Chapter 93

~~Julie~~ Whenever I picture someone getting kidnapped, it's always in a tinted van, at night, with mean-looking men at every corner. But it seems Colombians have it different. Because there's a young boy of not more than twenty at the wheel of what appears to be a Corolla. And the other kidnapper, the one holding the gun, is a lady in her sixties. She's smiling at me, gun steadily aimed. And somehow, her smile scares me more than a frown would. “Could you at least tell me where we're going?” I ask. The lady doesn’t reply. “Does someone in this car speak English? Why am I being held at gunpoint?” The lady brings the gun closer and presses her index finger to her lips. Right. Message understood. The teenager behind the wheel keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He looks anxious and calm at the same time. It's hard to explain. Like he’s pretending this is just another day when he knows, deep down, that it's not. I shift in my seat. My legs are