Captive

I have watched our troops march into battle countless times. Operation IMPACT was supposed to be a somewhat short assignment. No one had foreseen how fast the ISIS Empire would grow and how powerful they would become. So what started off as a small mission became a full-blown operation.

My first two years in Baghdad were brutal. We’ve lost many soldiers, so did our allies. We have all underestimated the rebels and had to go through military adjustment phases, until, of course, other problems would emerge and require further adjustment.

Greg had once told me that my job was the worst. Our medical team’s mission was to care for those who needed medical attention, period; that included our soldiers and personnel, local civilians, and prisoners. My crew and I had to treat the enemy and for Greg that took so much willpower and devotion. But I’ve never looked at it this way. For me, it was only humane to do so. They were all in pain, their life was on the line, and I was capable of helping. So I never thought twice before doing so.

But now, as I sat in the eerie room, hands tied, wondering about my fate, I contemplated Greg’s words. My values had put me in this position. On one hand, if I had refused to treat the Ali brothers and left them to die, I wouldn’t be here, neither would Crosby.

On the other hand, if I haven’t taken care of them or listened to them attentively, I would be in an even deeper hole than the one I was in earlier today. Greg has to forgive me because I would still disagree with his harsh attitude towards wounded prisoners.

My mind kept drifting away to Crosby sitting alone in the cell. I haven’t seen him the whole day and I doubt that the mailman has given him any update. They said he’ll be staying with me and that he will be treated better. So far, they haven’t delivered on their promise. Maybe this delay is a form of torture to poor Crosby.

I felt my cheeks burn at the memory of our morning activities. What would have happened if we weren’t interrupted? Maybe it was for the best.

My shoulders were sore from having my hands tied up behind my back for hours. My fingers moved against the soft fabric of the couch I was on. I moved my sock-covered feet against the cold tiled floor.

As I reexamined the modest living room for the umpteenth time, the smell of spices and flower medley filled my nostrils. Other than the uncomfortable couch, the cream walls and television, there wasn’t much else to look at. There was one small window that had a similar view to that of the prison one, except for the sight of Thing Two guarding a large metal gate. Next to the window was a door that leads outside. The other door in the room connected it to the kitchen/dining room area.

It felt as if I was alone in this house. I haven’t heard a movement in a while. What’ll happen if I stand up and walk? There was only one way to find out. I pushed against my seat and stood up shakily, almost losing my footing.

Before I even moved my feet, I felt a presence near me.

“Zahra is a beautiful name,” I said. Her move was so stealth, much like her character. “It means flower, right?” I smiled at her passive expression, getting no answer in return.

“My Arabic is quite basic, but I know this word. You’d be surprised at the amount of flowers soldiers receive, although it’s mostly on sad occasions,” I added with a frown.

Nothing. It was as if I was talking to a wall. Her hand pushed at my shoulders, shoving me back into my seat. I winced when the discomfort in my shoulders turned into pain.

The front door opened and I perked when I heard the mailman mumbling in English. Was he finally bringing Crosby?

Thing One made an appearance first. He pushed the door fully open and then moved to uncuff my hands.

Crosby’s tall frame occupied most of the door as he was guided inside. They had to turn him sideways. The mailman nudged him further into the room and started untying his hands and blindfold.

My sole focus was Crosby’s wide, red-rimmed eyes staring at me. He didn’t move from his spot. He scanned his new surroundings quickly, and then set his gaze back on me. He was worn-out as if he hasn’t slept for days. I wanted to run up to him, to hug him and bury my head in the crook of his neck, but I remained in my spot, waiting for the enemy’s next move.

The mailman spoke Arabic with Zahra and I assumed he told her to leave the room. Thing One nudged Crosby with his gun, “sit,” he ordered and Crosby silently sat at my side.

“He’s here. Anything else?” asked the boss man sarcastically as he appeared in the room. Crosby stared curiously at him. Oh, right, he’s never seen his face before.

“As part of what Mia and I discussed, you two could stay here during the day instead of the prison, you could also go outside for an hour each day,” he started with his lecturing tone.

“But at night, you sleep back in prison, because let’s be honest, I don’t trust you and I don’t want to exhaust my men. You’ll be under surveillance at all times. We’ll be watching you so don’t try anything stupid. If you do, you will regret it, and I mean it. Losing these privileges would only be the beginning.”

Crosby looked shocked. He realized two things; one, who that man was, and two, I was able to negotiate with the boss.

“My men are patrolling the perimeters day and night, 24/7. You will not go too far if you decided to try escaping. We play nice as long you play nice. I repeat what I told Mia; Mr. Crosby, you are not here to be tortured and we do not take any pleasure in hurting you. You’re simply here because we need you to be.”

Crosby looked back at me, his eyes held so may questions. I nodded slightly and turned my attention back to the boss man. “Hassan, like I said, I will honor our deal. I’m sure Mr. Crosby will do the same. No need to worry, I will make sure he does.”

The boss man smiled at me, “dinner is ready, I believe,” he nodded towards the kitchen. “You’ll be brought back to your cell after.” He gestured for his men to retreat behind him.

Once we were alone, Crosby sat in silence for a few moments. He then stood up and scanned the room, examining everything within sight. He inspected the upper corners in the ceiling before he obsessively inspected the window.

“There are no cameras,” I said startling him. He looked back at me as if he had just remembered that I was there. His eyes widened when I was started massaging the tension out of my sore shoulders.

“Did they hurt you?”

Before I could answer, Zahra peaked her head through the door, making sure we see the gun in her hand.

“Food,” she said.

“No one hurt me. Let’s eat dinner now,” I whispered.

“What dinner?” Crosby asked.

“You heard Hassan, we eat then go back to the cell.”

“Hassan? Tell me what happened,” Crosby said as he carefully watched Zahra.

“I’ll tell you after we eat,” I said quietly. I wasn’t too keen on testing her patience.

“I’m not hungry,” he said and I sensed some anger in his tone.

“Then, pretend,” I seethed then followed Zahra. Crosby trailed slowly behind us. He wasn’t sure what was going on and I understood his hesitation.

“It’s okay, they’re nice enough to share their dinner with us,” I said to him when we arrived at the table.

Crosby raised his eyebrows when an old lady appeared with a large pot that she placed in the centre of the table. She gestured for us to sit.

I took the chair opposite of Zahra and her gun. Crosby hesitantly sat beside me. Our host, who was likely in her seventies, sat at the head of the table and said what sounded like a prayer in Arabic. She then started serving each one of us a bowl of chicken soup. I thanked her and caught the small kind smile that graced her wrinkled face.

I thought her demeanor would reassure Crosby somehow, but he had a horrified expression and jumped when my hand touched his under the table.

“They’re not gonna hurt us,” I whispered to him. “I will tell you everything after, okay?”

He swallowed and nodded. I took my spoon and tasted the soup as both women were eating, not minding our presence. Crosby just stared blankly at his bowl, then opted for the bread. That ought to be the quietest and weirdest dinner party of all time.

I was starving, having not eaten all day. So I inhaled my soup. It was a good change from all the sandwiches that we’ve been eating.

“Thank you, Ma’am. It was delicious,” I said politely, bowing my head slightly since she may not understand my words.

Crosby has taken two bites of his bread, leaving his soup untouched. I sighed, feeling bad for him but unable to reassure him with the company we had.

“Finish?” Zahra asked Crosby. He just stared back at her without answering.

“He’s not feeling well,” I pointed to my stomach since Zahra’s English seemed very limited.

The old lady gestured for us to wait then came back with a small container in which she emptied Crosby’s soup. She then added three pieces of bread and placed the meal on the familiar tray in front of Crosby who was watching her curiously. She nodded her head towards the living room, or perhaps she meant our cell as a way of explaining that he could take the food for later. It seemed that we had dine-in and take-out options.

I was touched by her gesture. She must have been the one who was preparing us food every day. Regardless of whether she was doing it voluntarily or not, she was kind enough to think that Crosby may get hungry later.

Our cook started clearing the table with the help of Zahra. I wasn’t sure if I should help, but my mom’s words and the military life were engraved in me that I found myself carrying my bowl to the kitchen behind our host.

Zahra turned started with her hand going straight to the gun at her waist. I held my bowl to her, “dishes?” I said. She took away from my hand and pointed to the chair I was occupying. I silently went back to sit next to Crosby.

As the women were occupied at the sink, he decided to break his silence.

“Just tell me, can we escape this place?” he whispered in my ear.

I shushed him, “later!” I said. “She speaks some English,” I said quietly.

Zahra kept glancing our way making Crosby feel uneasy. He put his head in his hands and exhaled shakily.

“We’re gonna be okay, I promise,” I whispered.

My fingers were aching to touch him, but I couldn’t. We will be alone soon and I couldn’t wait. I never thought I would be this eager to go back to a prison cell.

Notes