It is 1994. Bianca de Lange is beautiful, sexy, intelligent and on the run.
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Life has not been simple for Bianca, from early childhood to marriage.
From the sleepy hollow of Pietermaritzburg, KwaZulu Natal, to the whispering evil in Vryheid and further yet, Bianca is forced to fight, for her life, for her son's life, for the right of a mother to a life with her son.
Betrayed and destitute, Bianca receives a job offer that goes against everything she believes in.
The sun sets lethargically in Pietermaritzburg. By half past six that evening the sun was beginning to set. By half past seven it was completely gone. Bianca had lost herself in her work, oblivious to the setting sun and the gradual fading of traffic on the streets below.
Stepping into the street, Bianca felt the silence close in around her. Shadows slunk by as she passed streetlights. Across the road a packet crackled as it was blown against a wall by a freak gust of wind. Bianca cursed her idiocy in working late and for never driving to work even though she had the means.
She quickened her pace, taking a shortcut through Pietermaritz Street, through the parking lot and into Chancery Lane, an ill lit area, hoping to get home as quickly as possible. Another gust of wind swept swirls of stinging red sand up from the sandy parking lot and into her face. She dusted at it vigorously.
A large calloused hand grabbed her arm. An involuntary scream stuck in her throat. Another hand silenced her. The hand on her arm disappeared. The thin, cold edge of a knife nudged the delicate skin of her neck. The hand at her mouth moved quickly, its arm enveloping her waist, dragging her through the parking lot.
The nostril burning stench of a body that had toiled and sweated and missed a thousand baths clung to Bianca’s nostrils as she struggled to keep her balance. A tan sandal slipped unheeded from her foot. It was immediately swallowed by the darkness.
The roughness of an unfinished brick wall scraped her arm. Bianca knew that she must be in the dilapidated toilets that bordered the parking lot. A thick, warm cloud of stale urine rose to her nostrils. Short gusts of breath razed the nape of her neck, making the tiny hairs stand in protest. All her senses focused on that tiny patch of crawling skin.
A car drove lazily by, its wheels crunching on loose gravel. The knife at Bianca’s throat jerked threateningly inwards. A muted whimper slid from somewhere deep within her. Light, blinding white light shone in Bianca’s face.
“This is your final warning,” a voice ground out.