with it, Saskia. That’s why he agreed to your little deal in the first place. He’s waiting for you to bottle it, and you’re playing right into his hands.’

  Misty’s words felt like a jab to her stomach. Saskia felt winded. Standing in the skimpy underwear she was suddenly humiliated that he was treating her like some kind of a joke.

  It couldn’t be true?

  Glancing up to where Joshua Harper was standing she caught his eye. The condescending expression on his face told her everything she needed to know.

  Misty was telling the truth. Joshua Harper didn’t think that she was going to go through with this.

  He was calling her bluff and no doubt enjoying every second of her discomfort.

  Seeing the hurt on Saskia’s face, Misty was straight with the girl.

  ‘Look, the way I see it, Saskia, you’ve only got two options here. You either get your arse out there and wipe that smug look off Mr Harper’s face. Prove to him that you meant what you said. That you want your house back, or, you see that door over there? Use it. Save yourself anymore humiliation; but you’ll lose your house.’

  Holding her breath now, Misty waited, unsure which way the girl in front of her was going to fold.

  She didn’t have to wait long.

  Shrugging Misty’s hand from her shoulder, Saskia’s face was etched now with anger.

  The girl looked thoroughly pissed off.

  ‘Well, looks like I better get my arse out there then, doesn’t it.’

  * * *

  Fuelled with anger, the sick feeling in her stomach replaced with fire, Saskia strutted out onto the dance floor without a second’s thought.

  The chanting got louder. The sound of the music thumping in her ears was almost loud enough to drown out the thump of her heartbeat, but not quite.

  Standing in the middle of the stage Saskia closed her eyes as she recited Misty’s words in her head.

  Focus. It is just acting. Role-play.

  She could do this.

  The bass kicked in as the DJ started her set once more.

  Unsure if it was the feeling of the floor vibrating from the music, or her legs shaking in fear, Saskia began to move – slowly, at first.

  Controlled.

  Reciting every step that Misty had shown her she twisted her body expertly around the pole. She could hear the crowd now too, chanting, whistling, as she finally let go.

  She was really doing this.

  Her body moved rhythmically in time with the beat. She was there again, lost in the dance, and the audience was captivated; every eye in the club was on her.

/>   Glancing up at her new boss as she slid around the metal pole, Saskia smiled to herself as she saw his eyes transfixed on her.

  Joshua Harper wanted a show, it seemed, and that was exactly what Saskia Frost intended to give him.

  11

  Lying face down on the carpet clutching the empty bottle of vodka, Mary Jeffries lifted her pounding head and tried to focus on her surroundings. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was as her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkened room.

  She was home. Of course she was. Where else would she be?

  She should have known from the sour acidic stench that wafted through the flat; the vile smell burning at the back of her throat.

  No matter how many times she’d told Colin to sort the drains the smell never bloody left the place. It was nasty, like living inside a sewer. There was no point calling the council though; those imbeciles didn’t know their arses from their elbows. She’d have to get Colin out there again later.

  She could still hear the banging noise too. Those bloody kids had been there all day. Deliberately trying to drive her mad.

  Mary forced herself up into a sitting position. She had no idea how long had she been out? Twenty minutes maybe? Half an hour? Maybe it was a lot longer than that; it was already dark.

  The nights were drawing in earlier and earlier now; the grey October sky quickly turning black, wrapping itself around the flat like a thick, dense blanket.

  Licking her dry, cracked lips, she dragged herself up onto her feet as she made her way out to the kitchen, guided only by the small crack of light that poured in through the gap in the curtains from the moonlight.

  There was no point in turning the light on. Her head was already banging as it was; besides, she preferred the darkness. It matched her mood, as well as the gloom helping to mask her gaunt, ageing complexion and the squalor of the flat.

  Glancing at the clock above the cooker, Mary felt disorientated. It was almost five p.m. She must have really overdone it on the vodka this time. It was happening all too often lately. She’d been out cold for hours. Colin would be home soon.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Wincing at how loud the little bastards were being now as they continued banging around, along with the godawful music they had blaring out, Mary sighed. The fact that they only ever congregated at her front door when Colin was at work made her laugh. What they thought he’d do if he was here, she didn’t know. The man was about as useful as an inflatable dartboard. Middle-aged, and still living at home with his mummy, Colin was as soft as arseholes. His appearance was deceptive though. Six foot two, yet he wasn’t capable of punching his way out of a wet paper bag.

  The kids were out there in force today, fuelled with stories they’d heard from the mouths of their parents, she guessed. The kids on the estate were all desperate to catch a glimpse of the Greenwood Estate’s notorious ‘Mad Mary’.

  The little bastards had been goading her all week, dying for her to give them the satisfaction of going out there and facing them.

  She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Just the thought of stepping outside onto the balcony made her heart race.

  Agoraphobia the doctors called it. Another one to add to the ever-growing list of ailments.

  Confined to the flat, living like a recluse, she had no choice but to put up and shut up, even though the kids were relentless. Every day they got worse, more daring: pelting eggs at the windows, covering her front door in their vile graffiti. To them it was just a game, with no reprisal, no real punishment. Not around here. The estate was destitute. Run down. Just like the rest of London, no doubt. No one gave a shit about some old nut job like her. The police didn’t, that was for sure. Why would they? She’d given that lot of useless bastards forty years of grief and earache.

  She was Mad Mary, the very same woman who for years had roamed the estate’s communal gardens half-naked, paralytic, and fighting with anyone and everyone who crossed her path.

  Now it was her playing the victim card.

  The irony wasn’t lost on her.

  Karma really did come around and bite you on the arse.

  Fuck the lot of them!

  She was hot now, flustered. Her long fleece nightdress stuck to her skin with sweat. Lifting it over her head, her emaciated body now completely naked, Mary rummaged through the overflowing washing machine, prising out a long black skirt. It was damp and smelt musty, but it would do for now. She’d put a top on later, when she’d cooled down a bit. Pushing her feet back into her slippers, her head started spinning.

  The voices were back.

  Inside her head. Whispering their cruel taunts.

  She needed another drink; anything to drown the noise out.

  Opening the kitchen cupboards she tried her best to ignore the sound inside her skull as she wrenched the contents out onto the worktops, slinging containers and boxes onto the sides. Empty cereal packets, mouldy bread, tins of beans.

  Grabbing her ears Mary moaned inwardly, praying for the constant chants that penetrated her brain to stop, but they wouldn’t – just continued like a never-ending punishment inside her head.

  Why wouldn’t it just stop? Why wouldn’t the voices just leave her alone?

  Banging her fist against her forehead, she leant over the sink, gripping the taps to steady herself.

  Another drink would shut the noise up. It always did. For a little while, at least.

  Where the fuck was Colin? He was normally home by five. He was late.

  Grabbing a glass from the side Mary rinsed it out under the tap. Her mouth was dry, and the bitter taste of her stale breath was making her nauseous.

  Ignoring the pile of dirty dishes that filled the sink, covered in hardened smears of food, she greedily gulped the water before wiping her mouth with the back of her sleeve. Her thirst was quenched but the noise was still there, constantly droning inside her ears.

  The kids outside her flat were muted but the vicious voices inside her head screamed on.

  SHUT UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!

  Her temper got the better of her and she brought the glass down hard on the counter. She gripped the broken shards tightly in her hand, welcoming the agony as sharp jagged edges sliced through her fingers.

  The pain was a sweet release but all too quickly it subsided.

  The voices in her head were blaring now.

  It was like they knew she was near breaking point, like they were purposely fucking with her head. Crucifying her.

  The kids were still outside too; she could hear them tapping on the window, mocking her.

  ‘Mad Mary, Mad Mary.’

  Then she smelt the burning. Scanning the kitchen she thought maybe she was imagining it. It couldn’t be the oven. It was off; she rarely cooked, and there weren’t any candles lit; no appliances that had been left on.

  Staggering back into the lounge she checked the little electrical fire near her armchair. The plug wasn’t even in the wall.

  Then she saw it, out by the front door. A pile of papers, purposely set alight, had landed on her doormat.

  The kids had gone too far this time.

  Reaching the mat Mary had no time to think. No time to get any water. The fire would spread by the time she got back.

  Treading the flames as they licked her cheap woollen slippers she stamped with all her might, the intense heat penetrating through the soles; the force of her foot causing a squelch as the paper bag burst open. Hot, runny dog shit exploded up her legs and the walls behind her.

  There was a roar of laughter coming from outside now. They’d set this up. Posting dog shit through her letterbox purposely, to mock and humiliate her.

  What if she’d still been out cold? They could have killed her. Their stupid prank could have cost her her life.

  Fuelled with rage, Mary grabbed at her walking stick before flinging the front door open.

  The six teenage boys that stared back at her were still laughing, but their expressions turned quickly to ones of horror as
they took in the sight of the half-naked elderly woman caked in dog shit, her slippers fused to her feet, screaming like a banshee.

  They wanted to see Mad Mary in all her glory? Well now they could.

  ‘What the fuck are you all looking at? Go on, fuck off, before I wrap this stick around your bleeding heads.’

  Wildly flinging her walking stick in the boys’ direction with the force of a woman much younger than her sixty-five years, Mary was seething. How dare these kids think that they could torment her like this? Little bastards. She wasn’t afraid of them.

  They scarpered. Leaving her standing alone on her front step as they all made a run for it down the communal stairwell.

  It was then she spotted Colin.

  Bloody typical. Trust him to turn up after all the drama.

  Mary glared at her son as he walked towards her. His body hunched. A look of confusion spread across his gormless face at the state of his mother.

  Mary felt the familiar rage swell inside her.

  ‘Finally!’ Waving her arms about dramatically, Mary stormed back inside the flat, pointing to the shit that was splashed all up the walls. ‘This is all your fault. I could have been fucking killed.’

  ‘But I… I… wasn’t even here? Wha… what’s happened?’ Colin stuttered, averting his eyes from his mother’s naked sagging chest, his face flushed with embarrassment.

  ‘Wha… Wha… What’s happened.’ Mimicking Colin’s nervous stutter. ‘Well, if you’d pulled your finger out of your arse and walked home a little bit faster, you’d know what happened, ’cos I would have bloody well sent you to deal with those bloody imbeciles instead of having to go out there myself.’ Mary sneered now. ‘Not that the kids would have listened to a thing you had to say. Look at the state of you. You’re a fucking embarrassment, Colin. They would have fucking laughed you back inside this fucking hovel. Now, where is my bottle?’ Mary asked. Pursing her lips together she held out her hand expectantly, not bothering to cover her exposed chest.