London, UK. September 6 2005

It was a typical day, like any other day. My husband, Thomas, had left for work around 7:45. Then I brought the children, Laura and Joshua, to school. They go to Copenhagen Primary, as we have a flat on Carnegie St.

After the children had been brought to school, I went to the gym. It was about 9:15 when I went to the gym. I train at Go Mammoth on Killick St. After an hour of cardio, I showered and headed to Kings Cross for some shopping.

At 13:00, I met Kimberly Derrickson at Café Oz on Caledonia Road for lunch. I had a salad and white wine. Kimberly told me about her failed dates from the weekend before, and we laughed. At about 14:30, I went back home.

It was an ordinary day; I did the laundry and hoovered the floors. The kids arrived at our home around 15:30. I helped them with their studies until 16:30. Then they went out to play.

At 17:30, the kids came back inside and prepared themselves for dinner. I started cooking when they came in. I made bangers and mash that night. It is Laura’s favourite. Thomas arrived home at 18:15, as always, and at 18:30, we all sat down to dinner.

The children chatted with their father about their day while Joshua was learning his timetables. Laura heard some girls squabbling in the restroom at school. She needed to recount the entire situation to her father at the dinner table.

We finished dinner around 19:00, and the children helped me clean the table while Thomas changed out of his work clothes. Around 19:15, my father called to tell me he had sold another of our properties earlier that day.

It was always good news when Dad sold another property.

At 20:00, we sat down as a family to watch the news. Nothing interesting had happened in the world that day. The door to our flat busted open, and four armed men ran inside.

The children began screaming right away. My husband stood up to fight the men off, but there were too many of them. They appeared to be organized, dressed in black cargo pants, jackets, and hats. Each man had a massive gun strapped to his chest. It was rather terrifying, to be honest.

Before realizing what was happening, I saw two of them pick up my children and begin to tie them up. They used rip ties to tie the kid’s ankles and wrists together; then, they carried them out of the room.

I screamed and tried to get to my kids, but one of the men was holding me and pulling me out of our flat. I saw my husband being tied up and left on the sofa. Thomas was screaming the children’s names; I could still hear them crying from the back of the house.

The men who carried my children away returned to the living room and joined their group. The 4 of us left the flat and headed down to the street below.

In front of our building was an electric works van parked on Carnegie Street. The four men guided me to the truck, and everyone got inside. The fifth man sat in the driver’s seat and was the only one wearing regular clothes. I remember his pink polo shirt and curly blond hair. His was the only face I saw; he had such a friendly face, and his big blue eyes were wide-set. And his eyebrows were neatly trimmed. His crooked smile was warm and soothing; it did not match the rest of the situation.

He looked me in the eyes and said: “Don’t worry, everything is going to be just fine.” He had a thick London accent, and he smelled like cigarettes. As he was driving, I noticed he took a left on Charlotte Terrace and then a right on Copenhagen Street. As we were going past Bernard Park, one of the first four men put a pillowcase over my head, at which point I could no longer see where we were driving.

Sincerely,

Lauren Sheffield