Category Archives: kidnapping

Monster IX

By: Mia L. Hazlett
3/22/13

What did it mean to have control of my body? Was it actual physical control? Or was it the ability to do with my body what I wanted?  I didn’t want to do what they were telling me to do.  I was somehow fighting against the healing of my body.  Being able to walk, although my only means of escape, could also prove my detriment.  Reinjuring my ankles lingered in my thoughts, but I wrestled with lengthening my stay in hell.

They allowed me access to the stairs at the end of the dark hallways.  Some sort of informal training for my controlled release.  A door with a heavy padlock and chain guarded the top of the staircase.  I’m sure it used a form of video as backup.

With only one door in the hallway, I seemed to hold the only reservation, but Hope had to be close.  Although I hadn’t heard from her in days, there was the familiar sound of restraints against a wire cot.  They must have restrained her and she couldn’t get to her wall.  Or maybe her ankles had met the same fate mine had and she was now receiving visits from Syringe.

Footsteps arrived with my food.  Apparently while dwelling so close to the last stop in hell, Thanksgiving had arrived.  He brought two plates mounded with food I had forgotten existed.

“We need you to fatten up a bit, put your weight back on,” Maniacal appeared and spoke from the doorway.  “The time is drawing near and we can’t have you fail, just because you’re hungry. Be a good girl and eat up.”

I savagely devoured all I could.  I don’t think I used my hands as I felt my tongue brush against the plate at times.  Before I could see the bottom of the second plate, my body rejected the first meal.  My stomach had held nothing more than a red concoction and an occasional serving from Syringe.

I couldn’t control my vomiting, but I noticed my ribs had healed.  There was no pain in the heaving as before.  I can’t get well.  I had to take control of my body and break it again.

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Taken VI

Taken IV
By: Mia L. Hazlett
9/29/11

I scrubbed my body, hoping to wash Mark and his lust away. He disappeared all day yesterday. There was actually joy when I eased myself between my sheets last night. Usually he didn’t come home for days. I prayed for a reprieve. Unfortunately, he returned home horny at close to three in the morning.

I turned the water off and stepped from the shower. My hair dripped as I lightly toweled off my bruised body. I breathed a bit easier, but I needed to take my mind off of me and stay hopeful for my Jessie’s return. Even though our fight destroyed the lamp on my nightstand, I was able to save my night stand picture of Jessie. I slept with the picture under my pillow every night.

Obviously there was nothing I could do, but this picture was the last piece of Jessie had, less her bedroom. For some reason, Mark had taken down all of her pictures. The first week, he worked relentlessly with the police. Now it seemed like he was over her. I couldn’t understand and that led to our disagreement the other night. Although I wanted my home plastered with her face, I couldn’t endure another thrashing. I curled back under my sheets and clung to my angel’s picture.

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Filed under daughters, fiction, kidnapping, motherhood, Taken, violence

Monster VI

Monster VI
By: Mia L. Hazlett
9/28/11

Was I really in my bed? It didn’t seem real, but here I was. My room reflected order, but my memory obeyed a reality I struggled to comprehend. I remember darkness, crashing, and a deep relentless pain. Finally I swung my feet to the side of my bed and stood. The sun beamed through my white window sheers shining brightness on my new day.

Although I stood surrounded by perfection, a putrid odor wafted through the air. Each inhale strengthened the sickening feeling within me. I gagged and coughed. The cough buckled me and a searing pain engulfed my torso. As I held my stomach, I inched my way to the top of my stairwell. My blurry stare outlined a massive human silhouette. Even though I stared down my stairs, the figure loomed over me.

I released my torso and straightened my back. The looming figure seemed to be made of air as I grabbed for it to steady myself. With no contact made, I lost my balance and tumbled head over heels down the stairs. I writhed in excruciating pain, but still the looming figure remained over me.

I couldn’t tell if the touch came from it or me, but this time I could feel something near my feet. The more my eyes struggled to remain open and focus, the darker my surroundings became. It felt as though my feet were being lifted into the air, as the darkness encompassed me. I could see my stairwell, but with the diminished sunlight that had so recently illuminated my upstairs, I couldn’t see past the second step.

I tried to turn away from the stairs and onto my back, but with the reintroduction of the putrid odor, I released my stomach contents with a hurl. Now I was back in the small room. Instead of the floor, I was on a wiry raised cot. My legs were taped together on a slat of plywood, which did not allow me to turn my body. My stomach contents soaked my hair, and I realized the stench was me. I don’t think it was the first time I threw up, nor had I been afforded the opportunity to use a bathroom.

As the blurry figure came into focus, I remembered the sledgehammer. Immediately I tried to move my feet, but I couldn’t feel them. The man came closer to me with some sort of syringe in his hand. As the needle was merely inches from my arm, the door opened. The maniacal laugh sent me back to my sunny bedroom as the contents of the syringe emptied into my arm. I was home again.

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Taken V

Taken V
By: Mia L. Hazlett
4/6/11

Voz walked around the back to the warehouse entrance. The door buzzed and he took the steps by two to the meeting room. He dropped the duffel bag on the floor and opened the metal locker. He exchanged duffel bags and sat at the beat up card table to examine the contents as Kev appeared in the doorway.

They hadn’t seen each other in almost two months after the debacle of a kidnapping. They had to meet with Mark, he was the head of all this, and had summoned this meeting. They sat at the table in silence, until they heard the ring of the backdoor bell. Kev got up and buzzed the door. He could see in the monitor there was a small figure coming in behind him.

They exchanged looks. Voz let his glock rest in his lap and Kev kept his box cutter up his sleeve. Mark walked in holding his stepdaughter’s hand. He smiled broadly, then bent and whispered into her ear. The little girl left the room and Mark circled the table.

“Gentlemen, there’s a problem. I think you know what it is. And I’m a bit annoyed, because I’m sure I paged three and I only see two. Why two, when there should be three? Anyone?” He ceased his pacing and waited for a response.

Voz spoke up, “She’s dead. I’ve checked for reports and there’s nothing. Nobody is looking for her.” The fist that caught him in his jaw reeled him backwards and sent his glock sliding across the floor under the lockers.

“Are you stupid?” Mark boomed. “Is this some kind of joke to you. Do you not get what is going on? This was supposed to be a simple kidnapping. You take her, keep her, demand a ransom, we get the money, we disappear. Do you know how much she’s worth? And now you go and kill the scapegoat?”

Voz picked himself off the floor and stood. He tasted blood when he swallowed and wiped the small trickle from the corner of his mouth. ” I found the kid. If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have her back.” Voz attempted to defend himself.

“You found her after she was spotted and the sighting was reported to the cops. They tracked her back to The Spot. They found blood there and no body. They are looking for the body. Now that they have blood, they have DNA. With DNA they can identify who she was.” Mark was inches from Voz’s face.

“They aren’t going to find the body to do any DNA match. Trust me,” Kev said.

“Why should I trust either one of you? You are both fuck ups. They don’t need a body. Need I remind you she is a convict? She’s already in the system. Now they are looking for her and the kid. Tomorrow it’s back on. Do you hear me? It’s back on. There is no margin for error this time. You will be provided details tonight.”

“Daddy, can we go?” Jessie appeared in the doorway.

“Yes baby. Daddy’s coming.” Mark took his stepdaughter’s hand and left.

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Macy IV

Macy IV
By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/22/11

It was a lot easier to hate someone because they were a jerk. A jerk was just that, a jerk. And that’s how I had always thought of my grandmother. But this letter made it much more difficult to hate her. I was beginning to understand the deep seeded abuse she cast upon me. Still, how could I erase a lifetime of hate with a letter, well I guess letters? I turned to the only person that could offer some sort of explanation, Macy’s daughter, my mother.

So much pain resurfaced in the two hour conversation we shared – pain for both of us. I realized my grandmother had reached from beyond the grave, and her hatred was revived as she forced me to open old wounds for my mother. When my mother cried, a chord struck in my heart as we relived a past that we thought was buried. As I leaned back on my couch, I regretted calling my mother. It never crossed my mind that my mother was a victim of Macy’s serial abuse too. Macy was a woman so wronged that she carried her wrath for two generations.

My grandmother prayed that my mother would take the routes of my aunts…marry light. But not my mother, Daddy was somehow darker than her. So I guess my baby picture delivered the third strike. My mother was dark, she married dark, and now she had an extra dark baby. She shared with me our first meeting. It wasn’t that warm fuzzy pacing the waiting room thing or waiting by the phone, but I was hidden from her for almost two years. A family birthday brought us together and my hell on earth began.

To those she loved, she was known as Mama. My mother called her mother. I called her Ms. Macy. She called me the black sheep amongst her pure lambs. You see Ms. Macy was the daycare for our family. My mother dropped me off at six in the morning everyday, except Sunday. Six days of relentless verbal torture from that woman…every single week. There was no reprieve. Just a self-hatred that formed from as far back as I can remember.

I sat on my couch for over an hour after my mother left. The letters begged for my attention as I tried to avoid them. I reached for the envelope with the tiny number two in the left corner. Tears streamed as I read each word. I cried myself to sleep that night.

That day at the lake chainjd my life Macy. Therr wuzn’t nuttin’ that happnd to them boyz Macy. Thats just how it wuz back then. Therr wuzn’t nuttin’ that wood happn to white peple dat killd cullurd folk. The thing wuz, white peple didn’t think or care that cullurdz luvd therr babeez. Becuz it wuzn’t only my life dat chainjd, but Mama wuzn’t rite aftr dat eether.

See my daddy dun got killd to. My oldr bruthr Tobias wuz namd aftr my daddy. Daddy shur wuz angree. You mite now think he dun run to therr houz and hurt them, but he didn’t do that. One them boyz walkd passd my daddy in town and daddy dun gave him a bad stare. Thats all it took back den. You dun lookd at a white man rong and you wuz cullurd, then they wood hurt you reel bad Macy. They wood hurt you reel bad.

I dun wish I hadn’t run after them people in the woodz Macy. I dun wish I hadn’t. But I did. Me and my couzin followd thoze therr men and I saw what they did to my daddy. Don’t know if you dun hurd about linchins Macy, but thats what they did to my daddy. They dun linched him.

My daddy wuz a big man. It dun took four of dem skinny white menz to hold onto my daddy. He dun faught dem men through the field, but when they got him to that therr tree in the clearing, therr wuz about twenty othr menz therr. Me and my couzin stayed up in the trees in the woodz, but we could see it all. As I looked past my daddy at the tree, thats when I new what they wuz gonna do to him. Therr wuz already a man hangin’ there. He was just hangin’ therr with no life.

I didn’t do nuttin’ Macy. I didn’t do nuttin’ but cry in that tree. They dun stripped my daddy’s clothes off and tied hiz handz round the trunk ov that therr tree. Sum men had whips and sum had sticks. They dun beat my daddy bad. They beat him till he stopped hollarin’. I thought he wuz ded, but when they untied him, he didn’t fall. My daddy stood aftr hiz beatin’.

A big fat man came on my daddy and hit him in the neez with a big long stick. Daddy fell back with a big crash and cry. Two ov them other men dun put a rope round my daddys neck. I didn’t know where he went as they gatherd in close round him, but then daddy was in the air. They dun threw that rope up over that branch next to that no life man. He kickd and screemd Macy. My daddy kicked and screemed.

When that man let go of my daddy’s legs, he didn’t screem no more. His cheeks puffd and his eyes lookd up. I stoppd lookin’ ’cause I saw one man bringin’ ovr sum fire. I new they wuz gonna burn my daddy. Ain’t nuttin’ no child should have to do, but Macy, I prayd my daddy wuz ded. Macy, I dun prayd my daddy wuz ded. My prayers wuzn’t answerd Macy. I herd my daddy screem to death. All the way to his death, my daddy screemd.

My momma did her best with us other ones after that. But she just wasn’t the same. She dun lost her sons and husband. They dun took the bodies somewhere after that, my daddys, my brothers, and that no life man to. So she lost her men and couldn’t even bury them. Not like all the big stuff that happens nowdays for dedfolk, my daddy and brothers didn’t get no funral. I don’t think it was the no funral so much that botherd her. It was the fact she had to keep cleanin’ the house of the boy who dun killd her sons, raped her daughterz, and got her husband ded.



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Filed under death, fiction, husband, kidnapping, lynching, Macy, racism, wife

Taken IV

Taken (IV)
By: Mia L. Hazlett
1/13/11

It had been two months since my baby was taken. There were occasional phone calls from the detectives assigned to Jessie’s case. But over all, they were starting to dwindle. It used to be three to four times a week, but now it was only return phone calls. The hardest part to adjust to was the decrease in the search intensity. The first week I functioned completely on adrenaline. It felt like the detectives lived here. Our neighbors did everything to help. The house was never empty. Even the second week, we had relatives and friends in and out. But now there was just us.

My husband held most of the details to the investigation. There was very little that I knew, except that they had not found her. Unfortunately, these past two months, as heart-wrenching as they’d been, had been a reprieve from Mark, my husband, and his brutality. Last night was the first time since we lost her that he’d hit me or should I say beat me. It was with such viciousness that I thought I wouldn’t make it through. There had been times before that I thought that, but last night he unleashed two months of pent up fury.

I touched the mirror instead of my face. My fingers lightly traced my swollen right eye. How my left eye was spared, I’m not sure. The split down my lower lip seemed to cut it right in half. There was a bruise on my left cheek, which was probably the reason for the excruciating pain that shot through my face when I tried to open my mouth. Usually he spared my face, but I guess he knew I wasn’t leaving the house to go anywhere.

The last time I left the house was the morning we went to drop her off for school. It may be selfish, but I wasn’t ready to see other children playing in the neighborhood. I didn’t think I could take hearing the sound of “mommy” coming from a child’s mouth. I sat on the floor in her bedroom and cried myself to sleep most nights. Not to mention my dreams, they rentlessly taunt me.

Sometimes they were memories, sometimes she was running back into my arms completely untouched, but mostly they were nightmares. It was the nightmares that left me drained. There was one that I had consistently. I was at her school and following behind her in the crowded hallways. I could never seem to get close to her, but could hear her distinct little giggle. Out of nowhere, a man came and grabbed her. He was running so fast with her and my legs didn’t move. It was the sound of her screaming, “Mommy help me!”, that always woke me.

“Mommy help me.” Mommy couldn’t even help herself, I thought, as I examined the large bruise on my right side in the mirror. I knew my ribs were broken. A large inhale forced me to double over in pain and brought about a much more painful cough attack. I made my way back into bed. My four pillows offered me the only comfort I think I would find in the next couple of nights as I tried to heal my wounds. I could only pray that my darling Jessie was safe right now. As much as I missed my angel, I was grateful she was not here to listen to my cries for help.

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Taken (Part III)

Taken (Part III)
3/23/10
By: Mia L. Hazlett

I drove around the block and came back around to perfectly position the car in an alley down the street from The Spot. The Lottery Ticket appeared to still be knocked out. The last thing I was gonna deal with was some screamin’ kid. I was supposed to drop her off and be done. But I didn’t think that drink concoction would last much longer

The last cop car pulled off…maybe. But that van didn’t sit right in this neighborhood. I had never seen it before. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I needed to call Voz. He went back in the house about twenty minutes ago. I knew he saw me drive by, but I needed some sort of sign from him that I could make the drop. I decided to leave Lottery in the back and make my way to the little package store. I just needed some cigarettes and a chance to give Voz a call.

Voz didn’t answer the three times I tried. I walked around the corner, cigarette hanging from my mouth, drink shoved under my pit as I struggled to get my keys to the car. I took a couple more puffs before I got back into the car. I opened my nip of vodka and settled in for the wait.

FUCK! Where the fuck was Lottery? She was gone! Na, na, na. This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t in the store for more then like ten freakin’ minutes. She was freakin’ knocked out with the stuff. She hadn’t moved the whole damn time I drove. I started the car and decided to drive around to see if I could find her. She couldn’t have gotten that far bein’ small and drugged. She had to be be close. She fuckin’ had to be close. I slammed my hand on the steering wheel, all the while cursing The Ticket out.

I knew Voz said we couldn’t kill her until we got the money at The Drop. But what difference did it make? Now or later? These people weren’t about to get their kid back. Kev didn’t get his kid back, why should they? All I was sayin’ was I want to kill this kid. As soon as I found her, I was gonna break her little neck.

Finding her wasn’t looking good. I drove around the block lookin’ for her tiny little frame wrapped in a white sweater. Why didn’t I make her change into that outfit? She was going to stand out in her uniform in this neighborhood. Man I fucked up. I gotta find this kid. If I didn’t, both of us would catch a bullet.

After about forty-five minutes of nothing, my phone rang. Voz. Shit. “Yeah,” I answered.
“Bring it now,” he hung up.

I figured The Spot was safe if he was telling me to come. Two sets of eyes would be better than one. I pulled up to the house to pick him up, popped up the steps and was in the house within five minutes of Voz’s call.

“What are you doing? Where’s the kid? Why the hell are you parking in front of the damn house? Put the damn car in the back. Do you want to fuck this up?” Voz hammered out before I even got the door closed.
“Okay, there’s a problem. I lost the kid. I was…”
“Get out! GET THE HELL OUT!” Voz screamed.

I turned to leave, and then was jerked to the floor by my ponytail. Voz was on top of me with his glock between my eyes.

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