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SalmaIt was not Senator Schuamer on TV. What that meant was that my father had never been arrested. The police had caught the wrong person—definitely someone paid this man to act like he was my father. It was absurd that the same person who had tortured me over the course of two days through a hidden speaker in my room would have somehow travelled to Oklahoma. “All we have to do is prove that this person is not real,” John’s eyes lit up. “How do we do that?” I asked him. “I’ll send a message to a friend that is there to confirm,” John said, typing on his phone. “What about his DNA?” I asked John, “Did the police not find his DNA all over my room?” “He claimed he went there periodically whenever he missed you,” John replied, “and there were no fresh prints either. He must have used gloves.” I frowned as I tried to remember if I had seen him wearing gloves that day, but I could not remember. “You should lie back,” Brandon said abruptly, “you’re going to faint at this rate.” I w

SalmaI stepped out of the hospital with Brandon by my side. We had not spoken about the awkward silence that plagued us both before I had been kidnapped. I walked beside him quietly when lightning suddenly struck and rain began to pelt us. Brandon tried to shield me with his body, but it was impossible as the rain pelted us from every side. “Do you see your driver?” I asked him. Since my kidnapping, I had been terrified of entering cars alone, and would only enter a car if Brandon was in it. I hated to admit it, but I had come to rely on him during this period. “No,” he said as he tried to look for his driver under the blending rain. “Let’s take cover first,” I said to him, feeling cold already. But Brandon let go of my hand and lifted his face. I squinted at him, and the look on his face was pure joy. He was happy like a toddler that had been allowed to play in the rain. Only that he was not a toddler but a full-grown adult. “Salma?” he shouted, “You may never be as free as th

SalmaI stepped into my room at the Ritz Carlton hotel and everything was the way it was supposed to be—elegant, classy, luxurious. I had been staying here since I had flown Leona to Texas. I had been practically living at the hospital though, and so I barely had the chance to enjoy the room. And now that Leona’s health was improving, I still could not enjoy it. For some reason, the space made me feel anxious. And the more I stood there, rooted at the door, the more the room began to look like the one I had run away from five years ago. The space began to feel smaller and smaller until the walls began to close in on me. I knew it was all in my head, but it felt so real that it was like torture to my senses. I shut my eyes and left them closed for a couple of minutes and when I reopened them, it was all back to normal. I realised I was still very wet from dancing in the rain. It was time to have a hot bath. I took a step away from the door and further into my suite. My heart began t

BrandonShe was quiet after that, sticking her head out of the window and allowing the wind to whip around her face. I tried not to be distracted by her slender neck which she stuck out the window, but there was one question on my mind that I had to ask her. “Are you not worried?” I asked her. “About what?” she asked without sparing me a glance. “Your job,” I said, “you’ve been away for very long. Won’t they get someone else to fill your position?” I heard her sigh. “If my job is not waiting for me when I go back,” she said, “I’ll take it as a sign to dedicate my skills to charity only.” “Charity?” I glanced at her for so long that when I returned my gaze to the road, I had to swerve suddenly to avoid traffic, causing the car to bump a little. “Yes,” she said, “charity. I wanted to go to Sudan before all this.” I nodded. I remembered that well. I had stopped her from going by filing a lawsuit to prove Leona’s paternity. “I’m sorry I stopped you,” I felt a little guilty that

Salma“You are under arrest for making a false report to a peace officer,” the baritone voice of a meaty police officer said to me, pulling a handcuff from his pocket. Brandon put his body between the police officer and me as we stood in front of the Ritz-Carlton hotel. “What is this about?” Brandon asked while I was still trying to process what was happening to me. “Salma Gascon intentionally lied to a peace officer, implicating Senator Schuamer for kidnapping her.” “That is ridiculous,” Brandon said exactly what was on my mind. I had absolutely no reason to lie to the police about that. “Do you have a warrant for her arrest?” Brandon asked. The cop pulled a paper from his pocket and opened it, shoving it in our faces to read. It was an arrest warrant. This was real. “I don’t understand… what false report…” “More details will be revealed when you get to the station,” the cop said, “right now I have a warrant for your arrest and if you refuse to come with me, it will be cou