Yolanda Grieg stared straight ahead, as she had been doing for the past stretch of time. She had no idea how long she had actually been within the confines of the van but thought it an eternity. She had stepped out of her body, her mind wandering back to how she ended up here.

__________

[i]Yolanda was laughing. She was laughing and dancing comically alongside her father. Her mother, her grinning mother, watched from the couch and occasionally clapped her hands, the epitome of glee. 

A pounding at the door shattered what was now clearly an illusion of joy; a false sense of security. The laughter stopped, the music continued and the pounding grew louder until the front door flew open, bouncing roughly off of the wall. 

A flurry of movement and Yolanda found herself on the floor, a knee pressing into her back and arms twisted behind. 

There was a cracking sound, bone sliding against bone, but that was the only indication that her body was under stress. Her face remained emotionless and she made no sound; registering the sensation of being restrained but feeling no pain.

She was pulled to her feet, the sound of her parents screams oddly reminiscent of the attacks on her body: she registered but didn't comprehend, didn't feel. She was dragged out onto the street towards a waiting van, soon roughly pushed in. The floor was cold against her hands and she could see bruises forming where she had been grabbed. 

Yolanda sat up and stared straight ahead.[/i] 
__________

The sound of a voice pulled her from her thoughts. Moving her eyes slowly towards the source, her mind replayed the comment. Regarding the male before her for a moment, she responded in a thick South African accent:

"My name is Yolanda. Yolanda Grieg."