This Is How I Disappear

I wake to the mouthwatering aroma of bacon frying, and literally launch myself out of bed to get to it. There is an instant of confusion as I take in the stained floor and cramped living quarters before my brain reminds me, red-head.

I burst into the kitchen/living room and rush over to the TV, where I turn on the local news.

“—triple homicide in Belleville, New Jersey. Police are speculating that it might be a mob hit. The murder weapon was found at the murder scene, but all fingerprints were wiped. My name is Elizabeth Brown, and we’ll be right back after the break.”

I’m bewildered. “No prints?” I exclaim. “They found the gun, but there were no prints?”

Red-head meanders over and sets a plate of bacon and eggs on my lap. “Cooked,” he promises. “No marshmallows.”

I hungrily, but warily take a small bite. It’s delicious. I wolf the rest down.

“Woah, there, boy,” red-head says as I hand him the empty plate. “You still hungry?”

I beam at him with egg in my teeth and nod enthusiastically. He laughs and goes to refill it. “Coffee?”

“Oh, yes, please!” I shout out, then realize how rude I’m being. “I’ll, uh, do the dishes,” I add humbly.

“Good,” red-head replies. “I hate doing them.” There are dark circles under his eyes.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” I wonder.

“Can’t you tell?” he replies rhetorically, grinning as he sips his coffee.

I shake my head as he brings over another heaping plate for me. Just as I’m taking the first bite, the news comes back on and my picture appears on screen. I spit the eggs all over the brown-stained floor.

“In other news, local teen Frank Iero was reported missing late last night by his distraught mother. The police wrote him off as an irresponsible teenager that would be back in the morning, until his schoolbag was found two blocks from the Belleville murder scene. A ransom note was left in the backpack that read: ‘One million dollars by noon tomorrow, or he dies.’ Police refuse to comment on whether there is a connection between the two crimes.

“Meanwhile, are our children dumbing down? Find out more after the break.”

My mouth hangs open. Red-head coughs, and sits down next to me slowly. “Well,” he says, turning off the TV, “there’s that.”

I turn towards him and manage to whisper, “What’s going on?”

Red-head scratches the back of his neck. “I may have…revisited…the area, when I went out last night.”

I gawk at him. “So you left a ransom note in my backpack?”

“Yep,” he responds simply.

I open and close my mouth a few times before settling on, “Why?”

Red-head glares at me. “Would you rather you were being accused of murder?”

I don’t have an adequate response to that.

“Well,” I reply after an awkward moment, “I guess this means…I can go home.” But I don’t move towards the door, I just stand there waiting for…something.

Red-head scratches his head, a nervous habit it seems, but says nothing.

Inexplicably disappointed, I turn on my heel, and head towards the exit.

“Wait!” red-head exclaims suddenly, and, surprised, I do. He places himself in front of me, hands out as if to touch my chest. But of course he doesn’t. Don’t hope, my brain advises, and I mentally swear at it.

“What?” I ask, but my tone is more bitter than I meant it to be.

Red-head shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I’ve kidnapped you,” he tells me nervously. “You can’t leave.”

This is unbelievable, I inform my brain.

It certainly is hard to believe, my brain responds.

“Um, what?” I eloquently question him.

“Yeah,” he says agreeably. “You aren’t going anywhere unless I get my money in”—he checks his watch—”five hours.”

I snort. “What, and if you don’t get it, you’ll kill me?”

Red-head stares at me stoically.

I subtly swallow. “I—you can’t keep me here,” I state defiantly, though this is a gross untruth.

Red-head raises his eyebrows, because, you know, I am half a foot shorter than he is. “Would you like me to try?” he asks threateningly.

YES, my brain answers for me, and on this note we are in total agreement. I cough and try to glare. “My family doesn’t have that kind of money,” I growl at him.

He cocks his head. “Are you saying I shouldn’t bother waiting to kill you?”

“No!” I backpedal hastily, “Just, uh….” I wrack my brain for some sort of pacifying comment. I got nothing, my brain supplies. You are so helpful, I praise in return.

Red-head watches me expectantly.

I can do this, I mutter to my brain. Bluffing just takes confidence. My brain puts in its two cents with, Oh shit.

I lift my chin to stare him down. “You won’t kill me,” I declare without doubt present in my voice, while my brain boosts my confidence with a chorus of: Oh shit. Oh, just, shit.

All red-head does is twitch his eye, and my brazen facade shatters. Oh shit, I echo back to my brain. Oh, man.

Best idea you’ve had yet, my brain replies sarcastically.