A/N CHAPTER UPDATED JUNE 2021. This chapter now includes a content warning for violent attempted rape and sexual assault, including strangulation.
Beta'd by the wonderful StoryWriter831. Everything belongs to JK Rowling.
...
Finally, we reached the outskirts of a city.
I knew immediately that it was a large one. The sheer volume of traffic, the multi-laned roads, the scale of the buildings—everything indicated a place of great size and importance. Maybe it's a capital city, I thought hopefully, one that contains a British embassy.
The traffic seemed impossibly noisy and confusing to me, cars pulling out in front of each other with no apparent regard for traffic lights or even basic courtesy. The truck-driver seemed unfazed by the chaos, only occasionally banging on his horn, or muttering what were clearly some expletives under his breath.
The street-lamps were already lit, though it was not yet fully dark. A thick grey dusk leaked in between the dark shadows and the artificial lights. The apartment blocks which had so jarred on me in the smaller towns had a towering inevitability here—and there were many of them, street upon street, as if sprung up from a stark dystopian vision of some humourless bygone era. Suddenly I wasn't so sure this was Scandinavia...but where?
Then rather suddenly, in a matter of only a couple of turns, the noise and traffic dropped away and we were pulling up near the side of a lake, isolated from the road by a thick line of dark trees. It most certainly wasn't the bustling port or terminus I'd been expecting. My stomach did a nervous flip-flop.
I sat up straighter, darting an anxious glance at the driver. He was staring straight ahead, leisurely finishing off a cigarette. He seemed as relaxed and indifferent as ever, but instinctively I felt the dynamics in the cab change, become laden with...something.
My mouth was suddenly awfully dry, my heart thudding, as all sorts of unwelcome scenarios leaped into my head. What the hell have you got yourself into, Alice?
I tried to size up my chances against the man, if it came down to a physical altercation. Somewhere between zilch and zero, I decided grimly. The powerful hands resting casually on the steering wheel looked capable of all manner of grievous activities. I peered surreptitiously about me, in search of a weapon, if things headed that way. But the dashboard was completely empty.
Well, I told myself, if he attacks then...knees to his groin, fingernails to his eyes. If he grabs your wrists, bite his hands, struggle, kick. Then I revised: Unless he has a weapon. If he's got a knife or something, lie still, let him do what he wants. Just survive, then run when you can.
I could hardly believe I was having this conversation with myself.
Whenever I had envisaged successfully escaping Lucius, it had always been straight into the waiting arms of assistance. Words of comfort, spoken in English. A reassuring female hugging me, telling me it was over, that I was in safe hands now. A pragmatic male wasting no time to notify the proper authorities. Whispers of worry over my obvious distress, a hurried discussion about whether it would be better to take me to hospital first. Me urgently pleading to be driven straight to the police. ...And, in my mind, that was the end of my ordeal. My imagination could not furnish a reunion with family and friends; it had always simply curtailed at the point of rescue, like the ending of romantic story, with an abrupt yet vague, 'And she lived happily ever after'.
That was what was meant to happen, wasn't it? The traditional risk-to-reward ratio? This had never figured in any scenario. This was unfair.
The driver flicked his cigarette out of a small gap in the window and turned to fix his dark eyes on mine. His mouth was curving into a slow smile that sent a shiver to my very soul. I knew straight away what such a smile meant. It meant the ride was not free, after all. The coffee and food were not complimentary. It meant it was time to pay up.
His expression was both exhortative and edgy, as if he preferred my cooperation but would just as readily relish my resistance. Instinctively I realised that my best chance would be to play along, play willing, then...well, I'd think of something. Whatever you do, don't panic, I told myself.
I smiled back at the man, hoping my paper-thin veneer of composure was adequate to concealing my terror. I knew I couldn't get out of the broken-locked door beside me, my only escape was through the driver's side.
Damn you Lucius, I thought erratically, damn you for making me run from you! Damn you for forcing me into this situation.
The driver leaned over and released my seat-belt catch, the same lazy half-smile curving his mouth.
I had to act quickly, if I were to get the upper-hand. Too well, I recalled how crushing, how conquering, the weight of a large man was; how impossible to escape, once trapped beneath it. At all cost, I must not let him overpower me.
I moved across the long bench-seat towards him, clambering awkwardly onto my knees to face him. Then, steeling my nerves, I put my hands on his shoulders, closed my eyes and quickly pressed my lips to his. In seconds he had hauled me up to straddle him. It seemed like his hands were everywhere, running over my hips and thighs, up my sides, roughly squeezing at my breasts. I ran my fingers through his hair—short, black, coarse—and did my best to seem enthusiastic, trying not to wince as he shoved his tongue aggressively into my mouth. I kept wriggling and manoeuvring until I was pressed against his door, then I pulled back a little from him and reached down to pluck suggestively at the buckle of his jeans. He grinned and began to fumble with his flies.
As soon as his hands were busy I reached behind me, grabbed the door handle and pushed. The door swung wide, and I threw myself out, tumbling to the ground. I landed badly, twisting my ankle, but quickly scrambled back up to my feet. The man was already jumping out after me, and I sprang forward, slamming the door as hard as I could against his body, heard his angry yelp of pain.
Without a backward glance, I took off towards the trees.
I barely noticed the twinge of my ankle or the sharp pebbles under my feet as I raced across the stretch of exposed ground. But my robe hindered my pace and I could hear the heavy thud of the man's running tread behind me, relentlessly gaining on me. I screeched as he grabbed the scruff of my neck and hauled me backwards against him, his arms tightly wrapping around my shoulders. I struggled wildly, clawing and biting at his thick forearms. "LET ME GO, YOU BASTARD!" I shrieked. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"
There was a sudden pressure on the back of my legs and my knees buckled, striking the ground painfully. My arms were jerked behind me and I was shoved face down into the dirt. He straddled me, muttering furiously. One hand clamped about my wrists, the other scrabbled with my robe, tugging it up my legs, over my hips, then roughly yanking my underwear down my thighs. I struggled and fought, screaming at him to stop, screaming out for someone to help me... But my cries went unanswered, I was immobilized by his brawny bulk; there was nothing I could do to prevent him from forcibly taking the payment he had decided was owing to him.
He let go of my wrists and his arm wrapped beneath my stomach, dragging me up to kneel on all fours.
"Nu te mișca, cățea," he growled in my ear, his fingers prodding painfully between my legs as he repositioned himself over me, readying himself. Desperately, I threw my head backwards, colliding it with his face.
"Argh! Căţea mică!"
Momentarily, he let go of me, and I propelled myself forwards, scrabbling out from under him. But his fingers clamped around my ankle, dragging me back. I felt him grab a fistful of my hair, jerking my neck back, then in one horrible pitching motion the ground seemed to rise to meet me, my forehead striking it with violent velocity.
The world reeled horribly, my body sagged, and I was only dully aware of being wrenched over onto my back. The man's form loomed darkly over me and I felt him ripping open the neck of my robe, his fingers pinching and mauling at my breasts. Coming around, I began once more to scream and thrash, but then his large hands suddenly raised to clamp about my throat, squeezing tightly, cutting off my airway and choking away my screams.
"Blestemată curvă," he snarled, digging his thumbs deeply into my trachea.
I clawed desperately at his hands, trying to prise open his grip. A blurry grey darkness frayed the edge of my vision and started to close in. Is this it, then? I wondered. Am I going to finally be returned to my family in a body bag, the victim of a brutal rape and murder?
And suddenly it wasn't fear I felt anymore, but rage. You fucking bastard, you deserve to die! Not me. YOU!
A bright, forked strobe of light flashed before my eyes, the man's face contorted briefly with shock, his muscles stiffened, and then he collapsed, his body slumping heavily down upon me, as if someone had struck him from behind with a club.
At first I could not move, crushed beneath his weight, coughing and gagging as I sought to regain my breath in big gasping gulps. Finally, with a great heave, I managed to push him off me, and he rolled onto his back, as heavy and motionless as a corpse. I didn't know if he was dead or alive; I did not check. Perhaps he'd had a heart attack. Serves him right, I thought grimly, tugging my underwear back up and pulling my torn robe as best I could into place with my violently-shaking hands.
I tried to stand, but an intense nausea suddenly overwhelmed me; I doubled over and threw up what little I had in my stomach. I could hear my teeth chattering, and I thought, You're going into shock, Alice.
After a while the nausea passed, and I climbed shakily to my feet, beginning a stumbling march towards the line of trees. Dusk had been nearly swallowed by nightfall, the temperature was plunging, and I had no idea where I was going to spend the night.
Beyond the trees was a busy, noisy road, teaming with a steady stream of blinding headlights. Unable to see inside the passing vehicles, I didn't dare try to flag one down. Knowing my luck, I'd probably find myself in the clutches of another violent rapist. Instead, I limped my way along the footpath, towards the silhouette of a tall building in the distance. As I walked I became aware that I was crying, tears coursing down my cheeks, husky sobs issuing from my aching throat.
A car abruptly pulled up beside me. I heard the buzz of an electric window rolling down, and a man's voice addressing me.
"Bună seara domnișoară. Unde te duci?"
I did not answer, did not stop my limping gait. I was going to get to that building, and that was all there was to it.
"Ea este beată."
The sound of two car-doors opening propelled me into a stumbling, half-blind run.
"Oprește! Sunt polițist!"
A hand seized my arm, wrenching me to a standstill. There was a loud click and the snap of cold metal at my wrist, and the scream forming on my lips faltered, as I realised I had been handcuffed. Through my tear-blurred eyes I saw that the two men facing me were dressed in identical dark uniforms.
A blaze of desperate hope flared within me. "P-p-police?" I stammered hoarsely out. "Are you the police?"
Oh, god, please, I thought. Please.
...
You're going to be okay, Alice.
Perhaps it was a strange thought to have, sitting as I was in the back of a foreign police car with my hands cuffed in front of me, being driven through the streets of a totally alien city at night.
But I really did finally believe it.
The city lights looked like fuzzy orbs through my wet lashes. I listened without comprehension to the low murmurs of the policemen in the front of the car. They seemed relaxed, even cheerful and there was a lack of urgency which I found comforting.
The policeman in the front-passenger-seat turned to me. He had short sandy hair and a friendly face. "Okay, Eeng-leesh geep-see?" he said with a reassuring smile. Both men appeared to have a very little English and they had immediately latched onto this epithet for me, after I had kept repeating over and over, "I'm English, I'm English!"
"Yes," I replied, my voice still husky from the assault. "I'm okay, thank you. But I'm not a gypsy."
The policemen laughed, as if I had said something amusing.
"Um, excuse me," I said, leaning forward, "but where are we?" I tried to gesture out the window with my cuffed hands. "Iceland? Norway? Russia? Um...Finland?"
Then the sandy-haired man cottoned on to what I was asking. He nodded and said, "Ah, da.—Bucureşti."
It sounded like "Book-resht" and at first I was at a loss. Then, tentatively I said, "Bu-Bucharest?—Romania?"
He chuckled at my expression. "Da—ahhh...yez...Romania." He pronounced it "Romma-neeya." Then, I suppose seeing the confusion in my eyes, he smiled quite kindly and said slowly, "You be okay, leetle Eenglish geepsy."
I smiled, nodding my thanks, but I was really quite shocked. Romania. What on earth was I doing in Romania? What could have brought me here in the first place? Had I been on holiday? A work conference? Or was it somehow because...because of Lucius?
Finally the car slowed, then stopped and I was extracted from the back seat by one of the policemen. His touch, firm but not aggressive, reassured me, although my knees shook as I was led in through the main entrance of the police station.
Beyond the electric doors was a stark unwelcoming reception room, glaringly illuminated under fluorescent tube-lighting. The floor was laid with mottled red linoleum, but everything else was painted cream: the walls and curtainless window-frames, the rows of bolted-down chairs and the long wooden benches lining the sides. There was a large desk marked 'RECEPTIE' behind which sat a uniformed custody-officer, looking supremely bored.
His expression didn't change as I was escorted over to him by the two policemen.
The three men spoke for some minutes, occasionally glancing and gesturing at me, then finally the custody-officer turned his full attention to me.
"You are Breet-teesh?" he said in a slow, thick accent.
"Yes I am," I said, my voice shaking with a mixture of urgency and anxiety.
"What you do here, in Romania?"
I blurted out, "I was kidnapped!" Although not quite true, it seemed the easiest way to sum up...well, everything.
He was holding a pen and he tapped it a couple of times on the desktop as he regarded me with unimpressed green eyes. "What happened there?" he said, pointing first to his throat, then to his forehead, evidently meaning my own injuries.
My lips trembled as tears threatened to spill again. "I was attacked," I whispered. "By a man."
The custody-officer raised an eyebrow. "This man. He was a..." he paused, searching for the right word, "...customer of you?"
At first I stared at him, uncomprehending. Then a flood of enraged colour rushed to my face as I realised exactly what he was implying. "No, you bastard! He was not a customer, he was a fucking rapist! I am NOT a prostitute! I am a British citizen, and I—I—I demand your assistance!"
"Okay, okay, please calm down yourself, meess." He reached for a piece of paper, some kind of form. "State what is your name."
"I d-don't know," I stammered. "I—I can't remember." As I spoke, I knew how utterly implausible it sounded.
The man's irritated expression suggested he thought so too. "Of course, you don't know," he said, with a sardonic flicker of a smile. "Every time, nobody can remember his name."
"Don't I get to make a phone call?" I said, trying to sound assertive, but unable to repress the quaver of panic in my tone. "I want to call the British Embassy."
The man held up his wrist-watch, indicating it was too late. "Tomorrow," he said, tapping the watch face.
I was unsure how to proceed. There seemed little point in arguing my case, the man seemed entirely unmoved by my plight. My hope of invoking immediate consular protection was quickly crumbling and I was facing the dismaying realisation that I would very likely spend the night in a Romanian police holding-cell.
"State your name to me, meess," the custody-officer repeated.
"Alice Carroll," I said resignedly, my voice reedy with disappointment.
"Passport?"
"I don't have one.
...
Lostness.—Was there such a word?
I was alone in a tiny room, surrounded by three concrete walls and a door made of iron grating. There was no window, but an overhead bulb cast a perpetual dim light around the grey-painted interior. It hummed faintly. The room—the cell—was absolutely bare; no sink, no bed, just a metal plank riveted to one wall, long enough to lie down upon. On this I sat, staring dazedly at the opposite wall, clutching a coarse blanket that I had been given by way of bedding for the night.
Although I sat still, my heart was beating loudly and my breathing was shallow and fast. I couldn't relax, trying to separate out each thread of tangled emotion that twined around me in a suffocating tapestry. Shock, from the traumatic ordeal with the truck driver. Frustration, that I must spend one more night in captivity. Relief and hope, that I was safe, and would soon be going home. Anxiety, that somehow, something might yet go wrong. And a strange sense of...bereavement, which I was afraid to inspect too closely...
And, of course, this—this lostness. Always, this lostness.
So, I thought, you've escaped one prison and ended up in another, less comfortable one. In eastern Europe, for heaven's sake. Wonderful going, Alice.
No, not "Alice", I corrected myself. You won't be Alice for much longer.
This thought cheered me slightly. Somehow I couldn't let go of the notion that my memory was inextricably connected to my name—my real name. It seemed that once I discovered that, everything else about me would surely illuminate, reveal itself to me.
I curled onto my side, pulling the blanket over me. I was shivering, although it wasn't really very cold. My twisted ankle throbbed uncomfortably and I ached in the many places the truck driver had meted out his brutality: my throat, my wrists, my knees, my breasts were bruised and sore. There was a hard lump forming where he had smashed my forehead into the ground. When I closed my eyes, his face loomed terrifying and large in my mind, contorted with fury and lust.
...Was it terribly, terribly ironic that the only way I could obliterate his hateful image was by thinking about another man, who had also threatened me with violent rape? Yet, strangely, it was so. Perhaps, deep down, I knew that, no matter how cruel he had been, Lucius had never intended to carry out that particular threat.
I made a conscientious effort to slow and regulate my breathing. The quickest way to see this night out, was to do it asleep.
As I waited for oblivion to come, my thoughts became entwined with the lists of girls names that it had been my nightly ritual to sift through since my earliest days with Lucius. ...Amelia, Arabella...Ava...You might be in a prison cell, but at least you're safe, I told myself. ...Beatrix, Blanche, Britta...The British Embassy surely will be in contact tomorrow...You'll be out of here in no time...Chloe, Christine, Claire... Tomorrow, you'll be going home...
By the time I reached 'Daphne', exhaustion crept over me like a shadow, and I slept.
...
Text translation: Please note I don't speak Romanian, and I am not certain these phrases are correctly used. If you know otherwise, please send me a PM and I will change it accordingly. Thanks, artful
Nu te mișca, cățea—Don't move, bitch
Căţea mică!—Little bitch!
Blestemată curvă—Damned whore
Bună seara domnișoară. Unde te duci?—Good evening, miss. Where are you going?
Ea este beată—She is drunk
Oprește! Sunt polițist!—Halt! I am a policeman!