My whole body aches, my limbs weigh a ton, as if they belong on someone else. I try to move my hands and legs only to wince in pain as what I assume are ropes cut into my wrists. My head rolls to the side, I groan in discomfort at the weight that seems to settle on my neck. The throbbing in my temple intensifies, muffled but painful moans slip past my dry lips with me hoping the people using my skull as a golf ball will stop.

Every breath I take is painful, a struggle and a prayer for strength to keep breathing, to stay alive long enough for help to come. Help I can only hope is on its way. Inhaling slower doesn't make it hurt any less, I wheeze, trying and failing to keep calm.

My eyelids flutter open but the blackness is all I see. I blink twice but the blackness doesn't ebb way, instead, it glares, mocking me and my predicament. No. I shake my head and blink fast, something must have entered my eyes, it happens all the time.

This is not real, I try to remind myself. This cannot be happening to me. I close my eyes and inhale feverishly. I have had a long day, the stress is taking a toll on me. This is a bad dream, an episode from a horror movie and I happen to be the protagonist. It will be over once I open my eyes and that's what I do. My eyes open slowly but it remains, the darkness that is determined to befriend me.

Am I blind?

My heartbeat quickens, dread rears its ugly head and chills run down my spine. Blind people don't see anything, they feel, right? I can't be blind, I see the hole, the black hole, the darkness. I can't live the rest of my life without seeing the blue sky or Awele's face. God, please. What of Nnabuike, Mma? How will I gauge their reactions to my pranks?

A door opens, my head jerks and I am back inside the moving vehicle but with my legs and arms free from the ropes. Every little sound I make causes the gag to grow tighter and a blood-curdling scream escapes my mouth the moment I am ungagged. My ears ring at the sudden contact of a solid object against my temple and I am instantly overwhelmed by the metallic taste of blood.

My blood.

Licking my bleeding lips, I wait for the pain to subside before spitting in all direction.

"Bitch," a voice beside me murmurs. I yelp when someone yanks my hair and I can only hope the spittle landed on the person.

"What do you want?" I ask when I finally find my voice. "How much do you need?" My head moves left and right as if I can see through my thick blindfold. "I can give you whatever you want, name your price."

As if on cue, they all start laughing and I lost interest in the bargain. I am not the best person in the world but I don't deserve this, I mind my business and do right by God. I am not a bad person, this shouldn't be me.

"The only thing you can offer us is your body," another guy says and I freeze. I know that voice, it belongs to the guy who took me to the car. On instinct, my hand moves to my side and I sigh. "Luckily for you, we are not interested in that." My chest falls, I gulp and try to focus on the fact that I will not be gang-raped. "So be a good girl and be quiet."

"Why are you doing this?" I ask and sniff when the car stops moving. "I have not done anything to you. I don't even know you," I scream when someone grabs me by the arm. Where are they taking me? "Please."

My head spins as they pass me around like an overused toy, I grunt when someone lifts me over his shoulder, thankful playtime has ended and we start moving again. We stop, I hear the faint sound of a door opening and I am lowered to the ground. No, a chair.

"We can talk about this," I mutter once the blindfold comes off and my gaze lands on a man with a facial covering that leaves only his eyes visible. "You don't have to do this, I can," I swallow, "I can double whatever amount you are getting. Name your price."

He doesn't laugh at me like I half-expect him to, I don't think he heard me and I don't bother to repeat myself. Another person in similar facial covering joins him with a stool which he places in front of me. I shrink and relax in my seat when he sets a tray of bread and watery beans on the stool. Giggles bubble in my stomach, spill from me in the form of a hollow, sarcastic sound.

"What is this?" The tray tumbles to the floor at the impact of my feet, I rise from the seat and stalk towards the person closest to me. "What is this? Take me back to my house."

Anger clouds my sense of logic, exhaustion, pain obscures my judgement as I make to yank the covering from his face. My hands never meet the niqab but a resounding slap meets my cheek and I stagger backwards as my vision gets blurry. The ringing in my ears start again, blood rushes to my face and I feel the imprint of the man's palm on my cheek as I struggle to stay conscious.

I blink and inhale, the darkness returns with my previous fear of being blind. I am back in the chair with the ropes around my limbs. The weight on my neck shifts to my legs, I shudder as it crawls up my crotch area. My body starts jerking, he said they will not rape me. He said they will not rape me. A pinch and slap on my arm cause my vibration to cease and the blindfold falls off.

Brown carpet fills my vision first. Bed. Man. A man is crouching in front of me. It takes a few seconds for my brain to boot then the realisation hits me. I let out a muffled cry and start shaking in my seat. I can see. I can see. Tears stream down my cheeks and if it isn't for the ropes, I might have hugged him.

"You are awake," it is the same voice. The one who stole me from my house, I decide to call him Guy. My eyes lower to my hands and legs tied to the chair and Guy offers an explanation, "To prevent another episode of that rubbish you almost pulled." I flinch when he reaches for my face, afraid he will hit me but he grabs my jaw to ask, "Do you want to leave here alive? In one piece?"

My head bobs with my mouth hanging open and I keep nodding until I become dizzy.

"Then behave." He lets go of my chin, I gulp as he stands; he is a giant. It will be best for me to do as he says. "We have no use for you once the side of the bargain is settled."

For some strange reasons, my mouth moves and the nagging question is out of my lips before I can stop it, "What bargain?"

"Mary," Guy's voice booms and I shrink in the chair. I should take that as a sign our discussion is over but my name isn't Mary. It's Ifunaya or has something else happened to change that? How long was I out for?

Squeezing my lips to relieve the slight pain in my cheeks, I scan the room for clues that will give out my location or aid in my escape. Nothing stands out. The blue paint is peeling and the only item in the room except for the chair I am seated on is a bed.

"Mary," Guy calls out again.

"Yes?" I find myself saying before I realise it then I cough when he redirects his gaze to me. I just want to stay alive. "Sorry."

To my surprise, he chuckles and the alarm bells in my head prepare to go off. Our eyes jerk to the door which suddenly opens and a tiny, underdressed lady comes in holding a tray. She leaves without a word and returns with a similar stool to place the tray. The alarm bells go off, I sink my teeth into my lips as she pulls the stool closer to me.

Why are they trying so hard to feed me?

"Mary," the girl's eyes lift to his face, "call Patrick." Mary leaves without a word and Guy points to my food. "Start eating."

The door bursts open and a guy saunters in with the arrogance of a superior. The niqab makes it hard to identify any of them but I can't ignore the voice in my head saying he is the one who slapped me. Handcuffs dangle from the front pocket of his jean, in his hand is a knife which he holds to his throat in a slicing motion once our eyes connect. I feel myself grow smaller under his intense scrutiny and I avert my gaze.

"Patrick," Guy calls out, his voice holding a warning which Patrick fails to heed.

"Mike," Patrick replies with nonchalance and equal annoyance, brandishing the knife as he approaches me with calculated steps.

Squatting to my eye level, I stiffen when he cuts the rope binding my hands to the chair without releasing my feet. I never get a chance to massage my wrists because he grabs my left hand and cuffs it back to the seat. Our eyes clash, I gulp and look away. There's something about him, this devil and I know he won't hesitate to hurt or kill me.

"Eat."

My gaze darts between Patrick and the tray containing yam and egg then comes to rest on his face again. I shake my head. "No."

His head turns in the direction of Mike as if waiting for a command, when he receives none, a slap that sends my neck swinging to the left lands on my face. Tears drop from my eyes at the stinging slap. It hurts. It hurts more because it's the same cheek. Patrick continues staring as I caress my cheek, his eyes daring me to do something.

Devil.

I reach for his niqab but he's faster, he pins my free hand to the chair and a derisive laugh erupts from him. His eyes fill with so much hate as he stares down at me and I know, I know today might be my last day on earth but I won't go down without a fight.

Without a single thought, I spit on his face and offer him a crooked smile at the sight of the bloody mixture trailing down the centre of his niqab to the ground. If only it will permeate the niqab. It takes both of us a split second to realise what I have done, I blink and his hands are already around my neck, intent on snuffing the life out of me. I try to see the crazy bastard's face, my hand drops to my side each time I try to lift it and hoarse laughter spills from me. I am dying.

"Patrick," the voice sounds from a distant, I can barely hear above my pounding heart. "Get out." My hand claws futilely at Patrick's and he applies more pressure on my throat, the bastard is determined to end me today.

When I am certain I'll pass out, he releases his hold on me and I gasp, sucking in as much air as I can. Through partially closed eyes, I see the devil stroll out of the room like he owns the building and amidst my cough, the ringing of my ears, I hear Mike approach me. This time, I resign to my fate, I don't try to fight him. My eyes close, I wait for him to finish what his colleague started.

A sharp pain pricks my neck, my eyelids flutter and I give in to the familiar darkness.

*   *   *

I wake up tired, most likely a part of the side effect of whatever they injected in my neck. Mike walks in, well, I hope he is the one but it's easy to tell them apart from their niqabs. When he clears his throat and drops a pile of newspapers after dragging a chair to sit some distance away from me, I become wary. I don't care that we are not talking, silence is better than getting choked by that maniac called Patrick but I want to know his reason for being here. And if I get the chance, I'll claw that devil's eyes out.

The thought causes a small smile to flit to my lips, I am all mouth and no action. At least when it comes to physically hurting people. Mike holds up a newspaper to his eye level, doing a great job at hiding his face, I don't know what his plan is but if it's to catch my attention, it works well. My eyes trail to the headline written in bold letters, I squint, barely able to make out the words written under: ENUGU DECIDES; Sullivan Chime of APD or Anthony Ugwanyi of PDC.

Turning away from the newspaper, I only take another glance when he keeps holding it up. What's his plan? I let out a low hiss, he hasn't flipped to the next page yet so I know he's not reading shit. If he is here to make sure I won't run, he can rest assured that this lady with her legs tied has no such superpowers that will facilitate her escape. How I wish I had, I will launch my powers by slicing Patrick into two perfect halves.

My face is one of disinterest when our eyes meet. "What do you want from me?"

Enugu is my state of origin and birthplace but I don't understand why he is doing this. The matters of the state should be decided by the people eligible to vote, those who live there. During the last election, I voted for APD candidate, the sitting Governor. Mma says he's still doing the good work he started which is great for him and his campaign but no direct concern of mine.

Mike holds up another newspaper without answering my question, this one has a similar headline as the former. I sigh as questions, scenarios and different thoughts begin to swirl in my head. If he needs help with the election, I am afraid I can't help him. Yes, daddy was somewhat famous, he knew a lot of people but he's dead, he can't do anything from the grave and I don't know anybody. I have no connections and even if I do, it's almost too late, the election is in a few days.

"What do you want? Why am I here?" I ask.

The bozo picks another newspaper, I sigh, this time, I don't spare it a glance, two of us can play the silent game. Maybe he notices the way my jaw sets in defiance because he throws it at my feet. I try, I try to ignore it but there's nothing of interest to look at in this drab room. Heaving a sigh, I cast a side glance at it and my eyes round to saucers.

Wait. What? No way.

The thing they injected into my neck must be affecting me, now I'm seeing things. My gaze returns to the newspaper, expecting the picture of Paul and Chi splashed on the front page to disappear but it doesn't. They continue smiling at the camera. Stretching my free hand to pick it only sends a wave of pain through my body, I wince and recoil.

Mike takes a step forward, for some weird reason, I feel safer in his presence and my body relaxes thinking he wants to help. A tide of disappointment sweeps over me when he tucks the newspaper under his armpit instead of handing it over to me and I go back to disliking him more than I already do. They are all a bunch of assholes.

"Mary," he shouts at the door like there's someone behind it. I roll my eyes but don't cower at the sound of his voice, focusing on the folded newspaper to catch a glimpse.

A feeling of dread settles over me, I can't help but hope I didn't mix with the wrong crowd by associating with Chi. Chi and Paul. Brother and sister. I scoff in disbelief, I still can't wrap my head around that fact. How?

The wooden door creaks open, Mary walks in with a transparent bowl of yam porridge. She drops it on the stool, goes outside and returns with a bottle of water she leaves open for me. A giggle escapes me, soon enough, I am cackling. For kidnappers, they put so much effort into making sure I am fed. But I am not falling for it, if they want to kill me, they should be bold enough to do it with their gun rather than poisoning me.

"Now eat." Our gazes clash, brown eyes to green ones with him towering over me. My stomach rumbles, causing me to break our stare off and I shake my head with fervour. I will rather starve than eat their poison.

"It's not poisoned." I grimace, now, he reads minds too? How nice. "If we wanted you dead, you will be gone by now." As much as I hate to admit it, he is right about that so when he repeats his command, I nod. "Eat."

He helps me with opening the bowl, I don't take a bite without chanting a prayer before meal twice. I even ask God to forgive my sins so if I die from eating their food, I might stand a chance to make heaven. The yam tastes better than it looks, my insides knot in appreciation for the meal. Try as I might deny or delay it, I do need the food.

After a few more bites, I push the plate and growl when Mike's eyes lift from his phone to demand the fork. He hands me the bottle of water, I take a long, satisfying gulp and glare at him. My nostrils flare, I don't like him. But he is much better than Patrick.

"How long have I been here?" I ask, it's hard to tell the hour of the day, our only source of light is the single orange bulb dangling from the ceiling. He shrugs and hands the newspaper to me. Maybe he's not so bad.

Governor Sullivan Chime's children return is the caption I see under the picture of Paul and Chi. I try to ignore the feeling in my gut and focus on reading the short article that followed the picture but my eyes wander to the date of the newspaper. It's a year old.

Fear, uncertainty surrounds my being and I shake my head, this is one bad dream that has gone on for too long, I need someone to snap me out of it. The newspaper drops to the floor, Mike takes a glance at me and returns to typing furiously on his phone.

Mirthless laughter spills from my lips, I spare a look at the room, noticing the off white ceiling tainted with dried cobwebs for the first time. "Okay, Paul. You win," I say under my breath; this cannot be real. "I am so easy to mess with, I agree. Let's end this."

If Mike heard me, he doesn't act like it but when he stands, I hope it's to give me one of those brain resetting slaps that will cause me to wake in my room. Sadly, all he does is pick the newspaper to return to the pile.

"Now we have a call to make," he says like we already discussed it. I nod, at this point, I will go with anything he says. "Remember, you do only what I ask you to do. Only that."

Satisfied with my unenthusiastic response, he dials a number and places the phone on speaker. My heart picks up speed as the phone rings without interruption and I rub my hand up and down my knee. Mike redials the number, a lump lodges in my throat as Paul's voice fills the air, "H-Hello."

**********

For the Nigerians, did y'all see what I did with those parties?
PDC and APD? 😂😂😂

Please let me know what you think about this chapter, it was so difficult for me to write. I kept deleting, rewriting and editing; I hope this did it justice though. This is my first time writing a kidnap, it gets better (I like to think that it will)😶😶.