I desperately tried to sit up, but it was like trying to swim out of quicksand with my hands tied in my back, if sand was made of thrashing arms and legs. Someone's head - or knee, or shoulder, or foot - kept jolting up, hitting me repeatedly in my already bashed-up face. Blood gushed out of my nose and spread around through the fabric of my hood, and all I could taste or smell was its characteristic metallic taste.

I couldn't even feel sorry for the legs I squashed, and bent, and kicked, and hurt, and bruised on my way out. I couldn't beg pardon for the pain I caused them every time I lost my balance and my body slammed back on top of the pile. I couldn't worry about the coughing, wheezing, and choking sounds from the girls beneath me. June, who must have been pushed in first, was struggling to breathe and gasping for air. Ana was grunting painfully as she was getting crushed under my weight, and Kait was still screaming her head off.

I finally managed to hoist my chest onto the seats, and lift my legs up on the bench. A big, hairy hand grabbed me by the collar and pulled me to the side. Slowly but surely, we were picked up one by one and sat in a row on the back seat. June took a few minutes to catch her breath; all of us moaned in pain, lamenting our limbs, faces, and ribcages who had been bashed in during the battle - but with time, the squealing and screaming and crying out to our mothers turned into quiet sobbing. 

It seemed as if we all felt the same way - unsure, yet resigned to our fates. At this point, it was still uncertain whether we were going to die. So far, our captors hadn't shown much concern about our well-being, given that they had all but split my skull open on a door frame, and almost let June suffocate to death on the car floor.

"Why did you take my phone? I want my phone back," said Kait, after a long moment of silence.

"Huh?" said a deep, slightly confused male voice in the front of the car.

"You're not allowed to take my phone without a warrant, give it back," she cried.

"Kait, I don't think this is the police," whispered Ana as the man started to laugh.

"Why," he asked, still giggling "Who are you gonna call?"

"Ghostbusters," I sang quietly.

I'd hardly even shut my mouth, and I could already feel my cheeks blushing. I bit my tongue, but it was too late– the words were already out. They were floating in the air, like the dreadful smell of a silent fart. Nobody answered, nobody laughed. Perhaps they didn't get it.

"To-do-doo-do, doo-do," I sang, just in case.

"Sarah- are you fucking insane?" stuttered June, "Is this funny to you?"

The man at the front started laughing, but even through our hoods, I could feel the weight of the girls' angry gaze. I bit my swollen lips, now regretting ever saying anything. Surely, if by chance I survived this whole ordeal, this would be one of those moments where I'd stay up all night, staring at the ceiling above my bed, thinking about embarrassing moments of the past, and feeling all the shame again.

"Literally, what the fuck Sarah," said Kait, "How is this the moment to make, stupid, unfunny jokes like that? Are you in on this or something?"

Ana only let out a disappointed sigh.

"I guess- just some fucked up coping mechanism," I muttered.

"Fucked up, you don't say," screamed Kait, "I have never-"

"Okay," shouted the man at the front, "It's funny for the first two minutes, now you're annoying. Shut the fuck up. All of you."

It may have been just a few minutes, a few hours, or maybe it was a few days. With no visual references, nothing to help me pass time, and a throbbing pain in the center of my head that kept me from thinking straight, it was easy to lose track of time. All I could tell is that we drove for a while longer before we finally stopped.

The car's door opened, and although I couldn't see anything, I could tell by the fresh, moist air and the quiet chirping of the birds and bugs that it was probably already nighttime. A thick, calloused hand grabbed me by the side of the neck and pulled me out of the car, a little more gently than I had been pushed in.

As I stepped outside onto the sharp gravel, I realized one of my sandals had been lost in the fight. I was still a little dizzy and hazed, still thinking that maybe this was just a very vivid and fucked-up daydream of mine. If it was, I thought to myself, I might need to go back and see my therapist.

Someone crept up behind me and started slowly pushing me along. I walked unsurely, awkwardly, tripping over the remnants of my shoe that hung by a thread from my left ankle, trying to feel the path with my trembling feet with every step we took. I didn't want to fall and hurt my head even more, yet I felt whoever my guide was, was getting a little impatient. 

I leaned backward, desperately digging my heels in the ground to try and slow them down, but they just answered by shoving me in the back a little harder. While their lack of friendliness and compassion did nothing to help my case, I reckoned it might have been hard for them to relate - they might have never been kidnapped, blinded, had their face bashed in, and then been asked to walk down a rugged path with a broken shoe.

A heavy wooden trap door creaked open in front of me and loudly hit the ground. I took a step more and the floor opened up beneath my feet, into a narrow concrete staircase. I slowly stumbled to the bottom of the steps, and into a cold, quiet, musty basement. With a small blow to the back of the knee, I was made to kneel down onto the concrete floor, where hundreds of tiny little sharp stones dug into the skin of my bare shins. 

I wondered if this is how animals felt when they were led through the dark bowels of a slaughterhouse. I heard the other girls walk in, just as hesitantly as I had, slipping down the stairs and gasping in fear with every other step. I heard them kneel down by my side, I heard their breathing and their quiet sobbing. For a minute or two, it seemed that none of us even dared to move.

"Guys?" whispered June, "Are you here?"

A male voice jumped out of a corner of the room and quickly shushed her, just as Kait and Ana confusedly mumbled back an answer. I might have opened my mouth but no sound came out. I was already deeply lost within my thoughts. First of all, I had to concentrate on my breathing, to try and keep the panic at bay and my ideas as clear as I could. 

Hold your breath in, count to four, exhale through the mouth, count to four, inhale through the nose. That was painful. Maybe my nose was broken. Could I ask for ice? Wouldn't it heal up weirdly? Did it even matter? Would I be around long enough for it to be a concern? Was I going to die? Was Ana going to die? Was I contemptuous with the idea of dying here and now? Had I breathed out yet? Had it been four seconds?

The rapid-fire questions my own brain pestered me with were starting to speed up my heartbeat. I felt a flush rushing up to my cheeks, my pulse rising in my temples, and a dark fog filling up my brain. Breathe, Sarah, and count to four.

"Sarah?" whispered Ana, as her voice choked up with concern.

"I'm okay," I answered softly.

The man shushed us again. Also, I wasn't okay. Under the hood, my eyes were wide open, my nostrils flared and my jaw was clenched. My chest felt tight, my gut tied in knots, and my throat was burning. Heavy footsteps walked out of the corner and up the staircase. The trapdoor creaked and slammed down. A rusty lock then squeaked shut, followed by the rustling of branches and leaves scraping against the wooden door, and the quiet pitter-patter of dust cascading down the steps. Then came silence. A mind-numbing, time-stopping, air-freezing silence.

In this deep, empty silence, nothing could stop my skull from becoming an echo chamber for toxic thoughts. I wondered what could happen when I went home - if, that is, I ever made it home.

Would my mother be waiting at the airport, teary-eyed, telling the local news about how I'm the only family she has left; before I suddenly walk through the sliding doors with a beaming smile, and as the cameras focus on me, she runs to me to embrace me again? Would she be eagerly waiting on the front porch, snuggled in her fluffy bathrobe, tears streaming down her face with her arms open wide as I walked down the driveway, seizing with tears as she sobbed about how she thought she had lost me forever? What kind of daughter would wish to see her mother cry? I thought to myself, choking up with guilt. Alas, only in my wildest dreams would my Mom ever be anything else than an empty shell of a human, with small, blue, soulless eyes and a pale face devoid of emotion.

Most likely I'd walk into the house, and she'd give me a blank stare as she looked over her shoulder. Then she'd turn back towards the TV, as if she'd barely noticed I had ever left.

"What do you want now?" she'd say, as I would sit on the old sofa opposite her, gently kicking away a week-old pizza box and all the flies that lived inside of it.

"Nothing," I'd lie, "Just popped by to see if you were okay."

She would mumble back an answer I wouldn't understand, maybe complaining she was out of whiskey and why didn't I empty the dishwasher. She'd keep watching old episodes of SNL and never even crack a smile or a laugh. And I would sink into my seat, probably wishing I would have died back here in the basement.

The more time went by, the more my chest hurt, the more I dreaded my homecoming, the more the air filled with the stench of shit and piss, and the less the idea of dropping dead here and now displeased me.

"Are we alone?" whispered Kait.

Her question was met with a long, drawn-out silence as we opened our ears to wait for another shush which never came.

"Do you think we can talk now?" she asked.

"Talk about what?" muttered June, her voice still jolting with tears, "What is there to talk about?"

"Like, what the fuck happened today?" I scoffed.

"Sarah, why is this funny to you?" said Kait.

"It's not funny, it's just really absurd," I answered.

"Absurd?"

"No, she's right," added June, "How did this even happen to us? It just seems like a nightmare."

"I might be crazy, but, do you remember those two weirdos I told you about at the gas station?" I whispered, "I think it might have something to do with them."

"What do you mean?" asked Ana.

"Like, I don't know if it was just me, or my imagination, but I could swear that I saw one of the guys hanging around near the police car. It might have not been him, but he had the same glasses, and hair-"

"Wait, wait-" interrupted Kait, "Do you think this is about you, Sarah? That they were obsessed with you and followed you, what, three hours down the road? And they somehow found you and set up an elaborate trap, just so they could kidnap you?"

"No, I mean I don't know - I don't know if it's 'cause of me, you, or just a coincidence - maybe they noticed we were American when they heard me speak, and they kidnapped us because they think we have money?"

"Did you talk to them?" gasped June, raising her voice, "Are you stupid?"

"No, I-" I stuttered, "I was just buying cigarettes."

Kait sighed loudly, which flipped a little switch in my brain, sending me into overdrive.

"Also, you were the ones who wanted to stop at that fucking police stop." I belched out, "I told you to keep going, and you didn't listen. None of this would have happened if we hadn't fucking stopped. None of this is my fault."

"What do you mean it's not your fault," protested June, "What would you rather have done? Ran away from the police? We would have been arrested or something."

"They weren't the police, June! Nothing would have happened!" I answered, "We would be at the retreat right now, sleeping in a comfy bed and not in a fucking puddle of our own piss!"

"How were we supposed to know they weren't the police?!" she cried.

"Girls!" hissed Ana, "Keep it down, they'll hear us."

"Ana's right," whispered Kait, "We don't have much time."

"Are you kidding?" I sneered, "We have all the time in the world now we're stuck here."

"Stop being so sarcastic, Sarah," she mumbled back, "We have to plan our escape."

"Yeah," added Ana, "Has anyone managed to take their cowls off?"

"Not me," answered June, "Maybe if we rub our faces on the ground they'll slip off?"

A faint scraping sound ensued, followed by an unsatisfied grunt.

"It doesn't work," she observed, "Maybe if we untie our hands first?"

"I've been trying," said Ana, "But I feel it's just getting tighter."

"What if we just run out, and keep going in a straight line?" suggested Kait, "We'll end up finding someone who can help."

"That's ridiculous, Kait, you'll just bang face-first into the door," I said, "Honestly, it's too late to escape now. We should have done it before we were tied up, blinded, and taken to some random basement in the middle of nowhere. The best we can do now is stay put, obey the guys and wait until they free us."

"I'm sorry, Sarah," Ana said, "But I can't support you on this one. You're really going to get us killed, this time."

"Yeah, you're fucking sick," groaned Kait, "You seem like you enjoy this."

"No, I mean, it's kind of obvious they aren't going to kill us at this point. They'll probably just try to ransom us."

"How do you know?" scoffed an outraged June, "Did you ask them?"

"Well, for a start, they all hid their faces with masks and sunglasses when they caught us, and then covered our heads with hoods - so, obviously, they don't want us to recognize them," I explained, "And now, why would they be so careful not to be seen by us, if they were going to kill us anyway?"

"But you said you saw one of the guys," answered Ana, who sounded a little skeptical about my theory, "So that can't be true."

"I guess he just wasn't careful - he probably didn't even realize I saw him. Besides, it's quite common in the area for women and children to be kidnapped for ransom. I read that about four women disappear every day, just in this country. If we try to escape - and we most likely won't be successful because they probably have at least one guy guarding outside - they'll just find ways to punish us for it; and worst-case scenario, if they notice we have seen their faces, they'll kill us so we don't describe them to the police or something."

An awkward silence followed my words, until Kait, who sounded a little confused, asked:

"How do you know this?"

"I, uhh, researched it," I answered timidly.

"What?" blurted Ana, "Why?"

"Maladaptive daydreaming," I said.

"Huh?" said June.

"I kind of get lost in my thoughts a lot," I mumbled, as I struggled to put it into words, "and uhh, I imagine scenarios. Like, reading a book but in my head, and I'm the one who writes the book. That's why I kind of talk to myself sometimes - because I'm reading the dialogue out loud. And, uhh, most of the time it's just random stuff like, I'm talking to someone I know, but... sometimes it goes a bit further, I imagine more elaborate stuff, like, I get kidnapped and stuff. So, because I think about it a lot, I research it - to make my stories more realistic, and, uhh, yeah. Basically that. I've thought about it before - that's why I know it."

"Sarah," answered Kait, with a quiet, straightforward tone of voice, "That's so fucking weird."

"Yeah, that's really bizarre Sarah," added June, "You must have manifested this."

"Manifested?" I asked, confused.

"It's when you want something, and believe it into existence. It's like, spiritual - but this, Sarah, this is fucked up."

"You're fucked up" was the only comeback I could come up with.

Ana stayed quiet, but I could hear her shame from where I was sitting - and it was deafeningly loud. She must have been thinking about how embarrassing it was to have ever called me her friend; and how much she regretted bringing me along on the trip. Maybe June was right, maybe I had 'manifested' it, maybe it was because of me these men had set up a trap for us. Perhaps we would all die here, and it would all be because of me - although honestly, I would gladly have died four terrible deaths, if only it meant the other girls would be fine.

"Regardless of who's fault this is, you're being an asshole, Sarah" ranted Kait, "You're acting way out of line. I mean - cracking jokes, mocking us while we're in the middle of a hostage situation? It's messed up. We should be supporting each other, working together to get out of here - not moping in a corner singing ghostbusters and having wet dreams about your fatass kidnapper. Just because your life is miserable, doesn't mean ours has to be too. So - I don't know what's going on, what's your plan, or what you're thinking in that weird-ass brain of yours, but please just leave us out of it. If you're trying to get yourself killed or whatever, fine, go kill yourself; but don't-"

The trapdoor whacked open and a man barged down the stairs, yelling at us. I couldn't really understand any of the words, but he sounded pretty angry. There was a loud clapping sound as if he slapped one of the other girls on the back of the head, and I guess we all took it as a sign that it was time to shut up. For the rest of the cold, dark, quiet night, I could feel nothing else than the throbbing pain of my swollen face, the stabbing of the little stones in my knees, and Kait's harsh words, repeating over and over in my head. During my last night alive, I didn't get much sleep.