Page 7 of Fighting for Valor
Several hours later, I’m staring at a picture of Josephine Taylor on the Massachusetts Department of Transportation website. She’s forty-three years old, has lived in Boston for almost ten years, and has a savings account with sixty thousand dollars in it. A sister and mother in San Diego.
I know everything there is to know about this woman. At least, everything one can learn online without using the dark web. I can’t do it. Can’t take everything she is. But if I don’t, Faruk will hurt me. My stomach rumbles, and I reach for my sixth cup of tea of the day.
Staring into the pale liquid, a memory threatens. Coffee. I haven’t had coffee in forever. The first sip in the morning. The jolt.
“Don’t know how you can drink that sludge. It’s from yesterday, fucker.” A voice I know. One I hear in my dreams. A man. There’s laughter that might be mine. But then it fades away and I’m staring at Josephine’s picture again.
Faruk won’t know how much money she had in the bank. Not if I’m quick. I can send it to an untraceable account. And then…maybe soon, I can send it to her family. It’s not enough. But it’s all I can do. Faruk will skim the security feeds, and the camera behind me captures everything I’m doing. But I can make it glitch for sixty seconds without him suspecting anything.
All the cameras have these short outages. Because I put them there. My one small bit of rebellion.
Sixty seconds. Starting now. Switching over to the website for the First National Bank of Boston, I quickly siphon the sixty thousand and change into an offshore account in a bank Faruk doesn’t know about. My fingers fly over the keyboard, and at the end of the transfer instructions, I enter a series of numbers and letters I can’t forget.
94820RJT008000
I don’t know what it means. Every time I enter those fourteen characters, I hope their meaning will come back to me, but in all the years I’ve been here, I’ve never been able to figure it out.
My old, rudimentary digital watch—it has a single alarm and that’s it—counts down the last ten seconds, and I switch back to the Department of Transportation website.
I’m frozen, my fingers locked, my heart pounding. When Amir Faruk saved me, I thought he was a good man. But the first time he ordered me to make a woman’s identity disappear, I refused. That earned me two weeks in the well. By the time he let me out, I was too weak to stand. That was followed by another month locked in my small room. At least…I think it was a month. I spent most days in a fog, and my only solid memories are of Faruk’s voice, Zaman’s fists, and my own fear.
In my dreams, I hear a man’s voice. “Stay alive. We never leave a man behind.”
But the name and face of whoever said those words—if this a memory and not a desperate desire to have someone, somewhere who cares if I live or die—must have left me. And even though Amir Faruk doesn’t lock me in anymore and I haven’t seen the bottom of that fucking well in three years, I have no hope of ever leaving this place.
One letter at a time, I erase Dr. Josephine Taylor. I don’t have a choice. When I confirm the job is done, Faruk smiles. “You have done a good thing, Isaad. You may end your fast after midnight prayers.”
My stomach twists in on itself, and I bow. “Thank you, sir.”
Mornings are the only time I find peace. Amir Faruk insists I join the other men in the compound for prayers, but though I know the words, the actions that are expected of me, I don’t believe. My life has become nothing but guilt and self-preservation. I should be stronger. I should know who I used to be. And I should find a way out.
After prayers, I walk to the far side of the compound. Faruk’s cameras don’t reach here, and though the men he has stationed in the watch towers can see me, I’m otherwise alone.
Punishing myself with a brutal exercise routine of pushups, jumping jacks, burpees, and flutter kicks helps me feel normal and keeps my strength up, though today, I lose stamina quickly. The meager serving of banana curd I had last night to break my fast was nowhere near enough to keep me going. I have to rest often between sets, and it’s almost ten by the time I head back to the main house.
A woman’s cry stops me. “I’ll go. Just…don’t push me over the edge!”
Josephine.
Sweat dampens my palms, and my heart races. No. Not down into the well. He wouldn’t. Not a woman. I have to force my feet to move, and I round the corner as Faruk calls out, “If you refuse to help Mateen, you will be moved here. At night, the scorpions come out. The particular species we have in this part of the desert are not deadly, but their venom is quite painful.”
The panic attack sends me to my knees. Tiny little legs scurry across my naked skin, and when the stinger pierces my shoulder, my entire body seizes. Clutching my chest, I find my loose dark blue tunic, and the shock is enough to let me suck in a shallow breath.
I’m not in the well. I’m outside. In the sun.
“P-please,” Josephine begs, her tiny voice echoing off the stone walls. “Let me up. I’ll…do whatever you want. I’ll make the drug. I’ll take care of Mateen.”
Pushing to my feet, I stagger towards Amir Faruk as Zaman throws the rope ladder down the deep hole. When Josephine reaches the top rung, she collapses onto the rocky ground wheezing and staring at the sky.
“Get up, woman,” Zaman orders her, and she tries, but her eyes start to roll back in her head, and I rush forward, wrap my arm around her waist, and let her sink against me.
“Breathe,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
“Isaad!” Faruk barks. “Step away from the woman. Now. Go back to your work.”
I only risk meeting his gaze for a brief moment until I see the anger in his gray eyes. Looking down at the woman huddled against me, I keep my voice low. “Do not give him reason to throw you into the well.”
She manages a single nod, and I step away, bow to Faruk, and head to my room.
