Elena Nikitina - Girl, Taken - A True Story of Abduction, Captivity, and Survival

October 4th,1994

I did not know whereI was.

For a long time, Idrifted in darkness. Then a thought came, unbidden.

Im alive.

Another thought soonfollowed. Then another. They had a mind of their own, these thoughts. Gradually, they began to lead me up and out of the abyss.

They were confused, amad jumble of images and ideas, and sensations and disembodied voices, allsuperimposed on each other. I recovered slowly, crawling through the buzz of amalfunctioning electrical wire that seemed to be inside my head. I felt how mylungs were filling with air; I began to do it consciously and with pleasure. Iwas breathing!

More clearly now Iheard the revving of a car engine, and mingled with that, the sound ofunfamiliar voices. Several men were speaking in a language I did notunderstand. My body, which had gone as limp and as soft as a fresh corpse,gradually began to stiffen and take form again. It twitched, then stretched,legs and arms lengthening all of this as involuntary as the beating of myheart.

I tried to open myeyes. My eyelids seemed glued firmly shut until this point. They were soheavy it was almost unnatural to lift them.

In the first moments,my vision was out of focus. It was like a photograph taken at night, through arainy, foggy window. Everything was smeared and hazy and very dark. But witheach successive moment of consciousness, my wounded brain began to put all thepuzzle pieces together. Soon enough, the picture became clearer resolvingitself, slowly and inexorably, into something I did not want to see.

I yearned to diveback to the darkness, the unconsciousness, back to where I was not able to feelthe fear. But it was too late. I was awake now, becoming alert, and unable toretreat from reality.

I found myself in acar full of strangers, driving through the night.

Inky darkness flewalong outside my window, shadowy landscapes passing formless and empty. Therickety car moved too quickly over rutted and pitted roads, shuddering andbanging the entire time. I could make out nothing about where I was. The carseemed to be passing through an unpopulated countryside there were no lightsout there at all. Inside the car, a dim yellow dashboard light was on. Thelight cast a reflection on the window showing me a distorted funhouse versionof the men I was too afraid to look at directly.

I was in the backseat of a car being driven away from my life. The full horror of it began tosink in.

What has happened?

Where are they takingme?

Who are these men?

My body had gone numbfrom the uncomfortable position I was in, and instinctively I moved again. NowI noticed my tongue. It felt thick in my mouth.

I produced a sound, likea shout, but also like horrible animal groaning.

The men ignored me. They were talking incessantly. Their language seemed to me like the languageof a lost jungle tribe. I rolled my eyes from side to side, trying tounderstand. Impenetrable darkness made it impossible to see their faces, butthere were definitely four of them: a driver and three others. To my right,two passengers were squeezed in the back seat next to me.

My body was stillunder the influence of some kind of poison. My head felt like it weighed aton, and my tongue refused to listen to my commands. It groaned again.

I grew more alert. The unconsciousness, fatigue and stiffness faded, leaving open a place for anincreasing sense of all-consuming fear. At my left side, there was nothing butdarkness. It sapped my confidence and my hopes. The idea struck me like anarrow they had taken me. No one knew where I was.

Will these men rapeme?

Will they sell meinto slavery?

Will they kill me?

* * *

The last thing Iremembered was the fight with my boyfriend. I argued with him and then Idecided to go home.

It happened at night,three weeks past my 21st birthday.

That night, there wasa party at the restaurant across the alley from my home. The restaurant wascalled Corvette, the newer place in town where my friends and I had parties allthe time. It was a sweet, romantic time of life, and Corvette was our place.

It was a typicalRussian hangout for young people. Loud, alive, buzzing, full of smoke andstrong drink. The inside, true to its name, was decorated like a battlecruiser from the days of sailing it looked like a pirate ship on the highseas complete with rope rigging hanging along the walls, portholes, crossedswords, and deck cannons.

The restaurant wascrowded that night, tables full of beautiful young people, drinking and talkingand laughing and shouting. They were beautiful, and I was beautiful.

I can still seeSergeys angry face as we argued. He was a handsome guy, and I loved him inthat way people love each other when they are 21. Intensely. Gigantically. Our love was all consuming. It was so huge, it was impossible. It was thebiggest thing on planet Earth.

How could the worldgo on if Sergey and I were to break up? It must stop, at least for a moment,to acknowledge with its own heavy heart the passing of a relationship sobeautiful that the poets would weep to think of it.

Yes, our love waslike that.

Sergey was asportsman. He was a boxer, and his training made him thin and strong, andvital, and full of energy. It was as if a current of electricity was passingthrough his body at all times. We made an attractive couple, and we enjoyedthat about ourselves. We were made for each other.

If our love wasgigantic, then so was our anger. It was anger appropriately sized to a love asenormous, and emotions as powerful, as ours. In my memory, Sergeys hazel eyesare on fire. He is yelling at me, but I am so angry, I can no longer hear whathe is saying. All I can hear is the laughter and celebration all around us. All I can see is the color red. Sergey is gesturing with his long arms, like agreat bird, a crane, but even as he flaps his wings, he fades from my view,backward into the cigarette smoke and the red haze of my anger.

I felt a sudden urgeto leave the party. I had to get away. The first floor apartment that Ishared with my mother was just steps from there. I wanted to escape theugliness of the fight, escape the self-important flightless birdlike flappingof my boyfriend, escape the god-awful smoke and the cacophonous noise of themerrymakers, and exchange it all for the warm hugs of my mama and the quietcoziness of our flat.

Im leaving, I toldSergey.

He dismissed me witha violent flap of his wing. For a second, he reminded me not of a bird, but ofa symphony conductor contemptuously demanding a crescendo from a third rateorchestra. Do whatever you want, Im staying.

He turned away fromme, and I moved toward the door. I left the restaurant.

I was wearing a littleblack dress, my favorite piece of clothing. It was so tight and sexy, it fitlike a second skin, like the skin of a snake. As I walked, the dresstreacherously tried to ride up, exposing my already barely covered legs. Inthe doorway of the restaurant, I pulled the hem of the dress down and steppedoutside.

The long boulevardwas empty. Everything was quiet, and the alley was dark. In my youth, thenights were always dark.

I started walking, ina hurry to get home. I needed probably ten steps, maybe a couple more thanthat with my high heels on, to reach the corner of the building and then make aright turn to enter the front dooryard.