Markie was sobbing. “Hush now, son, or they’ll hear!” I scolded. Blindfolded, crammed into a tiny space with my husband and littlest son, my heart raced in terror. “Richard will tell the police, he’ll get us out, don’t worry now.” I whispered in reassurance for us all.

“No, the police are no help.” My husband sighed. I thought he was being pessimistic, but I quickly caught a tone of defeat in his voice.

“What do you mean?” I hissed.
“I’m sorry,” he said and no matter how I badgered him, he refused to say more.

After they took him for questioning and brought him back beaten, he still did not speak. When they took me and held knives to my throat, ripped off my clothes, and blacked my eye as a show of power, still he would not talk.

When they took Markie, he did not flinch.

I curled up in a corner as far away from the beast I married as I could. How could he do this to our family?
“As long as I stay quiet you’ll stay alive,” he promised.
“Until they don’t need your secrets,” I spat.
“No, I am the only one.”

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