Who are you (Indonesia)

A Voice From The Gates

I didn't know where I was when they grabbed me.

One moment I was sitting outside the tall iron gates, my fingers wrapped around the dented metal cup, singing to no one in particular. The next, hands were on my arms... rough, urgent... pulling me to my feet.

"Let me go!" I tried to twist away, but they were too strong. My stick clattered to the ground. Panic shot through me like ice water.

"Boss wants to see you," one of them said. His voice was flat, like he did this sort of thing every day.

"I didn't do anything! Please... I was just singing..."

They didn't answer. They just dragged me forward, my feet stumbling over smooth stone. Everything felt wrong. The air smelled different here. Clean. Expensive. Cold.

I heard a door open. Then another. The temperature dropped. My breath came faster.

"Bring her here."

The voice stopped me cold.

It was deep. Commanding. The kind of voice that didn't ask twice. But there was something else underneath it... something raw, like a wound that never healed.

They shoved me forward and I nearly fell. My hands shot out, finding nothing but air.

"Sit her down."

A chair hit the back of my knees and I collapsed into it. Leather. Soft. I'd never sat in anything like it.

Silence stretched out. I could feel someone watching me. My skin crawled.

"What's your name?"

I swallowed hard. "Lana."

"Lana." He repeated it slowly, like he was tasting it. "Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"You were singing. Outside my gate."

My throat tightened. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother anyone. I'll go. I won't come back..."

"You'll stay."

"What?"

"I said you'll stay." His voice was closer now. I heard the faint whir of something mechanical. A motor? "Sing for me. Now."

My hands twisted in my lap. "I can't..."

"You were singing two minutes ago."

"That was different..."

"How?"

"I wasn't..." I couldn't find the words. How could I explain? Singing alone on the street was one thing. Singing for someone... for him... it felt like being stripped naked. Like he'd see everything I tried to hide.

"I don't have time for this." His voice turned sharp. "You'll sing, or you'll leave with nothing. Your choice."

My chest tightened. Nothing. That word hung in the air like a threat. I had nothing already. Less than nothing. But something in his tone told me he wasn't bluffing.

"What... what do you want me to sing?"

"Anything. I don't care. Just sing."

I took a shaky breath. My voice came out small at first, barely a whisper. An old hymn my mother used to hum. I didn't even remember learning it. It just... lived inside me.

As I sang, something strange happened. The fear melted away. The room disappeared. There was only the melody, rising and falling like breathing.

When I finished, the silence was deafening.

"Again."

"What?"

"Sing it again."

So I did. This time my voice was stronger. Clearer. I let it fill the space between us, let it say all the things I couldn't put into words.

When the last note faded, I heard something I didn't expect.

Breathing. Uneven. Like he was trying to hold something back.

"Sir?" One of the guards spoke up. "Are you..."

"Get out." His voice was thick. Strange. "All of you. Now."

Footsteps retreated. A door closed. We were alone.

I sat perfectly still, my heart hammering.

"How much?" he finally said.

"Pardon?"

"How much do you make? Singing on the street?"

"I... I don't know. It depends. Some days a few dollars. Some days nothing..."

"I'll pay you five thousand. Every day."

The air left my lungs. "What?"

"You'll come here. Every morning. Seven o'clock. You'll sing for one hour. I'll pay you five thousand dollars."

"That's... that's insane..."

"Do you want it or not?"

My mind spun. Five thousand dollars. Every day. That kind of money could change everything. I could get help. Real help. Maybe even...

"Why?" The word slipped out before I could stop it.

"That's not your concern."

"But I don't understand..."

"You don't need to understand." His voice was hard again. Final. "You just need to show up and sing. Can you do that?"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. This felt wrong. Too good to be true. Men like him... men with voices like that... they didn't just give money away. There had to be a catch.

"I need an answer, Lana."

"I..."

The door burst open.

"Sir." A different guard this time. Younger. Out of breath. "We found something."

"I told you to leave..."

"Sir, you need to see this. Now."

A pause. Then, "What is it?"

"We searched her. Standard procedure. And we found... this was sewn into her coat lining."

Silence. Heavy. Dangerous.

"Where did you get this?" His voice was barely above a whisper now. But somehow that was more terrifying than shouting.

"Get what? I don't know what you're talking about..."

"This ID card. It's covered in blood. And the woman in this picture..." He stopped. "How do you have this?"

"I don't... I don't know about any card..."

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not lying! I don't even know what you're talking about! Someone gave me that coat at a shelter three months ago. I never checked the pockets. I swear..."

"This woman." His voice was shaking now. Actually shaking. "Did you know her? Did someone send you here?"

"I don't know anyone! I don't know what's happening!"

"Sir," the guard said carefully. "This is Rebecca Marsh's ID. From the accident."

The name meant nothing to me. But apparently it meant everything to him.

The mechanical whir started again. He was moving closer. I pressed back into the chair.

"Tell me the truth, Lana. Right now. Who sent you to my gate?"

"No one! I came here by accident! I've been walking this route for weeks..."

"Weeks."

"Yes..."

"And you just happened to stop at my gate. You just happened to sing. And you just happened to have a dead woman's bloody ID card sewn into your coat."

When he put it like that, it sounded impossible. Guilty.

"I swear on my life..." My voice broke. "I don't know anything about this..."

Another long silence. Then...

"Lock her in the east wing. No one goes in or out without my permission."

"What? No! Please..."

"We'll continue this conversation," he said coldly, "when you're ready to tell me the truth."

"I am telling the truth!"

But the guards were already pulling me up, dragging me away. I tried to fight, but it was useless.

As they hauled me through the door, I heard him speak one more time. So quiet I almost missed it.

"Rebecca..."

And something in that single word... it sounded like grief.