PLAN
A trial of psychotropic medications and ongoing long-term psychotherapy are recommended. Individuals of Nikos’s age, with his history, including that of trauma and captivity, and with his presenting symptomatology, generally require and may benefit from such long-term psychiatric interventions. However, it is noteworthy that individuals with a diagnosis that includes a personality disorder may have a guarded prognosis.
The story in the boy’s own words:
TAKEN
My name is Nikos. This is the story of my kidnap. I’ll warn you now, it ain’t pretty. A lot of people died. Some deserved it, some didn’t. I learned stuff, things some adults will never know. Like what a man looks like and smells like when he is dead. What it feels like when your mind is numb with drugs. What to do when no one gives a shit if you live or die. You want to hear my story? Be careful what you ask for. I really don’t want to tell it, but my psychiatrist says I should, and Papa is pushing hard for me to finish. But I don’t think he’ll like what he reads. Maybe he just wants to see if my private education made me a good writer.
Well, here goes. . . .
THE GRAB
I couldn’t breathe. My body tensed. I opened my eyes, confused. Looked around. Where am I? Thea’s favorite teddy bear lay beside me on the bed. Then I remembered—I slept in her room because she’d had a nightmare about Mama dying. I tried to breathe again, but someone held a strange-smelling cloth tightly against my mouth and nose. I kicked, punched. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t strong enough. No choice. I sucked in air through the cloth. It made me feel weird. I looked over at Thea hidden in the fort I’d made her. She was awake, her eyes big and scared. I screamed to her in my head: “Help! Go get help!” Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. She didn’t move. I felt dizzy. The room was spinning. Then it all went black.
The next time I woke up, it was still black. I had a hood on my head, rope around my hands, and a stinky rag in my mouth. Oil. Yuck. Puke came up my throat, but I swallowed it back down. My body banged against something hard. Felt like I was in the back of a truck. It hurt a lot. I tried to get free, but the rope was tied too tight. I was thirsty. My back was sore. My heart was beating fast, and I was wet and sweaty. Don’t know how long I was riding, maybe hours.
I wanted to know who had taken me. Papa would find me, make them pay. He might even kill them. That would be good.
The diesel engine rattled and stopped. We were there. Not sure where. Someone opened the door. I felt the hot sun on my back as someone threw me over his skinny shoulder. I bounced around a lot, heard the creak of a door opening. Goose bumps on my arms. Cold. Air-conditioning.
The skinny guy dropped me onto something soft, maybe a couch. I sniffed in a weird smell, like dirt and moss, same as when we buried Grandpa in that deep, dark hole. Big footsteps. Someone yanked off my hood. Light hurt my eyes. I looked around. The room had scary African masks on the wall. A giant stared down at me. He smelled like Grandpa’s grave too—death. I tried to be brave, but my teeth banged together.
The giant wore an army outfit and a camo beret. He was called “the General,” and he bossed the skinny guy, Kofi, around. He had tribal scars burned into his cheeks. When we first came to Africa, Papa said tribal scars were from slave times, and free men scarred their faces so no one would think they were slaves. Was this guy going to make me his slave?
Kofi had a sneaky look in his eyes, as if he hated taking orders. They talked about some mix-up, the boy being in the girl’s room. Maybe they’d wanted to take Thea instead. Better it was me. Little sis is younger, smaller. She couldn’t fight back. She couldn’t survive. I could.
THE VILLAGERS
They kept me in a shed out back, so hot and dirty. That oil stink made me sick. The lumpy mattress was ripped, so I pulled out a loose coil I could use to draw in the dirt floor. I was good at taking stuff apart and putting it back together. Papa said I had good spatial intelligence, whatever that is.
Days went by slowly, and I used the coil to mark a line on the cement wall every time the sun came up. Eleven marks now. I smelled real bad, but when I asked for a bath, Kofi sprayed me with freezing water, so I used leaves to wipe the dirt off me instead. I had two buckets, one for water, the other for piss and shit. The water tasted funny. I think Kofi mixed up the buckets when he changed them. My stomach hurt down low.
So boring, being alone all the time. Kofi brought beans and rice every afternoon. He poked me with a sharp stick and laughed when I asked to come outside. I missed home. Was someone coming to get me? Piers would have to explain why he’d let this happen. He was head of Papa’s security team. He might get fired after this.