The summer heat of that night stuck to asphalt like a curse weighing on the town of Baton Rouge. It was already more than midnight when Danielle Morris, a thirty-two-year-old social worker, left the shelter. The air felt the rain imminent and the essence, creating this heavy atmosphere where even the silence seems to weigh on the shoulders.
His phone vibrated abruptly in his pocket, displaying a message from his sister warning him of the increased police presence. Danielle smiled faintly because she used to be night guards and knew the roads of her neighborhood perfectly. She had no idea that this night would radically transform her existence, tragic or irreversible forever.
She was driving an old blue Honda Civic that clicked as soon as she exceeded sixty kilometers per hour on the road. A gospel music slowly escaped from the speakers as it passed through the deserted industrial areas with flickering and dark floor lamps. His hands stood firm on the steering wheel until gyrophars suddenly exploded in his central and side rearview mirror.
At first, she thought of a simple mistake, perhaps an ambulance or a routine check without any real importance. But when the siren screamed and a blinding projector struck his mirror, a cold thrill slowly ran through his spine. The hoarse voice of a loudspeaker ordered him to stop immediately on the side of the dark and deserted road.
Danielle slows down, with her heart beating the bleach, the confusion reading herself on her face tired by long hours worked. She lowered the window, keeping her hands prominently on the steering wheel as her father had once taught her. Two officers approached, one large and pale, the other smaller with a snark smile that was already sweating contempt.
The greatest officer asked for his papers without any form of politeness, ignoring his polite greeting and calm voice. Danielle answered in a tone by slowly seeking her bag, making sure that each of her movements remained perfectly visible. The little policeman approached more, his hand placed on his gun, asking in an accusatory tone from where it came so late.
She explained that she was a counselor in a women’s centre, but the officers exchanged a mocking and ironic look. They claimed that his vehicle matched the description of a stolen car recently reported in the area by radio. Despite his calm protests explaining that the car was in his name, they ordered him to get out of the vehicle.
Danielle obeyed because she still believed that reason and truth would eventually triumph in this country she loved. But as soon as she was outside, her wrists were violently pulled behind her back and cold handcuffs closed abruptly. She asked what they were doing, the breathing jerked, but they just mumbled that it was a normal procedure.
They did not read her rights, did not explain anything more, and unceasingly pushed her to the back of their patroller. She looked around, but there was no pedestrian, no witness, just the stifling silence of the dark night. Inside the car, she remained petrified, with her heart hammering her chest against the cold metal of the tight handcuffs.
Through the tinted window, she saw one of the officers speak nervously in her radio, her expression remaining totally indecipherable. A few minutes later, the sound of rotors tore the night air and a helicopter descended into a nearby vacant lot. Danielle blinked, unable to understand why such a force deployment was necessary for a simple arrest.
The door opened and the officer, who was tall and pale, returned to her with a mocking voice, announcing a great evening. They made her walk through the vacant ground, the wind of the blades whipping her hair against her terrified face. The pilot came out of the aircraft, displaying a visible smile even through the blinding shine of the powerful search projector.
He asked if it was her, and the other officer answered in the affirmative, adding that she claimed to be innocent like them. Danielle tried to speak, but her voice was carried away by the strong wind and the handcuffs were painfully sinking into her skin. She shouted that there was a mistake, that she was working for the state, but they pushed her brutally into the apparatus.
The metal seat was freezing against her bare arms as she looked around in this dark, oppressive cabin. There was no logbook, no marked destination, only a threatening darkness that enveloped it from everywhere. As the helicopter rose, the city lights became tiny before disappearing under a blanket of swamps.
Danielle’s pulse accelerated because she instantly understood that it was not a protocol for transporting a normal prisoner. Men laughed in their helmets, their words distorted by static electricity, speaking of her as a simple annoying manifestor. They mentioned orders from above for interrogation, but Danielle knew that no interrogation was going on like this.
The device tilted sharply, forcing Danielle to grip the straps so as not to slide on the cold metal floor. Her throat was dry, her mind reviewing every step of the evening, desperately looking for what law she could have broken. Yet she was there, handcuffed, hanging thousands of feet above a black marsh without any legal explanation.
The radio crackled briefly, asking for their arrival time, but the pilot simply cut the channel without answering the call. He turned to his partner with a sinister smile, suggesting a little detour away from the route. Danielle froze, understanding that this detour was not official and that her life was now in great danger.
