Irony

My eyes have been adjusted to the gloomy color that heavily possesses this cold and hungry room. The first day those guys chained me to a chair in here it reeked of filth and a strong but addicting whiff of paint. Is this someone's basement? Pure observation is at a disadvantage considering the only source of light comes from a dim orange lamp that hangs on the corner of the wall about a meter to my left. This room is mostly empty, excluding the several dark shapes that I can barely identify. One thing I must pinpoint is the past presence of other people.

I can assure myself that it has been more than a week but less than a month. Normally, a guy named Hugo would deal with my daily supplements. They've used me as a lab rat under various pills and sedatives. Over the course of these weeks, my brain has been plagued with a notion of hopelessness regarding justice.

The whereabouts of my daughter have been the focal manifestation of my mind. Those scamming bastards who came in contact with my husband caused these cruel conditions. From the beginning, I never supported his career in private boxing. Admittedly, he was pretty skilled, and it helped us financially. Despite that fact, there were still days he didn't win. Because this was his main source of income, I forced longer hours on my 9-5 shift to make up for his losses. Overall, our life was normal. Most importantly, our daughter, Mabel, was still around—happily twirling around the house and singing to her pink ballerina doll. Our lives only changed the day my husband signed himself to an illegal match held by an untrustworthy group of men. They came from a prestigious gang near our hometown in Rochester. He was supposed to win a diamond's worth of cash after beating their toughest player.

I relentlessly relive the moment before he left in my head.

"Josh," I sniveled. "why?"

He shoved me away, the first time he's ever done so in such a combative manner. Desperation beamed through his eyes as they laid onto mine. His expression frightened me because there was only ever one other moment in our 5-year marriage that I've seen it.

Josh caressed my head like I was a puppy and treaded away from the doorstep. As my heavy heartbeat rang inside my ears, I silently watched my husband leave our house. I received not a farewell but rather a faint breath of, "Sorry."

I slowly reopened my eyes, hammering back to reality. These flashbacks were nothing brighter than this room; my face moistened from tears.

The greyish silhouette of a gangly man appeared in the dark hallway outside the opened door. It was Hugo. Before he could speak, I blurted, "Mabel!"

All movement of his ceased.

"I want my daughter." I continued. "Can I be with her?"

Hugo chuckled softly.

I emphasized the anguish in my voice. "Please! For once, I want to see her!"

Hugo shook his head. "The mind of a mother truly isn't the same as that of a selfish woman. If it wasn't for your husband, Eden..."

It took me a minute to finally catch on to what he was referring to. It was a personal situation that was between only me and Josh. However, there was no reason my husband would tell anyone this. Countless emotions welled up inside of me as I was recollecting the image of Josh's face the moment I reported on wanting an abortion.

"Should've kept that one out of your diary, huh?"

My eyes flashed up towards Hugo. I figured they've gotten ahold of our personal belongings.

"How I felt back then doesn't define my relationship with Mabel, now!"

I spitefully spat on Hugo's face which led to an implacably fierce slap to mine.

In a more hushed tone, I kept pushing on. "You promised me you'd let me out of here after I gave you guys the address to where my daughter is."

Filtered underneath the orange light I could see Hugo's ugly, cunning smirk. Typically he would retort, but at this moment he steadily walked out of the room. In less than a couple of minutes later, a black notebook was thrown onto my lap.

"Larry noticed your daughter writing in this."

I haven't heard that name in a while. He's in charge of the entire gang.

Reluctantly, I asked, "Did he ever hurt her?"

"Excuse me?"

"Wh-where is Mabel?" I stuttered.

Hugo completely dismissed my question and proceeded to the original subject.

"Look, you can take her notebook and go ho-"

"If I do that," My shaky hands scrunched into tight fists. "then I'll just report you all to the police."

Brief seconds of silence elapsed. Hugo sighed and articulated a fresh plan. "How about this? You have by the end of today to find Mabel. Contact us your location once you have her, and we'll drive up to you with your husband's due payment. That is, only under the circumstance that you do not ever tell the police anything about us." I could see Hugo's dark pupils suddenly striking down at me. "If you do, we'll just have our other team of people put an end to Josh's life."

My heart rate sped as I was processing every word.

"Is that clear?"

I fidgeted on my chair. Was I genuinely considering this? Confidently, I replied, "Yes."

Hugo stomped out the door. Shortly after, I was introduced to two buff and intimidating men. One of them wrapped a long, dark piece of cloth around my head, covering my eyes as they guided me out the building. I was placed in the backseat of a vehicle, unbeknownst to the destination. Throughout the entire ride, I was tightly gripping Mabel's notebook. It was the only thing that felt reassuring. My mind was racing, but I was pondering over a particular question. Why are they allowing this so easily?

After lengthy painstaking minutes the car finally stopped. My blindfold was untied, and the golden ray of sunlight slashed into my eyes. It hurt, but it felt invigorating. I peered out through every window to an outside world that suddenly felt new to me. Hugo plugged in the detail that we were in the parking lot of the hospital that my husband was confined in.

"Good luck, Eden!" Hugo enthusiastically bellowed from inside the car before swiftly zooming off into the distance.

I gazed at the hospital that proudly stood wide and tall. I could've feasibly visited Josh, but I chose not to. If it wasn't for that idiotic decision—those matches are private for a reason—we wouldn't have to be burdened with the loss of anyone's life, let alone his. As I've deliberately suppressed these feelings, my resentment expanded. Currently, they're stronger than ever. The thing here is, he did win the match, but the gang still gashed him into an immobile state and took back the money they originally paid him. I believe Josh merely got what was coming for him. Everything was really just his fault.

I checked the time on the small flip-phone Hugo gave me.

6:30 PM. Why couldn't we have started this sooner?

I perched myself on the nearest bench with proper shade before deciding to open the notebook I still had with me.

Mabel's only 6 years old, so I didn't expect to see an abundance of words. Tears instantly spilled as I examined a small doodle of our family. I was promptly reminded of how much she loved to draw. Josh was wearing little boxing gloves and Mabel even included our Dachsund, Rio, although he passed away last year. The immense emotions that cascaded over my body caused my breathing to shudder. I flipped over to the pages that had words. Firstly, Mabel was expressing the fun times she had with her grandmother and how they'd make her favorite desserts. On the next page read the words, "I wish Mommy and Daddy loved each other more." Guilt trickled into my mind. Weeks ago, Mabel had to stay with Josh's mom due to our constant arguing.

The following five pages were blank. I felt my heart sinking, already knowing what might've occurred. Mabel mentioned a group of strange men that flocked around the house. She was fed a lie about who they were and was lured into their minivan filled with other young girls.

Subsequently, my young and oblivious daughter noted innocent depictions of human trafficking. My eyes gaped at every individual word through hefty perseverance. It was my fault she was involved.

I frantically checked the time on the phone. 6:45 PM. I rubbed my eyes vigorously for I was expending all my effort searching for any prominent context I might've missed. Doubts bled into the 20 minutes of outright frustration.

I gradually grew weary and aimlessly darted towards the sidewalk. Out of the familiarity of this area, I headed in the direction of my cousin's home. Honestly, I haven't seen her in two years. I rang the doorbell to a house I believed was hers. No one answered. I peeked through the windows that partially revealed the interior. There wasn't much furniture nor decorations. Strangely, I swore I heard the faint sound of guttural shrieking coming from inside. The compulsion to act may have been subconsciously rooted in my desperation to find my daughter.

I rushed to the backyard and, by luck, the back door was unlocked. I swung open the door to a master bedroom, instantly startled by the sight of a bruised girl lying on the bed with her wrists and ankles tied together. I sprinted towards her and instinctively gnawed at the thick rope as a means to loosen the knots. Adrenaline kept pumping into my body as I carried the young girl outside the house and ran to wherever police would notice us.

7:30 PM

A kind detective had me seated in an office for an interview as an extension to the pertaining investigation. I had nothing but basic elucidations for a majority of the questions. Feeling rather disorientated, my focus drifted back onto my daughter. Why couldn't it have been her instead? Unintentionally, I disregarded half of the words coming out of the detective's mouth.

At the end of the session, I was told to stay seated. Curiously, I peeped at the papers that were sitting on the coffee table and let out a staggering gasp. The girl that I rescued turns out to be a missing child, Kaylee Brown, in a 4-month case. The bold text at the bottom reads, "REWARD: $20,000"

Then it immediately hit me. Could they have been connected? Just in time, the same detective returns.

"Excuse me, sir," I proposed. "but may I see Kaylee for a second?"

8:15 PM

The following hour consisted of gathering information for my payment, which later transitioned to endless rumination while enjoying a free meal from the staff. I groaned about how obvious the answer should've been.

Mercifully, I was allowed a free ride home.

11 PM

The loud buzzing of the flip-phone vibrated on top of the breakfast table; a call I've been dreading, yet I picked up anyway.

"Hi, Eden."

I expected to hear from Hugo, this was Larry. I remained silent.

"Found Mabel?"

My eyes, half-open, fixated onto the ground. He knew the answer. I closed my eyes as I firmly stated, "You did this on purpose." Tears glossed over the surface of my eyes. I shielded my nose, the stench was getting stronger.

Larry concluded, "You technically didn't find her, though..on ti-"

I quickly hung up.

My eyes shifted to my laptop screen. I was logged into my bank account.

Pending Transaction

I forced out a wry smile. I no longer knew who to resent.