Free Slave Girl by Sarah Forsyth

kilometre flashed by, I became more and more terrified. And then John Reece spoke again.
    ‘I’m going to show you where you’re going to be working. But it’s not where you think. There is no crèche and you’re not going to be a nursery nurse. Sit back and you’ll see.’
     
     
    There were no more words from him or Sally. The other girls started talking amongst themselves – sort of whispering really. I could hear that they were English, but their behaviour seemed really strange: I couldn’t work out why none of them would speak to me. Gradually it began to dawn on me that they might be high on drugs. I tried to catch a glimpse of Reece’s face in the driver’s mirror, but he could see I was looking at him and kept moving his head. Still, I managed to get a good look at his eyes, framed by the black plastic of the mirror: they seemed wild and slightly manic. With a shock I realised that the girls weren’t the only ones in that car who were on drugs.
    I turned back to look out the window. I think I had some crazy notion that it was important to remember the way we were travelling so that if – when – I escaped from the car I could find my way back to the airport. Of course that was nonsense, but I kept staring and trying to memorise things as much as I could.
    Which was how I saw the sign. We weren’t heading into Amsterdam – we shot past the turn-off for the city and seemed to be heading towards The Hague. For some reason that made me cry. No one in the car paid any attention.
    It was dark when we got there. Reece pulled up in a dirty little street outside a shabby-looking hotel. He turned round and pointed the gun at me.
    ‘Not a word or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
     
     
    He made Sally get out of the car and go into the hotel. A few minutes later she came out with a small thickset man smoking a cigarette. He nodded at Reece. It was obviously a signal for us all to get out of the car. Reece looked at me and gestured menacingly with the gun.
    ‘Just remember what I’ve said. One wrong move and you’re dead.’
    We all climbed out of the little car – it seemed to take an age – and began to follow Sally and the man into the hotel. The other girls went first; Reece came behind me.
    Should I have made a run for it at this point? Probably. Could I have done so? I really don’t know. I don’t even remember whether the thought crossed my mind. I just remember being almost frozen with fear, terrified Reece would carry out his threats and use the gun on me. And then again, where could I have run to? I hadn’t a clue where I was – other than a guess that I was in The Hague. It was dark, the street was empty and running wildly into this desolate place seemed almost as terrifying as obeying Reece. And if I had run, would he have shot me? Could I have got more than a few steps before he fired? Somehow I doubt it.
    Reece seemed to know the man from the hotel pretty well. I stood helplessly in the lobby while they started talking very fast in low voices. I saw the man gesture at me and overheard a snatch of the conversation.
    ‘What about this little one?’ he asked. And Reece replied, ‘No, I’m not selling this one. This one’s mine.’
     
     
    I barely had time to register the idea that these two men – one a complete stranger, the other someone I’d only talked to on the phone before meeting him at the airport this afternoon – were talking about selling me: actually selling me, as if I were a sack of potatoes or a secondhand car. Then, just as their words were sinking in, Sally abruptly ordered the other girls to go to their rooms.
    ‘Their rooms?’ I thought. ‘They must have been here before if they have their own rooms.’ Call me naïve if you will, but it still hadn’t clicked what sort of hotel this was. There didn’t seem to be any other guests, or any staff. I watched the girls climb the old and tatty spiral staircase up to the first floor.
    Reece and the man finished