About ten minutes into the drive, my phone buzzes with and alert. I squirm around in my seat until I can grab it out of my back pocket. At first, I cannot believe what I am reading is real, but then it all starts to make sense. The President has declared Martial Law and the Constitution has been suspended. That is the last thing I see before my cell service goes out. I have no idea what this means for me and my family, but I am going to figure it out.

I place my hand on my baby's face, reassuring both her and myself. I look down at the screen on my phone. At least it is still good for something. The screen reads ten thirty. I look up as we pull up to a gate at the entrance of what appears to be some kind of CIA black site or something. We pass through three layers of security, and I cant help but wonder if that is to keep people out or in. It is probably both. My heart aches at the thought f bringing a few day old baby into a place like this. What was I thinking? Maybe it would have been better to send her off with the social service lady but then again I still have Addison in my hands right now, and that has got to count for something.

The driver pulls into a parking space and puts the car in park. He gets out and opens the back door of the car.

"Listen to me like you have never listened before. Do exactly what they tell you. Do not talk back. Do not argue. Do not disagree. This next hour is critical to whether you will be able to keep your baby or not. You are not going to like the next part, but there is absolutely nothing I can do about it. I will have to handcuff you. You will then be processed. They will take any contraband that you may have and fingerprint you. You will then be taken to an interrogation room. I cannot guarantee what will happen to you in there. I do not know what you are being charged with, so I will not advise you on what to do once you get in that room. All I am going to say about it is that by telling the truth, you may put yourself and your family in danger, but I will probably be able to get the baby back to you today. If you do not say anything, then I might be able to get the baby to you. Do not lie to or antagonize then. Believe me when I say that it will not end well for you. Do you understand?" He had discretely lifted his shirt to show burns on his stomach.

"Yes, sir, I understand." I understood more than he could have possibly known. I hand the diaper bag to him and unlatch my newborn baby's carrier. She is not directly my daughter, but to me, she is. He nods at me to get out of the car, his face solemn. I trust this man for reasons that I cannot understand, but that does not help the sinking feeling in my stomach as I see the light reflect on the handcuffs he pulls out.

"Promise me," I say, my face surely showing desperation, "that Addison will be safe. She is less than a week old."

"I will do what I can. I promise." His voice is so sincere that I can't help but believe the one person in the world who I should probably trust the least right now. It doesn't matter, thought. I will do what he said. What is the worst that can happen? I get out of the car. He tells me to put my hands on the hood of the car, and I do. I hear Addison start to whimper. My whole being craves to run to her and comfort her.

"I'm sorry," he says, catching my attention. "There is something else I left out. They cannot think that we are working together or that you trust me. It would be bad for both of us. They have to believe that I am objective and even a bit angry at you. There is only one way for that to be accomplished. You are going to attack me. And when I say attack me, i mean attack me like your life depends on it, because it just might."

"Okay but—"

"I will have to subdue you, and not gently. I cannot be gentle or they will know. If you do not want to do this, I need to know right now."

I swing my body around and punch my fist right on his jaw. I then knee his manhood with all of the force that I can muster. I run around the car to the other side. I reach in and kiss my baby's head. I can hear the moment he gets up, because the groans stop and there is not noise. I close the door to the car and turn around. I crouch like a feral cat getting ready to pounce. He starts to approach and I back up. I watch. I anticipate. He takes a swing at me, but I easily dodge it. He is looking where I used to be standing. I ball my hand into a fist again and take another swing at his head. This time, it lands right under his left eye. I know that it was a hard hit, because pain laces through my fingers. I hesitate for a moment to look down at my bloodied fingers. That is when he makes his move. He attacks and punches me in the face. I stumblee back and fall to the ground. I am about to get back up when to my horror, he kicks me in the ribs. I start to cry out in pain, but I bite my lip to the pain. He takes a step back, apparently ready to get the handcufs ready. He takes his steady gaze off of me for a millisecond, and I take the opportunityty to attack again. I launch myself on to his back. I dig my nails into the side of his neck and scratch deeply. He lets out a blood-curdling scream. It surprises me and I loose my grip. I fall to the ground and he turns around to face me. In that moment, I see a deep and true anger in his eyes. Did I take it to far? No, I decide as he approaches me. I made it real.

This time when he kicks me, I can not stifle the scream that comes out of me as I hear the snap of one of my ribs. I realize then that the first kick was not as hard as he could. To my horror, he kicks me again and I scream out, but I do not cry and I do not beg him to stop. I just lie there as he kicks me a third and final time, just as viciously as the first two. I know that several of my ribs are broken and I will have a severe bruise on my face from where he punched me, but I cant help the smile that comes to my face when I see the shape my opponent is in. He has four deep gashes that stretch around his neck, his left eye is starting to swell closed, and his jaw is starting to bruise as well. Not to mention his awkward walk because of his pain down there.

"Get up," he orders. I place my hands on the pavement and push myself up. I cannot hold back the cry of pain that escapes my lips.

"Turn around," he says loud enough for our gathering crowd to hear. I do because I know that at this point, I will only become more injured and I will not be able to inflict much damage. He approaches me from behind and pushes me into the car door. This time, I stifle the cry of pain.

"That was good," he whispers into my ear, "I did not think you had that in you. To fight the way you did." He snaps the handcuffs on to my wrists that are behind my back. When I smile into the door, i can taste the blood coming from my split lip. As much as this hurts right now, with the adrenaline, i can only imagine how bad it will be later.

"You're not mad?"

"No, are you?" He must be concerned that I will not want to work with him because of this fight.

"Call it even?"

"If you're sure."

"I can handle a little pain," I say sincerely. He nods, but says nothing more. There are too many people gathering and the risk of them overhearing is too high. He leads me away from the car and pushes me to my knees on the pavement. He opens the back to the SUV and takes out Addison, who went back to sleep after I shushed her. He also picks up the diaper bag from where he discarded it on the ground. I know better than to move from my place on the pavement. Even though it was planned, I have learned what these men are willing to do to get control over the situation, regardless of who the person is, how young they are, or if they have a baby waiting in the car for them.

The SWAT guy who was helping me walks off with Addison and the diaper bag. Probably to get himself medical attention. I could use some myself, or at least an ice pack, I know way better that to ask. I am not an idiot. Two men hurry towards me out of the crowd. They are apparently going to be my new escorts.

"Get up," says one of them in a gruff voice. I look up, but when I take a moment too long, he grabs my arm and jerks me up. He leads me to the building dubbed "the Center." I want to collapse because of the intensity of my pain, but I do not. Instead, I manage to live through processing. About an hour later, I am taken to an interrogation room. My handcuffs are taken off and I think that I am going to get a reprise, but then to my disappointment he attaches my hands to the ones attached to the table.

I do not know how much later it is before the man who is going to interrogate me comes in.

He asks me several questions such as my name and other things like that, but as soon as he starts to question me, I tell him that I want a lawyer and that i will not be answering any questions by the right of the Fifth Amendment. He then smirks and says that we are under martial law and the Constitution no longer applies. I feel like letting out a string of curses, but Bite my tongue and keep quiet. I tell him that I still will not be answering any of his questions because I do not know what I am being charged with.

"We have reason to believe that your family may be in possession of national security secrets."

"I honestly have no idea why you would think that. My mother is a stay at home mom and my father is a doctor. How could they possibly have access to national security documents?"

"That is what we are trying to figure out."

"And you want my help to do this?"

"Bingo! You got it sweetheart."

"Look, all I can tell you is that you are wrong."

"Fine, if you want to play it that way, you can spend the next week in one of our cells. We'We'll see if you feel like talking then."

"What about—"

"You will get to be with the baby, but this is not out of kindness. Social services has informed us that since the declaration of martial law, nobody is accepting children, so we have to leave them with the parents unless they were actively harming the child, and since you are not being charged with anything violent, then you can keep the baby in the cell with you. You will be given everything that you will need for the child. Do not think this will be fun, though, considering your injuries." I swear I can see a smile when he says this last word. In order to keep myself from saying something I am sure this man will make me regret, I bite my tongue on the retort I was going to say. Instead, I say something else.

"I want a lawyer."

"I think that I have made it blatantly clear that you do not have any rights, so you do not need a lawyer."

"I would like to speak to a lawyer."

"Well, you are not getting one." I want to say something, but then I think about my broken ribs and bruised face. This provides the much needed motivation to keep my mouth shut. At least I will get my baby, I think. The interrogator leaves the room, and I become keenly aware of the fact that nobody knows where I am or what has happened. Even I do not know what is really going on here.

I do not know how much time passes, but it is a while before a man comes back in to the room. He is clearly only here to transport me to the cell that the interrogator threatened to put me in. I will not say anything more, though. I have nothing to say to these men, but I am not sure what I would do even if I knew something. The man is tall, but I cannot tell much else about him because he is wearing riot gear, with a tinted helmet covering his face. I do not know if that is so that he can remain anonymous or so that I cannot attack him like the other man earlier today. He proceeds to unlock the cuffs, but then he quickly locks my hands behind my back again. I want to curse at him for making them so unnecessarily tight, but as I said before, I know better than to do that.

I am lead to the basement under the building. Through several locked doors, I am led to hallway of steel doors. They are listed with numbers, but that is the only difference between them. At door twenty-six, we stop. He scans his card and the door to the cell opens.

"Go in and face the wall," the guard orders. I do as he says, all the while wanting to collapse at the level of pain in my ribs. He unlocks my handcuffs and takes them off. I put my hands down at my sides, but I do not move. He has not said that I can, and I desperately want Addy to be with me. I want to laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Who would have though that I would be standing in some kind of CIA black site prison cell, beaten and bruised, waiting for them to bring in my adopted daughter, who is surely starving and crying by now. Standing for what seems like and eternity, I finally hear the approach of footsteps on the floor of this prison.

When he walks in, I cant help but turn around. The guard id about to do something, although i'm not sure what, but the driver stops him and orders him to leave us.

I fully turn around to face him. He looks worse than he did earlier, but if I have learned anything today, it is when to keep my mouth shut. He is holding the carseat carrier with Addison in one hand and he diaper bag in the other.

"Hey," he says kindly.

"Hi," I don't know why, but I smile when he says this.

"Here. I got them to leave everything in this, but I don't know how long it will last. Did they say how long you would be here?"

"Some bullshit about a week down here and then they were going to question me again. The whole damn problem with that is that I don't KNOW ANYTHING!"

"Alright, listen to me. You need to calm down. I will see what I can do, but I have to be very careful. I will see if I can get you out, but they might insist on a tracking anklet."

"This is just all so messed up," I say as I take the carrier and bag from him. I look around the cell. It looks exactly like any prison cell in any movie. There is a small cot, a toilet with a sink above it and a reflective plate of metal. I hate that Addy has to be in this place. The only good thing I have to say about it is that it seems in pristine condition. There is not a spec of dirt anywhere.

"I know this must be hard for you, but remember what I said and I think I can get you out. I'll let you know if anything changes," he says, getting ready to leave.

"Wait," I say surprising myself. "What is your name?"

"Nathan. Its Nathan Collins." That is all he says before walking out of the cell and closing the door behind himself. The sound of the latch locking makes me realize just how scary real this whole situation is.