Janita Lawrence - Why You Were Taken

Kirsten sends James their co-ordinates, puts it on tracking.

‘Let’s walk so long. It’s not too far from here. Five or six kilometres?’

Kirsten checks Keke’s phone. Her diabetes app timer says 34 minutes.

‘Keke doesn’t have that long.’

‘Can you run? With your arm, I mean?’

They both knew that even if they did run, they wouldn’t make it to the clinic in time. If they made it to the clinic in time, they wouldn’t be able to get in.

‘I can try.’

‘Good girl.’

They stand up and start jogging. Seth tries to flag down cars as they go. Kirsten is dizzy, and she feels every footfall deep in her broken bone. The jagged pain mounts and mounts, until the blue light blots out her vision and she has to stop and throw up into a patch of roadside ivy. A plague of rats scurry away. She wipes her mouth and starts to run again, almost falls. Tries again, but Seth stops her.

‘Stop,’ he says, catching her, ‘stop.’ She tries to wriggle free, tries to keep running, but he grabs her again, just in time, and she faints into his arms.

When Kirsten comes to, it takes her a second to remember where she is, and she is startled.

‘Keke?’ she asks, but Seth shakes his head. 21 minutes left on the SugarApp. When it reaches 20 minutes it begins flashing a red light.

‘You’ve done everything you can,’ he says.

She stands up, trembling. ‘No.’

As if on some otherworldly cue, a white van appears on the road and drives in their direction. Seth starts yelling, waving his arms, like an island castaway trying to signal a rescue chopper. Kirsten blinks at it, trying to figure out if it is real, or some kind of desperate inner-city mirage. The car drives right up to them and stops on the shoulder of the road. The driver gets out and Kirsten’s knees almost buckle again.

‘Kirsten!’ shouts James, running towards her.

‘James,’ she says, ‘James.’

‘Where have you been?’ he shouts. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere!’ He is angry, agitated, but becomes gentle when he takes in Kirsten’s shorn scalp and broken arm. He hugs her gently on her right side, kisses her forehead, her cheeks, her shorn head.

‘What have they done to you?’ he asks, ‘What have they done?’

Who? thinks Seth. What have who done?

‘I’m okay. But… Keke…’

Seth steps forward. ‘We need to leave right now.’

James looks at him, the shock clear on his face. He doesn’t say anything.

‘This is Seth. He’s been helping me,’ says Kirsten. ‘I’ll explain everything later. We need to find Keke. Immediately. She needs insulin. Do you have any?’

James releases her.

‘We’ll get some.’

He jogs over to the van and opens the sliding door. It is dark inside the back, and there is a silhouette of someone, sitting in the front passenger seat: a large man. Both Seth and Kirsten stop.

‘Come on,’ says James, beckoning.

There is a flash of light in Kirsten’s mind that bleaches her vision. Some kind of terror, some kind of dreadful déjà vu, roots each to the spot. Seth shakes his head, wants to hold Kirsten back. Kirsten’s whole body is telling her not to get into the car, but she reasons with herself: Must Save Keke. Also: this is James; Sweet Marmalade. James beckons again, and this time Kirsten obeys: head bowed, like a shy little girl. Seth swears under his breath and climbs in next to her.

James slams the door closed and gets into the driver’s seat. The passenger is looking out of the window and doesn’t acknowledge them. The car has a chemical smell to it, rectangular in shape. Dry cleaning? New plastic? No, neither shape is right. And then she gets it: paint. A new paint job. Just as James is about to start the car, she gives him the clinic’s address. James and the passenger look at each other. He stops for a moment, as if he can’t decide whether to press the ignition button or not.

The man scowls at him, and only then does Kirsten recognise him.

‘Inspector Mouton!’ she says, not understanding the connection. He purses his lips, gives a nod in her general direction. Had James been so worried about her that he had called the cops? Did Mouton agree to help him find her?

The engine starts; the doors all lock automatically. She tries to open her door, but it won’t budge, as she knew it wouldn’t. Child-lock. There is the distinct aroma of turmeric in the air.

Seth’s Tile vibrates with a bump.

LL> Hey, hope u OK. Hope you get this. Results in. Ramifications huge. Hve already called emergency meeting with YKW. Hero u. Biggest bust in Alba’s history. Fontus going down in big way. All yr previous fuck-ups forgiven. U officially now Rock Star. Whn can u come in? We hve a few bottles / Moët wth yr name on.

SD>> Results?

LL> Oh, U R there! Alive. : ) Sending report now. Come in ASAP!

Two separate PDFs come through. The first is the report on the Fontus samples: Anahita and Tethys clear, Hydra with lots of red tabs, showing irregularities. Seth recognises the main chemicals: ethinyl estradiol; norgestrel; drospirenone; mestranol; ethynodiol – the same active ingredients you’d find in a contraceptive pill. James casts a backward glance, but keeps driving.

The next PDF is the analysis of Kirsten’s yellow pills, and he sees some more red tabs. Confused for a second, he checks that he is looking at the right report and not the Hydra analysis, but it’s the correct one. The red tabs highlight various chemicals, all of which Seth recognises from his time at Pharmax. Diazepam, Sertraline, Doxepin. The fuck? He thinks. It’s a zombie pill. He starts as he remembers that James was the one who filled her prescription for her.

James speeds up and weaves through the traffic, causing them to sway in their seats at the back. He swears under his breath and skips red lights. Smacks the steering wheel with his palm.

Seth bumps Kirsten.

SD>> Who’s the beefcake?

KD> Cop. Mouton. He worked my parents’ case.

SD>> WTF?

KD> ??

SD>> U know those pills u had?

KD> Yebo?

SD>> Tranquilisers.

KD> No way. I got them from James.

Kirsten digs in her handbag for her lipstick magic wand, and slips it into her pocket, along with her pocketknife. When the front entrance of the clinic is in view the tension in the car climbs. Inspector Mouton pulls off his long sleeve shirt. Kirsten’s eye is drawn to the skin on his arm. It’s marbled, shiny. Burn scar?

They pull into the parking space closest to the giant glass entrance, and James and the inspector get out. Kirsten tries her door again, but it’s still locked. She jimmies the handle, knocks on the window.

‘James!’ she calls. ‘It’s on child-lock!’

The realisation hits Seth just before it does Kirsten, and he puts his forehead in his hands. She doesn’t understand his reaction, and then all of a sudden she does.

The memory comes back to her like a swift punch to the stomach, slams her back into her seat, takes all the air out of her lungs. She sees it as if she is back in that moment, that terrible moment, when the light went out of her life. A moment so long buried in her subconscious you’d think it would be decayed in some way, but it’s not. It’s cruelly vivid and so clear that Kirsten can taste the colours.

She is playing a game with her twin brother on an emerald lawn in the front garden of a pretty little house. She remembers the building: rough ivory paint that scratched your skin if you brushed up against it, curlicue burglar bars in the windows, cracked slasto leading up to a light blue (lemongrass-smelling?) front door. A brittle little letterbox on a pole with two red numbers on it (Lollipop)… red means two, so maybe it was 22? The garden was bursting with colour, enough to make Kirsten giddy.