I Left with the Traffickers

The theme park was packed. My parents let go of my hand so they could grab front-row spots for Leo, my twin brother. That made it ninety-nine times. I didn't cry. I didn't panic. I just stood there. Then a strange woman leaned down. "Are you lost, sweetheart? I can help you find your mom." I recognized her instantly. She was the wanted kidnapper from the morning news. I grabbed her hand anyway. "Okay. Thanks." Chapter 1 Dora's POV She dragged me through the crowd, moving fast toward a remote exit behind the park. An unmarked van was waiting outside. She expected me to fight or cry like any other child. She even pulled out a length of thick rope. But I didn't resist. I just climbed into the back on my own and took a seat in the corner. The engine roared to life. Through the tinted window, I watched the massive Ferris wheel shrink into the distance. My tense body finally began to relax. For the first time in my life, I didn't have to listen to Leo’s cries anymore. I didn't have to drop everything to go comfort him. I was free. --- The van jolted along rough mountain roads for hours. Night fell, pitch-black and silent. Finally, we pulled up to a secluded compound enclosed by steep ridges. Barking dogs swarmed the vehicle, their deep growls echoing in the dark. The door slid open. A man with a deep facial scar yanked me out. I stumbled, barely keeping my feet. The woman shoved me from behind. "Move it! Stop slacking!" Flanked by both of them, I was pushed into a low concrete shed. As the heavy door swung open, a wall of damp mold and foul stench hit me. I held my breath. There were no lights inside. Only a sliver of moonlight filtered through a tiny, barred window. I felt my way along the rough wall and curled up in the darkest corner I could find. --- As my eyes adjusted, I noticed small shapes huddled in the shadows. Children. Some were weeping quietly. Panic spread quickly in the dark. One child started sobbing, and then another joined in. "I want my mom..." "I want to go home..." I buried my face in my knees, listening to the chorus of fear. I remembered making those exact same sounds once. I couldn't remember which time it was. Maybe the tenth or fifteenth time my parents left me behind. We were in a crowded grocery store. My mother was focused entirely on buying snacks for Leo. They walked too fast, turning a corner and forgetting I existed. I wept and searched until a security guard brought me to the lost-and-found desk. My name echoed over the intercom over and over again. I waited for two hours. I cried until my chest hurt, then sobbed, until I had no strength left at all. When my mother finally showed up, there was no relief or worry on her face. Only annoyance. She grabbed my arm hard enough to leave a mark. "What are you crying for?! You always ruin everything! Couldn't you just stay put and wait for me?!" I never cried after that day. --- A small hatch on the iron door snapped open. Something hard thudded onto the dirty floor. "Eat up and shut the hell up!" a voice barked from outside. The weeping quieted down. A braver child crept forward, squinting in the dim moonlight. "It's stale bread..." Nobody reached for it. "I won't eat that! It's filthy!" a boy shrieked. "I want dinner! I want my mom!" The crying started all over again. My stomach grumbled loudly in the dark. I hadn't eaten since morning. My mother gave me half a glass of milk, that was what was left over from Leo's breakfast. I crawled over to the rolls. I picked one up, brushed off the dirt, and stuffed it into my mouth without hesitation. It was dry and choked my throat, but I chewed slowly and swallowed with effort. A familiar feeling of fullness washed over my stomach. It tasted better than any meal at our dinner table, where nothing was ever saved for me anyway. Chapter 2 I finished one roll quickly and reached for a second. Memory hit me like a blow to the chest. I was back in that dark house, starving. It was Leo’s birthday. My parents took him out to a high-end seafood place. They didn't leave any food for me. I laid on the cold floor all night, stomach twisting in sharp knots. The fridge was bare. The pantry held plenty of imported snacks, but those were reserved for Leo. I didn't dare touch them. So I stood over the sink, gulping down freezing tap water just to fill the void. They didn't get back until midnight. My mother walked in, saw a single dish in the sink, and grabbed me by the hair. "You lazy brat! You sat around all night and couldn't even wash a dish? What good are you?!" My father took off his leather belt. The strap hit my back. Once, twice, again and again. Leo stood nearby, eating a slice of leftover birthday cake, watching with a blank face. I didn't cry. I didn't dodge. If I cried, they hit harder. If I ran, they hit longer. --- I choked halfway through the second roll. The dry dough stuck in my throat. I clutched my neck, gasping for air, my face burning hot. Just as my vision started to spot, a hand reached out. Someone pressed a bottle into my grip. The water was murky, but I didn't care. I grabbed it and downed huge gulps until the food finally slid down. Panting, I looked up. It was a filthy, thin girl, a few years older than me. "Thanks," I whispered. She blinked in surprise, then shook her head softly. --- The next morning, the heavy iron door slammed open. A burly man with a cigarette dangling from his lips walked in. He was the ringleader. He scanned the room, inspecting us one by one. His eyes locked onto me. I was still wearing the brand-new dress my mom put on me for the park photos. After a night on the floor, it was filthy and rumpled. He stepped over, pinched my chin hard, and forced my head up. He sneered in disgust. "Why is this one so scrawny? Looks like a dying stray." He shoved me away, and I hit the ground. "Dressed up fancy, thought she’d be worth something," he spat at the guard by the door. "She’s sick and weak. Won't bring a dime. Waste of effort!" Anger flared in his eyes. He raised a heavy boot and kicked straight for my stomach. I braced myself and closed my eyes. The pain never came. A frail body threw itself over mine. It was the girl who had given me water. The boot slammed hard into her back. She let out a muffled groan, her small frame trembling. "Mister, please, she's little. She doesn't know better," the girl begged, voice shaking, but she didn't move off me. The man grunted, lost interest, and turned on his heel. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. I stared at the girl. Her face was pale. "Are you okay?" I asked. She shook her head, then pulled me closer into the corner. "Whenever they come in, act compliant," she whispered. "Curl into a ball. Protect your ribs so nothing breaks when they hit you." I stared at her, stunned. For the first time in my life, someone stepped in front of me. Someone protected me. The feeling was completely foreign and my throat tightened with a strange, aching burn. Chapter 3 My parents hated me because Leo and I were twins. My mother had a high-risk pregnancy. When Leo was born, he had a congenital heart condition. He was frail and sickly, needing constant care. I was born completely healthy. As far back as I could remember, my mother blamed me for his illness. "You're a parasite," she would spit at me. "You stole all the nutrients in my womb! That’s why your brother is sick!" So Leo got the best of everything. Fresh fruit, brand-name clothes, elite private schooling. I got the scraps. Second hand clothes from distant cousins, leftover food, and absolute coldness. I learned to accept the bias. I learned to fade into the background. --- By the third day in the compound, an icy rain pounded against the concrete shed. Water leaked through the cracked window, soaking my side. My body was burning with fever. My vision blurred. Outside the door, the guards were talking. "The skinny kid has a roaring fever. What do we do?" "Who cares? Wasting medicine on her is a loss. Let her rot. She won't fetch a good price anyway." "If she dies, we pitch her in the woods for the coyotes." I closed my eyes, shivering violently. Maybe it was for the best. If I died, I’d never be hungry again. I’d never be beaten again. As darkness crept in, a pair of cold hands touched my forehead. It was the older girl. She pulled me close, using her frail body to block the freezing wind blowing through the window. "Hold on," she whispered in my ear. "I'm going to help you." --- On the third day of my disappearance, my mother’s phone rang. It was my schoolteacher. "Dora has missed three days of school. Is she sick?" My mother was sitting in the living room, helping Leo with a jigsaw puzzle. She frowned in annoyance. "That ungrateful brat," she muttered into the phone. "Don't worry, Ms. Paul. She's just throwing a tantrum. We'll find her." She hung up as my father walked out of his home office. "What's going on?" "Dora thinks she's clever," my mother sneered. "She ran away. She's pulling a stunt because we lost track of her at the amusement park. “She just wants attention." My father let out a cold laugh. "Ignore her. Once she gets hungry, she'll come crawling back." It never crossed their minds that I was in danger. They were convinced I was throwing a fit to earn a shred of their pity. They didn't call the police. They didn't even step outside to look. My father went back to work. My mother laughed and fed Leo the last slice of strawberry cake in the fridge. --- Back in the shed, my fever raged out of control. The girl stayed by my side, wiping my brow with a wet rag. But it wasn't working. Late that night, when the guard had dozed off, she slipped out through a gap in the door. A long time passed. Then, wild barking erupted in the yard, followed by a man's furious cursing. Crack. Crack. The sharp, brutal sound of a leather belt echoing in the dark. I struggled to sit up, but my muscles refused to work. A moment later, the door slammed open. The guards threw her inside like a bag of trash. They stomped off, swearing under their breath. I dragged myself across the floor toward her. In the dim moonlight, I saw the bloody gashes on her back. Her shirt was shredded, raw whip marks slicing across her skin. She opened her tight fist. Inside were a few crushed, wilted wild weeds. "These... are herbal remedies," she gasped, offering a weak, trembling smile. "My grandma taught me. Eat them... and the fever will break.” Chapter 4 I stared at her bloody back, tears burning down my face. The crushed leaves tasted bitter, but I choked them down anyway. Whether it was the medicine or sheer survival instinct, my fever finally broke before dawn. My head cleared. Thinking I was still passed out, the girl took my hand. Her finger traced letters into my palm, over and over. C–L–A–R–A. She kept writing it, as if reminding herself who she was. "My name... is Clara," she choked out in a soft whisper. Her touch was light on my skin. A faint warmth spread straight to my chest. It made me think of another night I had been burning with fever. I was trapped in bed, heavy and breathless, unable to force a sound out of my throat. Out in the living room, my mother was frantic on the phone. "Dr. Evans! Leo only ate a few bites of dinner. Is it his heart? Please, you have to hurry!" She hung up and immediately rushed to the kitchen to simmer special broth for him. No one checked on me. With the fever burning my eyes, I had to drag myself to the bathroom and pour cold water over my head just to survive the night. --- I opened my eyes and looked at Clara. "My name is Dora," I rasped out, my voice raw. She froze, her eyes suddenly lighting up in the dark. "You're awake!" I nodded, throwing my arms awkwardly around her. "I'm sorry. This was all my fault." In that foul, pitch-black shed, we held each other tight. "Clara..." I whispered into her shoulder. "If we get out of here alive, will you be my big sister?" "Yes," she answered without hesitation. "Sisters for life." --- Over the next two days, the atmosphere shifted. The guards grew tense, pacing constantly and slamming doors. I overheard them whispering through the wall. "Cops are cracking down hard nearby. We can't stay here. Time to move." "What about the kids?" "Take the ones we can sell. The rest... get rid of them in the woods. Don't leave any loose ends." As he spoke, he glanced coldly toward Clara and me. --- I didn't sleep a wink that night. Once the room went quiet, I crept toward the far wall. Earlier that day, I’d spotted a rusty piece of metal wire jutting out from a crack in the plaster. I worked the wire into the rusted screws holding the small ventilation grate in place. The wire was soft. The screws were frozen stiff. My fingernails tore and snapped back while my blood smeared over the iron. Pain shot up my fingers, making me gasp, but I didn't stop. Right as dawn broke, the grate finally gave way. I nudged Clara awake. "Clara, quick! Climb out through here!" She stared at the narrow opening, then looked back at me, shaking her head. "You go first." "You're taller," I lied instantly. "Get through, then pull me up from the outside. Hurry, we're out of time!" She stepped onto my shoulders. I pressed my back against the wall, putting every ounce of my remaining strength into lifting her. My arms trembled violently. My teeth gritted together. Finally, her fingers caught the outer ledge of the window frame. Then— Click. The heavy lock on the door snapped back. A blinding beam of flashlight whipped across the dark, locking straight onto my pale face.