Kidnapped

Chapter I

I was exhausted and I was running into nowhere, crying, with big tears falling on my frozen cheeks. I was embarrassed and I couldn’t do anything about it.

I hated being the newcomer of the smallest school in the world. Hidden in the last corner of the world, even if the school was an acceptable one, the specimens making part of it left you bad impression.

I travelled a lot. I had never stayed more than 6 months in a city. I was always the new girl. I hated the feeling that when I entered the class everyone seemed to laugh about me and I had never met a guy or a girl to want to talk to me from the first day. I didn’t consider myself weird. I was actually the most common person I’ve ever met: not tall, not small, maybe a little too skinny, long, dirty blonde, almost straight hair, brown eyes.

But that day was the worst day of my life. The ugliest school ever built with the worst people on earth. I couldn't take more than three courses and went straight home.

You could see little groups everywhere. There were mean, pretended and stupid cheerleaders hanging by macho’s arms continuously. 0o outside and they dressed up with short, tight skirts and mini blouses, but, ironically, with socks, just to impress. The only thing they did was make fun of the ordinary, nice and shy learners. Imagine what they could do to a newcomer. They took your bag, your food, books, even the clothes and tossed them around. After that, they threw you away like junk. What remained to be done was to run far away, find a hidden place and start to cry.

That's what I did.

I ran away, crying and talking to myself, embarrassed by the situation. Finally arrived home, I was alone. My dad was away. I didn't ask him where he's going to leave that morning. But I didn't think I had to worry too much. He's an old man and he was always gone. That's why we were traveling from place to place so much. His job was to go away. But he always came back.

We never talked too much about his job, but he made enormous efforts for it. He worked out hard. He had lots of guns, fight tools and so on... I always asked him what they were used for. He always changed the subject. He started behaving stranger and stranger after my mom's death. He loved her very much and he was devastated when he found out. She was special. She was nice and kind with everyone she knew. I can’t remember her having conflicts with anybody. But what could I remember? I was 8 years old when she died. The last time I saw her was when she took me from school telling me that I have no time to waste and I needed to go home immediately. But no one knew why she died.

She was a simple woman too. I looked more like her than my father. She was tall and thin, a perfect harmony. She had long hair and blue eyes. She was like a dream. She was beautiful. Her name was Victoria.

My father was a well-made man; strong and powerful because of the exercises he practiced every day. He had dark blonde hair and he liked to take care of his beard very much. I always told him that it pricked when he kissed me. He became more careful after my mom died. He knew how to take care of me and talk to me like a parent. He made up for the 8 years that he had lost since I was born, because most of the time he was spending with my mom or working. He started his "parenting career" and he was good at it. I was proud of him. He never forgot to lend me some money for the lunch, to wash the dishes and do the laundry or to clean the house. He was both parts: mother and father. But of course, the most important things were never neglected. Homework, dating and parties were always in his vision and if I did something wrong I got my portion of punishment. I never said or did something stupid and I tried to let him finish his lecture so it wouldn’t get any worse.

I was a good girl and I thought he was proud of me as well. But he got anxious when I asked him about his job or if I asked to let me come with him. He just glanced at me and I understood that I had to close the subject.

***

After a tasty dinner and a long, hot shower the sleep put me down. I was bored and tired and I decided to go to bed. I had a separated room from my father's. Even if we were traveling a lot and changing the houses like underwear, my father always bought houses that were made for long living periods. I hated these houses. In my mind they were all haunted. Imagine waking up during the night, trying to find your way to the bathroom with an exploding bladder and hear that sound made by the old parquet.

That house wasn't any different. It even had a big and cold basement that I’ve never entered. It was so cold down there. Here was always winter. Portland wasn’t the best city that I’ve seen. Everytime I left the house I froze like a statue. Apart from all of these, the house was pretty cool. Big living-room, no T.V., but we had a radio in the kitchen that was keeping us in touch with all the news. The kitchen was decent: a sink, three chairs and a lot of closed cabinets owned by my father; an entrance with a big lobby and some old stairs guiding you to a small hall with two bedrooms and a toilet.

So I went to bed, took the notebook and started drawing. I wasn't good at this, but in time, after hours of making little monsters on some paper they became much more realistic. My mother told me that I got the talent from my grandma and it cheered me up, but I knew it wasn't true.

I started contouring the room. I had drawings of each and every room I’ve slept in. Memories look better on paper.

There weren’t many things to draw, except an empty bookshelf with some booksspread all over, my bag that was lying on the floor and my luggage that I was too lazy to open up. I never bothered to open the boxes and the luggage we brought with us. It made no sense; we were going to leave again in few months.

I started drawing the window and what was outside. A tree was bent over it, full covered with snow and behind it, the long, empty, white street. We were isolated by the other neighbors because we weren't greeting them.

I was too exhausted and I fell asleep without realizing.