A rough hand violently shook my shoulder, rudely disrupting me from my oblivious slumber.

"Nat, go away," I grumbled, turning over to lay on my back. "I'll get up in five minutes, I promise this time."

"I'm not even giving you five seconds," came a deep voice that was very much unlike that of Nat's.

My eyes flew open in panic at the foreign tone, and then in depressed recognition as it was Ahsan, and not Nat, who had woken me up. He sat at the edge of the cot and eyed me strangely.

"What do you want," I muttered and stubbornly rolled over so I wasn't facing him. He grabbed my shoulder yet again, forcing eye contact.

"I want you to get up," he ordered as he dragged my arm until I sat upright. There was hardly any light in the room and the gas lamps weren't even on. I squinted in the dark; it seemed to be nearing dawn. Ahsan handed me a thick folded cloth.

"What's this?" I asked him groggily, stifling a yawn with my hand.

"A prayer rug."

My eyes widened. "What?"

"It's time to pray. It's Fajr." Ahsan reminded me of the Islamic prayer that is done before dawn. He took out his own prayer rug from under the cot and outstretched it on the ground in front of him.

"You...pray?" I blurted in shock. How anyone inAl-Tho'baan could ferociously murder children, and cook them, but still keep up with the five daily prayers was beyond me.

"Did you think I didn't?" He snapped as he stood over the bottom edge of his rug.

"Well, I didn't know cannibalistic savages kept up with their prayers," I retorted, finally finding my own voice. Although it was difficult to see, I'm sure he clenched his jaw as he narrowed his eyes at me.

"My name's Ahsan, not Faizan."

I stood up and scoffed. "Oh, there's a difference now?"

Ahsan stepped off his prayer rug and hovered over me, knocking me off balance and I plopped back down on the cot. "Considering you're still in one piece, yes, there is a difference," he hissed.

Technically, he had a point. Nevertheless, I rolled my eyes, knowing very well he would not notice that I did so in the dark.

"What about wudu?" I asked him about the cleansing rituals that were necessary to be done before prayers.

"Oh," Ahsan began. "Go all the way down the hall and on the door to your left, in Faizan's room, there is a steaming, bubbling jacuzzi waiting just for you to perform wudu," he informed me, making his dangerously sarcastic tone very obvious.

It was my turn to narrow my eyes at him.

I did not even bother suggesting tayammum, the act of performing ablution with thick dust, so I performed the deed while he had left the room for a while. 

"Quit glaring at me and hurry up," he said as soon as he had reentered, nodded towards the folded prayer rug in my hands. "We need to leave soon."

Unwillingly, I set my prayer rug a few feet away from him and stood on the lower edge of it.

He ignored me and didn't say anything further. I took a peek through my lashes at Ahsan from some distance away. Despite being fully covered apart from his eyes and mouth, he seemed so peaceful and at ease during sujood. At any rate, he definitely did not have the aggressiveness and demeanor of a terrorist at this time. I allowed the darkness I felt from the gruesome events from last night swallow me whole for a little while, and then suddenly a rich voice echoed in the room, vibrating with power and command.

My head shot up.

Ahsan's recitation in Arabic is actually impressive!

Without the slightest awkward accent, without any sort of hindrance, the Quranic verses and prayers flowed out of him freely. I slowly emerged from the anger, sadness and irritation I possessed. Having the anger dissipate in me felt a bit nice, and I felt...calm.

After a few minutes, we had finished praying, and I knelt down to neatly fold the prayer rug. Ahsan dropped a bag next to me. I gazed up at him with a questioning look.

"Food," he said casually as he double-checked his vest pockets for whatever items that were supposed to be there. "Real bread and water. It's not much, but it's all I could find. Eat it up quickly without having a morsel left over. Then, meet me in the common room, which is the room from last night."

Before I could open my mouth to say anything, he left the room.

Dawn had just begun and the reddish-orange blaze of the sun shone through the cave opening. The common room was empty with the exception of me and three members of Al-Tho'baan. The children were nowhere to be seen and neither was Rafaa.

"Where's Faizan and the others?" Ahsan asked in Arabic to Nazim, the hooded and fully-covered African who seemed to be Faizan's right hand man.

"They went out towards Aleppo just after Fajr," Nazim said, staring at me cautiously as though I was a human bomb, which was rather ironic.

Ahsan realized I had just entered and motioned me to follow him as he stepped towards the right corridor.

"Should we take her?" Nazim asked. I froze in my tracks. Ahsan didn't make me feel very comfortable, but wherever we were going, I'd rather tag along with him than the man who followed Faizan's orders of throwing Rafaa in his chamber.

"No, I'll do it." he replied grimly. "But first..." He strode towards Nazim and the other man, and whispered something to them that I couldn't quite make out. Ahsan fumbled in is vest pockets and pulled out a tiny key, while the third man took out a shiny, silver object that dangled from his gloved hand.

A handcuff?!

I stared from the handcuff to the men to Ahsan, who gave me a very smug smile.

"Hand out," he said.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Put your hand out, Hayat," he demanded firmly again.

Unsure of what to do, but having a slight desire to have my head intact, I slowly held out my left hand. Ahsan grabbed it, flicking it wrist-side up, clasped on the cuff and locked it with his key.

"Murtaza," Ahsan called out to the man I did not know. "Idhar aao."

Murtaza, a man of average height, tan complexion and hazel eyes -and yet another Pakistani- stepped forward and took the key from Ahsan. He fastened the other side of the handcuff on Ahsan's right wrist, and then tucked the key back into Ahsan's vest pocket.

"Just a little precaution so you don't decide to run off," he informed me assuredly.

"Run off?" Surprisingly, the idea of literally just escaping did not occur to me at all. "Run off to where exactly? Please tell me, I'd really like to know!"

Nazim and Murtaza raised their eyebrows at the tone I had used on Ahsan. He, however, did not seem affected.

"Don't get your hopes up," Ahsan snarled. Without any warning, he sped off down the right corridor, forcefully dragging me along behind him. I frantically looked around the dim passageway for any sighting of Rafaa and the children, but to no avail.

Ahsan kicked open a door, and with a blast of light, a walkway appeared in the form of a staircase leading outside, with two door-less jeeps waiting below. He raced down the steps, causing me to do the same and motioned for me to get into a rugged, dark green jeep through the driver's side.

Reluctantly, I obeyed and he reached into one of his pockets and threw a black veil at me: a niqab that covered my entire face except for my eyes.

"It gets dusty on these roads. Tie it on you," Ahsan ordered bluntly, waiting patiently, until I knotted the veil at the back of my head, to start up the engine since we were handcuffed to each other.

The road was an endless lane of dust and dirt, baked under a brutal, relentless sun. It stretched into the horizon in front and behind as far as the eye can see. There were blurred signs that were of very little help. There was no way of knowing where I was exactly.

Neither of us spoke for some time, but then he broke the silence.

"What do you do? Job? University?"

"The latter."

"Hm. What major?"

"Education."

"I see. So what brings you here?"

"Correction: I didn't come here. I was in Umm Qais in Jordan."

"Same difference," he muttered. "Go on."

"I was doing an internship to teach there since it's required for my major."

He suddenly became more inquisitive. "How much was the salary?"

"It's an unpaid internship."

"What? You mean, you offered to teach in the desert for free?"

What a blunt description. 

"Why would you do that?" He asked, despite the fact that I had not replied to him. "What college do you go to?"

"Well, I was a student at Columbia University."

"You go to Columbia!" He exclaimed in disbelief, using the present tense. "Why the hell would come to Jordan to teach?"

"Because I love children and I wanted to help the less fortunate. You know, sunnah? Ever heard of sunnah or are you too preoccupied with slaughtering children and marrying women by force?"

Hatred smoldered in his rigid, narrowed eyes. In that moment, I knew that I was the enemy. He refused to respond.

"I have a question," I told him.

He didn't say anything.

I cleared my throat and raised my tone an octave. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did," he muttered to himself. "I'm not deaf. Go on."

"Just why am I here?"

He replied almost instantly, as though he was reciting a memory verse. "Because you, among many others, travel to various parts of the Middle East to corrupt the youth with Western influences, causing them to lead wayward lives away from Islam."

"What!" I blinked. "Well, I can tell you that as someone who is apparently corrupting the youth with Western influence, none of that was ever my intention." Anger boiled deep in my system, but there was nothing I could do about it. "But I suppose you would know better about leading a wayward life from Islam."

His eyes flickered for a second, but the pure anger flared. His eyes didn't widen, they unhurriedly formed into unnerving slits as he directed his lethal glare at me.

Yet again, silence filled the air for some time until he broke the ice, again.

"Who's Nat?" Ahsan asked me, staring out on the deserted road ahead.

"...Why?"

"Answer the question," he ordered grimly.

"Tell me where you heard the name from first."

"You said the name in your sleep this morning when I was trying to wake you up for Fajr."

"Oh." I sighed. "She's my friend and my roommate."

"She? It's a girl?"

"Full name is Natalia, nickname is Nat, so yes, she's a girl."

"I see. Why do you have a roommate? You don't live with your family?"

"No."

"Why so?"

"Because I was kicked out."

"Your parents actually kicked you out?"

"Out of the home, no. Out of their minds, yes."

"How did that happen?"

"It's because I-" I paused abruptly, coming to my senses. I mentally beat myself up for gradually spilling out my life in front of a terrorist.

"Well?" Ahsan pressed, glancing at me sideways.

"Nothing."

I looked at him from the corner of my eyes. He looked...angry, he even tightened his grip on the steering wheel when it was not necessary.

This time, he did not speak until we reached our supposed destination, which was a church.

A gust of dry wind flowed through the maze of battered architecture, where windows have long shattered in the weakness of their structures. Rotting wooden doors hang from their loose hinges and groan with pain at every sway once the sound of ignited jeeps roared the town to life. As for people, the entire town seemed to be completely abandoned.

Were they all killed?

I tore my eyes away from the shabby homes, and read the inscription on the sign in front of the enormous church that was written in Arabic, in Classical Syriac and in English.

Syriac Orthodox Church of the Holy Martyrs (Est. 1425 A.D.)

St. Ephrem's Theological Seminary & Monastery - Rev. Fr. Mikhail Z. Ishaaq

Convent of St. Theodota - Rev. Mother Anya M. Shu'ayb

Main sanctuary is opened on all Sundays and Feast Days. Monastery and Convent are both open at all times. Regardless of faith and creed, all are welcome.

Despite the rundown, dried-out overlook of the church campus, which seemed to have taken up over three street blocks, it was truly a magnificent sight. There were many stone arch entrances leading into the church's courtyard and the affiliated buildings. The remains of once-vibrant, beautiful flower patches and shrubs were now replaced with dry leaves and dirt. The windows were shattered as though someone had thrown rocks at them, and remnants of exterior art were replaced with the Arabic letter "ن" in red graffiti.

Even as a Muslim, it hurt to see this glorious church remain in the dilapidated condition it was in. I'd feel very much the same if it had been a mosque that was on the verge of demolition.

As we walk side-by-side towards one of the entrances, I glance over at what I could see of Ahsan's face, still smoldering underneath his stony expression.

Faizan, followed by around a dozen black-clad men, emerged from one of the archways with a huge grin on his face as he laid eyes on us, and then at the handcuff connecting Ahsan and I.

"Ah, Hayat!" He approached us with outstretched arms. "I'm glad you're here! I apologize for the sudden change in location, but it's all for the best! Come now, there's someone I want you to meet," Faizan said eagerly.

If I didn't know any better, I would have presumed Faizan was an amiable man.

I gazed over at the name of the church on the sign again. Oh, the horrible irony how the church was named after martyrs.

With Faizan nearby, I had the most eerie premonition that there would be even more martyrs.

Glossary:

~Fajr (Arabic)- Literally "dawn". Also the first of the five daily prayers offered by practicing Muslims.

~Wudu (Arabic)- An Islamic procedure for washing parts of the body using water, typically in preparation for formal prayers, but also before handling and reading the Qur'an.

~Tayammum (Arabic)- The act of dry ablution using sand or dust, which may be performed in place of ritual washing (wudu) if no clean water is really available or if one is suffering from moisture-induced skin inflammation or scaling

~Sujood (Arabic)- Sujood is the prostration (bowing down) part of the Islamic prayer routine.

~Nazim (Arabic)- name meaning "arranger/organizer".

~Murtaza (Urdu)- name meaning "chosen".

~"Idhar aao" (Urdu)- a phrase meaning, "come here".

~Niqab (Arabic)- a cloth, or veil, that covers the entire face except for the eyes.

~Sunnah (Arabic)- a term signifying a proper Islamic life, also known as "good deeds".

~ن (Pronounced 'nūn' or 'noon')- Arabic letter that is similar to the English "n". The members of the terrorist group, ISIS (DAESH), spray paint this letter on Christian properties all throughout Syria and Iraq. Also, this letter is now known as "the mark of the Nazarene" originating from the term 'naṣrānī' ('Christian').