The Devil Couldn't Break Me by Laura Aslan Page A

corridor. How could he have been so cold? As the door closed I burst into tears again.
    By midday the electricity still wasn’t on. I couldn’t wash, I couldn’t vacuum, I couldn’t even watch any television or turn the radio on. Eventually I decided I had to get out of there. I was bored rigid and sad and depressed and confused and craved some fresh air and a change of scenery. There was a newspaper kiosk less than five metres from the building. I’d buy a magazine. What was the worst that could happen in five metres? I’d buy a magazine and be upstairs back in the apartment within a few minutes.
    I took my coat from the stand by the doorway and opened the door. I was nervous. For three months I had not left the apartment unaccompanied and as I walked into the lift I noticed in the mirror that I was breathing quite hard. I told myself not to be so stupid. This was a UN safe area, I was buying a newspaper from a kiosk less than ten seconds from our front entrance, not making my way to the other side of the city.
    â€œDon’t be so silly,” I mumbled to myself as I walked through the interior doors and walked towards the door that led to the main street.
    The street was quite busy which put me at ease a little, people were going about their normal business and I noticed the small newspaper kiosk almost immediately as I buttoned up my coat against the biting wind and took a step forward. I fumbled for the loose change in my pocket and skirted a parked car which for some reason had stopped on the pavement. I thought it unusual and yet we were living in the middle of a troubled city and parking fines were the last things on anyone’s mind.
    The kiosk was quiet, the vendor and just one other person. A black van drove towards the kiosk and stopped on the pavement to the left side of me blocking my way. This was ridiculous I thought. Why is everyone parking on the pavement? I looked down the street. There were plenty of parking spaces; the driver didn’t need to stop there. Suddenly the van lurched forward and came careering towards me and I jumped back as I thought it was about to hit me.
    â€œWhat the-”
    In an instant it screeched to a halt and the side door was flung open violently as two men leaped onto the pavement and ran towards me. One of them was holding something, something black and as he grabbed me he forced a hood over my head. I screamed for help as time seemed to stand still. I could hear the noise of the traffic and the hustle and bustle of a normal city street and I heard a scream that quickly died away and I heard one of the men swearing at me in Albanian with a Kosovan dialect. What was going on? Surely they had made a mistake? Suddenly I was off my feet and had no control of where I was going. I was up in the air... flying, and I winced as my upper body connected with the hard floor of the bottom of the van and sheer terror coursed through my veins as I heard the door slam shut and the driver laughing as he pushed the vehicle into gear and sped away.
    â€œWe’ve got her. We’ve got the fucking bitch.”
    They were laughing, the driver, the two kidnappers and another voice from the rear of the van. I felt a blow to the side of my head.
    â€œFucking spy whore.”
    I was trembling, shivering with fear trying to get my breath and longed for words that would not form in my mouth. It was as if I had turned into a mute. I wanted to beg for my life, protest my innocence, tell these men they had made a mistake and they had the wrong person but my mouth was as dry as a bone and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
    The kidnappers were congratulating themselves on a job well done and hurling abuse at me from all directions, even the driver joined in the tirade of verbal cruelty.
    I lay still and silent as the van picked up speed and I remembered Brian’s warning over the many weeks. He knew something I didn’t and had warned me time and time again.