The Shadow and the Night: Glenncailty Castle, Book 3 by Lila Dubois Page B
Authors: Lila Dubois
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d’Ivoire?”
“Yes. I was part of a UN team sent in to exhume bodies that were put into mass graves in 2011 during the post-election violence. The country had tried to do some of it on their own, but finally a UN team was called in.”
“That is who you work for, the UN?”
“Most of the time. If not them then there are initiatives and projects that focus on various areas and causes. But this time I was working for the UN. It’s an important project, and I went even though I was warned that the country could be dangerous. We were escorted by UN peacekeepers—soldiers.”
“But something happened.”
“We were in Abidjan, the biggest city in the country, and the site of most of the violence. We’d set up in a warehouse down the street from one of the sites. We were still in the first phase, gathering bones, and I went back to the site to take some photos. All the bones were out, but I didn’t have photos of the site post-removal, which I needed. It was a quick errand. I was supposed to be there and back in ten minutes, so I didn’t wait for the escort to get his gear on, I just left.”
Melissa stared at the melted chocolate, and though it smelled delicious, her stomach rolled with nausea.
“I’m not sure, even now, what happened next. There was shouting, and gunfire. I ducked into a doorway, and there were people running. I tried to hide, and my arm started to hurt. Then there were men in the street. They seemed like boys, but they had huge guns and bandanas covering their faces. They saw me, dragged me out from where I was hiding.”
Melissa’s hands were shaking. She carefully took the spatula out of the chocolate and laid it on the counter.
Tristan turned off the burners under her pot and his frying pan.
“You do not have to say anything more.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re crying.”
“I am?” She touched her cheek, felt the wetness there. “I guess I’m still scared. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still scared.”
“I’m sorry. I should not have asked.” He tried to hug her but she resisted.
“Let me finish. It’s probably not as bad as you think.” She half turned so she didn’t have to face him. Instead, she focused on the pots hanging over the range. “They beat me—hit me with the guns and kicked me. My French is passable, but either I was in too much pain to understand or they were speaking another language, because I didn’t know what they were shouting. Whatever their cause or problem, I was a symbol for it. Eventually they picked me up, carrying me away.”
“No one helped you?”
“No.” That was one of the most haunting memories—looking at the quiet, blank faces of the people who lined the streets, watching the grim little parade. “Maybe some of them called for help once we’d gone. I don’t know.”
“And your escort?”
“One of the guards had come after me when they realized I left. He was shot and killed only a block from where I’d tried to hide. The others had to shelter and wait for assistance.”
“They did not look for you?”
“No. There are rules, protocols.”
He muttered something and crossed his arms. “How did you get away?”
“I didn’t.” Melissa closed her eyes, and like poking a bruise to see if it still hurt, she let herself go back. “They carried me to the edge of the district. There were whole blocks that were still in ruin from earlier fighting, and that’s where they dumped me. They threw me down into a concrete pit. Later someone told me that it had been the bottom of an elevator shaft for the office building that had once been there.
“I was there for two and a half days. I had trouble standing and couldn’t see well. The pit was only about ten feet deep, but I couldn’t get out. My left arm was…I’m not sure if it happened in the street or when I landed, but it was broken, and the bones were sticking through the skin.”
“ Mon dieu . Melissa…”
“The doctors think I was shot before the
“Yes. I was part of a UN team sent in to exhume bodies that were put into mass graves in 2011 during the post-election violence. The country had tried to do some of it on their own, but finally a UN team was called in.”
“That is who you work for, the UN?”
“Most of the time. If not them then there are initiatives and projects that focus on various areas and causes. But this time I was working for the UN. It’s an important project, and I went even though I was warned that the country could be dangerous. We were escorted by UN peacekeepers—soldiers.”
“But something happened.”
“We were in Abidjan, the biggest city in the country, and the site of most of the violence. We’d set up in a warehouse down the street from one of the sites. We were still in the first phase, gathering bones, and I went back to the site to take some photos. All the bones were out, but I didn’t have photos of the site post-removal, which I needed. It was a quick errand. I was supposed to be there and back in ten minutes, so I didn’t wait for the escort to get his gear on, I just left.”
Melissa stared at the melted chocolate, and though it smelled delicious, her stomach rolled with nausea.
“I’m not sure, even now, what happened next. There was shouting, and gunfire. I ducked into a doorway, and there were people running. I tried to hide, and my arm started to hurt. Then there were men in the street. They seemed like boys, but they had huge guns and bandanas covering their faces. They saw me, dragged me out from where I was hiding.”
Melissa’s hands were shaking. She carefully took the spatula out of the chocolate and laid it on the counter.
Tristan turned off the burners under her pot and his frying pan.
“You do not have to say anything more.”
“It’s okay.”
“You’re crying.”
“I am?” She touched her cheek, felt the wetness there. “I guess I’m still scared. It’s been nearly a year and I’m still scared.”
“I’m sorry. I should not have asked.” He tried to hug her but she resisted.
“Let me finish. It’s probably not as bad as you think.” She half turned so she didn’t have to face him. Instead, she focused on the pots hanging over the range. “They beat me—hit me with the guns and kicked me. My French is passable, but either I was in too much pain to understand or they were speaking another language, because I didn’t know what they were shouting. Whatever their cause or problem, I was a symbol for it. Eventually they picked me up, carrying me away.”
“No one helped you?”
“No.” That was one of the most haunting memories—looking at the quiet, blank faces of the people who lined the streets, watching the grim little parade. “Maybe some of them called for help once we’d gone. I don’t know.”
“And your escort?”
“One of the guards had come after me when they realized I left. He was shot and killed only a block from where I’d tried to hide. The others had to shelter and wait for assistance.”
“They did not look for you?”
“No. There are rules, protocols.”
He muttered something and crossed his arms. “How did you get away?”
“I didn’t.” Melissa closed her eyes, and like poking a bruise to see if it still hurt, she let herself go back. “They carried me to the edge of the district. There were whole blocks that were still in ruin from earlier fighting, and that’s where they dumped me. They threw me down into a concrete pit. Later someone told me that it had been the bottom of an elevator shaft for the office building that had once been there.
“I was there for two and a half days. I had trouble standing and couldn’t see well. The pit was only about ten feet deep, but I couldn’t get out. My left arm was…I’m not sure if it happened in the street or when I landed, but it was broken, and the bones were sticking through the skin.”
“ Mon dieu . Melissa…”
“The doctors think I was shot before the
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