Unworried - A Short Story - By C. A. Winter

To the reader:

Thank you for taking the time to read this story. ‘Unworried’ passes as a short story but it runs a tad long for a traditional short story- ending around 16K words. 

Earlier this year, I wrote a novel. I’m editing and revising and rewriting the whole thing, but over the holidays I wanted to work on something different. This is that something. 

This is the first time I’ve written something like this. Typically, I do a lot of ‘flash fiction’ by accident. Flash fiction is something I recently learned of. I’ll share the knowledge with you; it’s a form of writing that settles around the 2K word mark. For me, that is a short excerpt or a chapter that just occurs in the night. I didn’t know there was a name for it other than ‘scrapped stories.’ In my opinion, flash fiction is something to keep the fingers typing in between the important stuff. Its value is presented through variety in creativity and ability to bake the cookie. I rather enjoy it, and I’m glad someone else does, too.

The first three sections were written over the course of three writing sessions in the second week of December. The last three were done in one sitting. I edited for an evening and decided it’s in a good enough place to be shared. 

While you read, please note anything that stands out to you. Good or bad; any notes help.

If you are one of the unlucky people to have received a copy of this prior to December 31st, 2025 please scrap it. That edition is unedited.

Enjoy. 

Sincerely,

C. A. Winter

Unworried

A short story

By C. A. Winter

//

He pushed me and I fell down the ramp. It took me a full five minutes to realize my leg was broken. I couldn’t process I’d even hit the ground. My hands were wet, like really wet, and something didn’t feel right when I stood up. The way my friends were acting made me feel like I was a baby, like I’d somehow become a little kid again. I’m thirteen, not a child. Casey grabbed my arm and hoisted me up. I saw his mouth was moving but for some reason I couldn’t hear him. His shagged hair was waving slower than normal. Was I in a movie? 

I watched the skateboard roll back to us after it hit the fence. Plywood hitting hollow metal- I think I should’ve heard that. Bryan was holding my other arm now. He looked down at my leg in a panic. I looked down and then everything came back from the blur. Pain shot up my calf into my knee. It burned, and I crumpled on my shattered leg. Casey and Bryan couldn’t hold my dead weight. I was a lot heavier than them. That’s why they had me get on the skateboard in the first place. Fat kids falling make for a good story. 

I laid on the concrete next to the rail box and tried not to think about the splitting pain. It was so embarrassing. My ears were burning red as I tilted my head back to keep tears from falling. Aimee had her phone out and was shakily recounting the details into the phone. I hoped 911, but maybe the call was to mom, or to dad, or to Becca. If it was Becca I’d never hear the end of it. If it was mom or dad, they might not do anything but say to hang up and call 911. The same line their voicemail has. If this is an emergency, please call 911. 

Casey and Bryan were holding laughs between their cheeks. To be fair, it was funny, but I didn’t find it as amusing as they did. It hurt a lot, actually. 

Aimee patted me on the head and told me the ambulance was on the way. Mom and dad hadn’t texted her back, and she knew calling wasn’t going to do anything. In my peripheral, I saw her smack Bryan’s shoulder. She’s two years older than me, but she acts like she’s like eighteen. All mommish around us. Casey told me that Bryan has a crush on her, but she’s too old for him. A tear slipped out of my left eye. My ears pulsed with blood. I heard snickering behind me. 

“What’s so funny about this?” Aimee scolded. I heard her hand hit his canvas jacket again.  “His leg is broken. The least you can do is keep your jokes to yourself. And why was he on the skateboard anyways? He doesn’t know how to go down a ramp- he can barely stand on it!”

“Yeah, we know.” Bryan muttered. Casey laughed more. My ears were practically smoking, and my cheeks were hot too. Another whack on his arm. I bet he was happy with that. 

I sat there for another fifteen minutes before an ambulance came. A stocky woman with a shiny ponytail hoisted me up with help from a bald guy. She had nice warm eyes and sun kissed cheeks. I think between her, the man paramedic, and Aimee I heard “You’re going to be okay” fifty times before we got to the hospital. I knew I was going to be okay; it’s just a leg break. If it was my hip and I was eighty I think I’d be worried but I broke my arm before. It’s not much different as far as pain goes. Now I get to wear a cast, and all the popular girls will circle around me and insist they write their names in big black letters between layers of dried plaster. They think they’re doing me a favour, like their signature and a brief moment of physical contact would cure me or make it less embarrassing to have a big stinking itchy piece of fiber glass glued to my leg. Poor ugly duckling, everyone loves a broken ugly duckling. Here’s my name and some fake love. We all love the poor broken ugly duckling. 

I was put in the same room from when I broke my arm. Mom and dad still hadn’t shown up, and Aimee was on her phone for most of the time. She kept tilting her phone at me slightly, then back down when I noticed. I just hope it was a picture and not a video. And if there’s some stupid filter on my face, I’ll be less impressed. The nurse came to check on me four times before the doctor came in to tell me what we all knew; it’s broken. The Xray proved it.

I had a cast set within the hour, and they had me wait for mom and dad to show up. I had my insurance card with me and so did Aimee, but they insisted we wait. Aimee was getting impatient and she chewed out a different stocky lady at reception. This one was older and had the complexion of a patient. I would’ve hated to be that lady. 

I heard a familiar voice down the hall a while after Aimee calmed down and harumphed herself back onto the rickety waiting chair.  Heels echoed down the cold halls, and I knew it was time to go. “Where’s your father?” She waved us out the door. 

“He never showed. I called him, and so did that pig over there.”

“Which pig?”

“She means the receptionist.” 

“Are they getting you a wheelchair?”

“Mom, he broke his leg. He’s not paralyzed.”

“Well, can you walk?” Mom asked in a hurry. 

“I need crutches, I think.”

“And they didn’t give them to you?”

Aimee and I shook our heads. Mom threw her hands up and galloped down the sterile walkway towards reception again. I heard her loudly ask for a pair of crutches, then I heard her walk further down the hall. Aimee raised her eyebrows as she watched mom go about doing what she does. It’s embarrassing. I closed my eyes and waited for the crutches to be here.

*

We had leftovers for dinner, and dad gave me a lecture about why I shouldn’t be skateboarding. It’s dangerous, and skateboarders make bad choices and end up doing drugs or getting concussions. He would know; some of his patients are skateboarders. Green beans don’t taste as good the next day. 

Getting up and down stairs to my bedroom was a hassle. Mom and Aimee watched me from the table as I scooted up backwards on the carpet. My shorts had one of those built in belts that are kind of useless. It kept catching on the steps, making a chunk of my bare butt rug burned. On the way down I’d have to keep my leg straight and basically slide down. Thump thump thump. 

I was hoping we would have pizza or ice cream or something other than yesterday for dinner. Something that shows a little bit of sympathy for my broken leg. I guess it’s kind of my own fault it’s broken, so there’s no need to feel bad for a self-inflicted injury, but the thought would be nice. Only Aimee had been sympathetic to me, though she was usually sympathetic to me. I think she feels bad for me a lot of the time. Two broken bones now, husky sized everything, mushy face. She got the looks and I got the to be determined. We look so different, it’s like we had different parents. The guys think she’s pretty. She is pretty. We watched Jennifer’s Body for Halloween this year, and I think she looks a lot like the blonde girl, but without the glasses. She’s no Megan Fox though. 

I played on my handheld for a while, then decided to just sit. I don’t have a phone or a computer yet, and mom and dad won’t let me get a TV up here. I could watch the news downstairs, but I don’t feel like sliding down just yet. Plus, I’d have to sit there with mom and dad, and possibly Aimee. They fight with her at night a lot. It’s like seven o’clock strikes and she just decides to pick a fight with them. I used to be the target, but now mom gives her a bigger reaction. That’s all it really is; her digging for a reaction. Below that, it’s just for attention. Even I know that, but both mom and dad are therapists and they can’t see through it. 

I stared at my ceiling to the sounds of muffled frustration and drifted into sleep. 

*

All I smell is sharpie. I crutched my way to the bathroom after the bell rang to get a moment for myself. There were a few guys from grade ten in there with vapes. None of them said anything to me as I clunked into the disabled stall. I grunted to sit, and I pulled the second half of my sandwich out from my lunch box and finished it with supressed bites. White bread and jelly clung to the roof of my mouth. Unsticking it was hard. The guys left and I looked at my leg. 

GET WELL SOON, LOVE NATASHA. STAY SAFE, FROM MIKAYLA. SORRY DUDE, FROM RIANNON. 

It went on and on and on. I don’t think I know half of the people who signed my cast. A lot of them were girls from Aimee’s grade or higher. I was referred to as ‘Aimee’s brother’ more than my actual name, which I think says more about me than it does about them. 

The door opened as I was pulling the ends of my Doritos bag open. 

“I can’t believe you haven’t seen it yet.” A boy says.

“When was this?” Another responds.

“Fuckin’ yesterday. Here, here.” 

I couldn’t hear much; just wind and muffles, but then I heard Aimee’s recorded voice yelling my name. Then a bang of plywood on hollow metal. 

“Holy shit, pause it where he steps off.”

“Dude, I know. Brutal. It’s like in half.”

“All that weight with that speed, yikes.”

“Dude needs to lose some weight.”

“Who is that anyways?”

“It’s Aimee’s little brother.”

“Little.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Damn dude. Poor guy.”

I felt the need to get my moment, so I flushed and crutched out of the stall. The taller one who had the phone in his hand put it in his pocket like it was drugs. The other one scurried away. “Can I see it?” I asked. My armpits were raw from the crutches. 

“Uhh, yeah. Yeah, here you go.” His hands were shaking as I watched. It looked pretty bad. 

I squinted and dragged the playback to the beginning. Bryan did actually push me, which made me angry. “Who took the video?” I asked. 

“I don’t know.” He murmured. 

“Thanks.”

“How’s your leg?”

“It’s broken.” 

Casey asked me if I wanted to join them at the river after school. They wanted to set off some bottle rockets that they bought from one of the grade twelves. I said maybe since my arms were hurting but Bryan insisted I come with. They agreed that they’d keep a slower pace so I could come. These pads dug into my pits as I told them yes. Becca was coming but Aimee was going to hang out with Mikayla for a while, then she’d meet us there. Becca drives me crazy. 

I was down wind of them the whole time we walked to the river and Becca’s perfume was giving me a headache. It’s the same maple syrup garbage she wears every day. After school before we all hang out, she layers it on. I don’t think it has the effect she thinks it does. Maybe Casey likes it. I can’t tell. 

It was wet outside, and it started misting near the chain link bridge. A blue car like mom’s passed us and I wished I was inside it. By a lamppost near one of the turnarounds, I saw a memorial bench that was put up last year had a new billboard on it. It was for some new construction company. The sign glowed white in the grey fog, and everything in me screamed that I needed to sit. My arms and nose were the most insistent. Anything to get out from behind Becca. 

“Hey guys,” my voice cracked, then my ears reddened. “Can we take a break?”

Becca turned around, then Casey, then Bryan. They were at least ten paces ahead of me on the walking path. I was on the road and hadn’t said a word till now. “Are you okay?” Becca asked. 

I nodded and pointed one of my crutches at the bench. “I just need to sit for a minute.”

“We’re almost there.” Bryan pointed out.

“We can wait, it’s okay.” Casey shrugged, “It’s all good.”

I stood hunched under a tree but the rain still hit me. “I mean, I can meet you there. My arms just hurt.”

“I’ll stay with you.” Becca volunteered. Casey nodded at her, and she skipped across the gravel path. “Just get the stuff set up and wait for us before you light them.”

Casey and Bryan agreed, and they set off towards the river. Their pace was triple what it was when I was behind them. 

I sat down and held my crutches between my legs. Water droplets stuck to the matte finish on the metal. I tried to focus on anything other than Becca’s perfume but she was sitting close to me because of where the tree’s protection stopped. We listened to wind rustling wet leaves above our head and below our feet. I like the beginning of the school year. There’s a variety of types of days. Some days are boiling and I don’t wear a hoodie, other days I wear a hoodie and a jacket. Once in a while it snows before Halloween. It hadn’t snowed yet this year. The blue car whizzed by again, slower. They swerved a puddle. The man stared as he passed.  

“I saw the video.” Becca stated. I didn’t know what to say. “Did Bryan apologize?”

“No.” I locked eyes with the fastening screws on my crutches.

“Well, I told him he should.”

“Thanks.”

We sat for another minute. I wanted to see the firecrackers but I didn’t feel like moving. My arms didn’t hurt anymore at least. If I had a phone I would’ve called to see if mom or grandma could pick me up. Now I’m stranded, and Becca looked impatient. Her leg crunched up and down on the gravel. 

“You can go if you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. I’ll catch up with you.”

She squeezed my shoulder and scuffled onto the path towards the river, and after another minute the maple scent let go of my throat. 

*

I pushed myself up from the bench and took a look at the new sign. J.S. Concrete and Plumbing. Call 717-009-0098 to book a consultation. The face looked like dad’s but younger and with more hair on top. And a nicer jaw. I decided to walk along the road some more towards town center. I’d call grandma from a payphone and have her pick me up. It was a better shot calling her than mom or dad at this hour. They wrap up work around five or six depending on the day, and they don’t take calls from strangers on their cellphones. That was dad’s reason for not picking up yesterday anyways. 

My armpits seared hot with every clunk along the road. Rain pelted the top of my black hair, and I heard the doctor’s advice about not getting my cast wet ringing in my ears. This made me flustered so I clunked a little faster. The blue car passed me again at half the speed limit, then the red brake lights glowed in front of me. I heard their window roll down and they backed up. There was a man driving, and no one in the passenger seat. He had brownish hair and was very skinny. His nose moved while he talked, and his teeth were nice. “You alright?” He asked. His voice was gruff.

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“That cast’s going to be wrecked. You need a ride?”

“Umm.” 

“I’m a doctor- I think I saw you at the hospital. Broken, right?”

He didn't look familiar, but then again there are tons of people that work there. “Yeah that’s right.”

“Do you need a ride? I live nearby.”

I brushed rain off my face and looked down the way. I couldn’t see past three houses. Water was filling the drains. He was right, my cast would be wrecked. “Alright, thanks.” 

I got into his car and heard a dozen bangs out in the distance. They were tired of waiting for me, I guess.

 He rolled the window up and locked the doors. His wipers couldn’t keep up with the water so he pulled over by the highway. “How’d it happen?” He asked.

“Skateboarding.”

“Ahh. I used to do that. Then I broke my leg.”

“How’d you break yours?”

“Going down a ramp. You?”

“Same.”

His car smelled like a new air freshener, but I couldn’t see one anywhere. Mom has a really pungent one called Black Ice that hangs from her rear-view mirror. I get a headache from it like I do from Becca. 

“Are you in a lot of pain?” He asked.

I shrugged. “Mostly my arms. They burn from these crutches.”

“I had the same problem.” He opened his center console. “Take three of these. It should help.”

“What are they?”

“It’s like ibuprofen. You know ibuprofen, right? I think we gave you some the other day.”

“Yeah, yesterday.”

“Here. You can chew them- I don’t have any water.” 

He pushed three little white pills into my hand. They didn’t look like ibuprofen but he said they were like ibuprofen. Doctors’ orders. I tossed them in my mouth all at once and chomped down. They tasted like metal and felt like chalk. I grimaced, and he grinned. The rain still wasn’t letting up, but I was fine sitting with him. It was nice to be out of the rain and not wobbling around anymore. He turned the radio on to a jazz channel and we sat under a watery canopy for fifteen minutes.  

“Where do you live?” He asked as the worst of the storm passed us. 

As I told him the answer, I realized something was wrong. Mom and dad always told us to never tell a stranger the answer to that question. Stranger danger. My cheeks flushed and my ears were warm again. I sat up but felt heavy. The man repeated his question but I could barely make out his words. He took a turn away from my street and I felt light and painless. I wanted to get out of the car but the door was locked, and we were going really fast down the highway, and then it all turned black. 

***

It was dark and I smelled wood and duct tape. I tasted it, too, and my wrists ached behind my back. There was something dull cutting into them. Handcuffs, I think. I couldn’t see in the dark, and I couldn’t open my mouth to yell. Moaning felt like a workout. I thought I was on a bed. I had a blanket over my legs and pillow behind my back, and below me was soft like a mattress. I felt pretty good, all things considered. Like I was being hugged or was in a pool of warm water. The handcuffs and duct tape made me scared, but my nervous thoughts washed away each time I closed my eyes or rested my head on the wall. My hair crunched against the paint. 

I’d heard that blind people’s senses are better because their eyes don’t work. In the dark, I heard everything. Nearby in a different room there was a faint murmur of a laugh track, followed by a real laugh. A man’s laugh. As time passed, I heard his footsteps go from that room to a different room. Then I heard clinking and a thump. A fridge. I heard a toilet flush twice. Then the TV changed to the news.

Everything would be okay. I don’t know if I was sleeping or awake, but I was in there for a very long time. 

*

He shook my cast and flicked a lamp on. I squinted and slugged awake. I was in fact on a mattress, and I was handcuffed to a big hook. The room was smaller than I imagined; it looked like a closet with chunks of foam and fabric stuck to the wall. The guy from the SUV was standing over me with a juice box and a sandwich. He smelled like peanut butter.  

“You awake?” He nudged. 

I nodded and said yes through the tape. Yeph. He put the sandwich plate down next to the mattress and grinned. His teeth glowed in the light. 

“This might hurt, but it has to happen.” He coaxed. I closed my eyes and felt my peach fuzz get ripped off my face. Was I supposed to scream? I didn’t want to scream. It hurt though, and I started to cry.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” He put his hands up and sat next to me on the bed. The weight shift made my leg awkward. I didn’t believe him. 

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I guess just wait for now.”

“Wait for what?”

“For them to start looking for you.”

“Who?”

“The police, your parents, your friends.”

Dread overcame me. I’d be here for a while. I couldn’t see a clock, but through the door I saw outside was dark. 

“What time is it?”

“About eight.”

Aimee should have noticed my absence by now, if she wasn’t wrapped up in some argument with mom about the length of her shirt or some obscure politician scandal. She tended to play devil’s advocate with the president. Peanut butter.

“How am I supposed to eat that?” 

We looked at the sandwich and he picked it up. His hands smelled like soap. The jelly tasted identical to the stuff I had at school. Between bites he gave me sips of apple juice and tried to not look me in the eyes. 

“I need to use the bathroom.”

“I brought a bucket for you.”

“I need a toilet.”

“You have to use the bucket.”

“How can I use it if I’m like this?”

“I’ll unhook you, but you have to promise you won’t run.”

I looked at my cast and he left the room. He seemed friendly for a kidnapper. Maybe he wouldn’t hurt me. I closed my eyes and prayed that someone would notice I was gone. My stomach hurt, and my bladder ached, and my arms were numb, and my wrists felt like there were knives in them. His footsteps led to the room with the TV. I heard a drawer open and shut. He jangled the keys all the way back to my closet like a jailer.

Blood rushed back into my arms and I massaged the dents where the cuffs had been. Red circles of early bruises lined my wrists. 

“Can I?” 

“Sure. Holler when you’re done.”

He shut the door most of the way and I clunked around in the closet to find an angle where I could sit on the pail without falling over. Maneuvering in the small space with my cast was tricky. The drywall flexed as I leaned on it. The guys at school were right. I did need to lose weight.

“Do you have toilet paper?”

He chucked a roll in and I heeled it back to myself. I tossed a messed wad into the bucket and got back on the bed. 

I had a hard time sleeping that night. He put me back in cuffs but not on the hook, and he put more tape over my mouth. The door was sealed shut with a chair propped on the handle, and I was back to darkness once he’d rinsed the bucket out. I listened to a muffled TV anchor talk about the war and I drifted in and out of consciousness. 

*

He woke me again by shaking my leg. I told him I had to pee again and he got the bucket for me. I smelled bacon coming from the kitchen. Once I finished, he asked if I’d like to join him in the living room for breakfast. I’m not going to hurt you.

I held onto him and we hobbled to the couch by the TV. I was in a trailer home, not a house. That’s why I could hear everything. Thin walls. Grandma lives in a house like this, and when I stay over, I can listen to game show reruns from the other end. The foam chunks and fabric were sound dampeners; I was supposed to be screaming. 

He whistled around in the kitchen and I watched PBS news in dim sunlight. He’d put cardboard over most of his windows. It was dismal in here. He took the cuffs off and put them on the coffee table and we ate bacon and eggs and pancakes. There were dry flour bubbles in them but I didn’t want to complain. 

“How did you sleep?” He asked.

I shrugged and kept eating. The newscaster was making the same point over and over again. 

“You don’t want to talk?”

“Can I leave?”

“Aren’t you going to ask why?”

“Okay. Why did you kidnap me?”

“Well, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not gay.”

“What?”

“I’m not like, you know, a molester or anything like that.”

“Okay.”

“Those pills I gave you yesterday. They’re pretty strong, right?”

“I guess.”

“They knocked you out- what do you mean you guess?”

“Okay, yeah, they’re strong.”

“Well, aren’t you going to ask me what they’re for?”

“Aren’t they to knock me out?”

“Yeah, but like why do I have them?”

I shrugged. The food was getting bland.

“I have cancer. They gave those pills to me this year because they know I’m going to die. They’re called oxycontin.”

Grandpa used to take those, I think. Aimee stole one from him and got really weird one night. She rolled around in my bedroom and grabbed the carpet by the fistful and told me it felt really good between her fingers. I flipped a chunk of yellow egg over with my fork and wished I was at home. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

“God no. No, no. I don’t think so. Maybe, I’m not sure. I doubt it. They’ll come find you before then.”

“Who?”

“Like I said; the police, your parents. Someone. Maybe the FBI. That would be the day- if the FBI came looking for you, that would be the day.”

“Can I go back to the other room now?”

“You don’t want to hang out here with me?”

I looked at awkward stains between lines of corduroy fabric on the couch. There was an imprint of an iron in the carpet by the TV. My hands felt grimy. He was offended I didn’t want to sit with him. His lips were pursed with big wrinkles at the corners. 

“No, it’s fine. I can stay here.”

He unclenched his fists from the couch and nodded. We finished the news segment and watched an hour or so of a censored Die-Hard TV edit. I fell asleep during a commercial break. 

*

“Hey, get up.”

His hand on my cast made my bones ache. I welled up at the sight of his ceiling fan. I’d been dreaming about my house and mom and dad. In my dream I was walking through our rooms and talking to grandma about my family about if I wasn’t ever born. Like that Christmas Movie, but there was nothing different. Aimee fought in the kitchen with mom about dinner. 

“What time is it?”

“Twelve. Just after. Still no word.”

“From who?”

“Police, your parents. Do you listen?”

“Sorry.”

“You were snoring.”

“Sorry.”

“I snore too, it’s okay.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me about yourself. What’s your name?”

“Grover.”

“Nice to meet you, Grover. My name is Henry.”

I closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was back in my dream. At least I’d be home. The liny couch was thin and hard at the headrest. The base of my skull ached with my leg.

 “Do you have an Advil?”

“Do you want an oxycontin?”

“No. I want an Advil.”

“I don’t have an Advil, but you should take one of those from yesterday.”

I heard the corners of his mouth turn up. His teeth were practically glowing against his patterned wallpaper. There were birds and flowers and branches all over, but the wings lost their color and the flowers were wilted. It was drab. 

His offer didn’t sound appealing. I didn’t want to take another drowsy pill. He said he wasn’t a molester, and he said he wasn’t going to hurt me, but I still didn’t trust him. There was no reason for me to trust him. I unpeeled my eyes and looked into his. He had a salesman’s smile but not a good one. 

“When are we having lunch?”

*

During an episode of The Brady Bunch, he made me a sandwich and gave me a big handful of potato chips on a paper plate. The chips were stale but there was enough mayo on the bread to balance it out. I washed it down with a glass of grape juice and we stayed sitting in front of the TV. He asked me more questions about myself and I answered, but I didn’t like answering. I tried to lie a few times, but he saw right through it.

“Is that really what it is?” He’d say, and I’d shake my head and tell the truth. I had no energy to lie. No reason to, either. We stayed like that until the evening, and he poured me another glass of juice. When I got to the bottom of the glass, thick purple chalky stuff stuck to the sides of the cup. My last sip, and I realized he’d slipped another pill in my drink. I held the cup up to the light; it was a dark blue but slightly see-through. I felt a heaviness set in. Not the kind from the pills; it was too quick for that. It was crushing me into the couch. My cheeks felt hot and I teared up again. Silent. 

“Are you okay?” He asked. 

I nodded and laid my head back on the couch. The wood underneath the fabric pushed into my spine again, but I told myself it would be okay. In a few minutes, I wouldn’t feel anything at all. 

***

I don’t remember getting back to bed, but I woke up in the closet without my handcuffs. My arms were asleep under my chest. He’d moved me. I had to pee but I didn’t want to get up. I wasn’t in much pain, just a dull ache. The mattress smelled funny, and I dozed in and out for a long time. He must’ve been asleep too, since I didn’t hear him or the TV. My bladder was so full that I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I sat and thought.

Aimee should have noticed I was gone, and mom and dad might notice if she told them. Dad sometimes says that the things I do that he doesn’t agree with are totally normal for a ‘young man like myself,’ so he might think I’m just at a friend’s house without explanation. Mom would go along with it. I imagine she’d be excited I’m being rebellious. Rebellion is part of development. That’s why they let Aimee act like that, I’m sure. She’s angry and emotional and makes dumb decisions with boys all the time, and when she makes a mistake or acts outside of whatever ‘normal’ is, they don’t really care. They think it’s a positive thing. 

My disappearance was a positive thing. 

I cried for a while and thought about screaming, but I couldn’t find a reason to do it other than to be loud. The fabric and panels would muffle me, along with the insulated walls and distance between his house and the next. Loud, not heard. And only loud to him. He wouldn’t care. I buried my face in the musty bed and groaned. My arms tingled alive while I moved. 

A tinny alarm clock interrupted my sleep. It was the morning. Breakfast was around the corner. I tried to bring the blood back into my arms again while Henry did his morning rounds. I heard him poop, then I heard the TV come on. A news lady was going through news about the war again, almost the exact same script from last night. Henry stamped his foot after fifteen minutes, then he scraped the chair away from the door. I wasn’t ready for the light in the room. His big shadow was blurry in front of me. 

“Are you awake?” He barked. 

I groaned. 

“I have cereal, get up.”

“Can I use your bathroom?”

“The bucket’s there.”

“Please?”

He hoisted me up and we hobbled again to the main room, then past the living room into his bedroom. There were socks everywhere, and science magazines on his bed around where he slept. I had the same ones at my house, only newer. 

“Wash your hands when you’re done.” He shut the door behind me. It was nice to sit on a real toilet. I took my time and had to use a lot of toilet paper. I stank. 

Henry seemed less nice than yesterday. Maybe having to pick me up was a bother. I should’ve used the bucket like he said. It’s not much different, just less comfortable. I just didn’t want to have to squat over it. 

My hands were really greasy from the last few days, and my face had patterned lines in it from the mattress stitching. I wanted to shower but I didn’t think he’d let me. He didn’t have any mouthwash in his medicine cabinet. 

“You almost done?” He pounded. 

I opened the door and said “No thank you,” when he tried to help me back to the couch. “I got it.”

He didn’t argue, he just left the room in a fit. What did I do wrong?

I used the wall to get back to the couch, then sat down with my leg out again. Same spot as yesterday. The bowl of cereal spilled a little when he shoved it into my hands. His glistening smile was long gone. The buttons on the remote crinkled while he flipped through news channels, and each one had the same five things; the war, the economy, the weather, a scandal with the president, and advertisements for medicine. 

I tried to eat my cornflakes quietly under his sighing and groaning and foot stomping. We caught each other’s eye for a second and he snapped at me.

“What are you looking at?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh yeah?”

I looked at the slush of white and yellow and apologized. 

“Sorry,” He mocked, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. All you fucking say is sorry. Do you know how frustrating this is? To hear you chew and say sorry all the time?”

I slurped the bowl down and held it out for him. I didn’t want to argue.

“God this sucks!” He took the bowl to the kitchen, “Do you know why it sucks?”

I got kidnapped, but it sucked for him. I didn’t ask why.

“Don’t you have parents?”

“Yeah.”

“Well where are they? Where are your mom and dad? Where are the police? Where is the news?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are your parents junkies or something?”

“No.”

“Well then why are you not on the news?”

“I don’t know.”

“You should know- you should know why not. Do you actually have parents? Why were you walking out in the rain in crutches?”

“I was with some friends, and I told them I’d catch up. Then you came and picked me up-”

“I didn’t see any friends with you- but even if you had friends, don’t you think we’d be getting some coverage by now?”

“Maybe.”

“They’d notice you were gone, right?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“They’re your friends, and it’s the weekend, and yet there’s no fucking coverage!” His voice was getting louder in the kitchen. He was slamming dishes in a sink of water, and it was making me nervous. My ears were hot again. “Did I pick you up for nothing? Nobody’s coming for you? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Someone’s gonna come, I promise.”

“Who?”

“My sister- she’ll know. She’s on it.”

“Are you sure?”

I hoped, but I wasn’t sure. I had an urge to say maybe but I was thinking he was going to fling a fork at me or get a knife. “I’m sure.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

He left the dishes in the soapy water and slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it behind him. His shower kicked on. I heard him step into the tub, and he was whistling. My moment to escape was right in front of me, but all I could do was watch the television. Different blonde lady, same set of images from a desert all the way across the world. She reminded me of Aimee, but all this lady was talking about was the war. I don’t think he thought his plan through. 

*

He came back out with wet hair and a dry beard. He dried off and questioned me.

“You didn’t think to leave?” 

I sunk into the couch and put my arm behind my neck. “No.”

“Are you homeless?”

“No. I told you where I live.”

“Still no news?”

“No.”

Henry walked around in the kitchen and poured a glass of something. He crunched something on the counter and tinkled a spoon around in the cup. I heard him take a sip and repeat the process. 

“Can you drink this?” He had a glass of poorly mixed grape juice in his hand. “I need to think.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to take it again. I’d just started feeling normal. 

“I get why you don’t want to, but please, it’ll make this all easier.”

“Why can’t you think while I’m awake?”

“Just drink it.”

“No. Why should I?”

He sighed and put the cup on the coffee table. The glass was loud. I scooted myself further into the couch while he sat next to me. His towel was too loose. 

“Look. I think I made a mistake. I think you were the wrong kid to snatch. It’s been basically three days and not a peep on the TV, not a word in the newspapers. I’d go check to see if there are missing posters but then you could leave and get back home, and I don’t want that. Not really.” He looked at me like I was supposed to respond but I didn’t. The dread was back in full force and my tongue was numb. “I don’t think anyone’s coming for you. I don’t think you have parents, I don’t think you have a sister, I don’t think you were with friends. I think you’re homeless, and I think I made a mistake.”

“I’m not homeless.”

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Bottom line is I need you to drink that.”

I glared at the juice. It smelled artificial. “Why?”

“Like I said, it’ll make it easier.”

“Make what easier?”

He tossed his head back and moaned. It took him a long time to muster up his words. He fidgeted with his towel, then ran his hands through his hair three times. I wanted him to say he needed to go to the store or wanted to go find missing posters. Proof of my existence and disappearance. He doesn’t know me or my family, and he doesn’t understand. I wasn’t a good pick because I don’t have friends or people who worry about me. A bit of pity, but no worry. He put his hand on my shoulder and looked at me honestly.

“I have to kill you.”

I couldn’t hear the last part of his sentence, or the sentences that followed. He mouthed something with the word ‘sorry’ but my ears rung like they did at the skatepark. He kept talking and the corners of his mouth were dry and cracking. There was something in his teeth by his canines. My lips didn’t have any feeling, and my face was cold. Really cold. The ringing stopped and I felt hot again. The smell of the couch stung my nose.

I trembled. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you have to?”

“Weren’t you listening?”

“Please, don’t.”

“Well what other option do I have?”

“I don’t know-“

“Exactly, you don’t know! And I don’t know either. So, I have to, and it’s settled.”

“Please! Please don’t kill me, please, just let me go- let me go and I won’t say a word!”

“I can’t!” He shook my shoulders like mom does when she’s mad, “I can’t fucking let you go! Someone will talk to you, and you’ll snitch on me! You say you won’t, but I know you will! I can’t let you go, I have to do it! It only works if I kill you.”

“What only works?”

“The fucking- God damn it! Aren’t you fucking following along? Are you dumb?” His fingers pressed further into my arms. His nails bit through my shirt. “Nobody is coming for you! You’re a fucking vagrant! You’re useless now!”

“I’m not a vagrant, I’m thirteen! I have a family, I have a sister, I have a mom and dad and friends! Someone noticed by now! Someone, someone.”

“God damn it!” 

He stormed off again and I tried to get up. My cast slipped on the linoleum and I fell onto the coffee table, spilling the grape juice and the food on the glass. I crunched myself up and tried to scramble out of the living room but he caught up to me and grabbed my by the back of my shirt. 

“You had your chance to go!” I fell back to the ground. My tailbone radiated pain. 

“Stop!”

“Stay!”

“Let me go!”

“Stay there!”

My pants got warm. He was looking at me with his lip curled. I saw it through his beard. My leg spiked pain and my butt ached, and my fingers wouldn’t stay still and my head was hot and my mouth wasn’t moving. I was afraid, and my pants were incredibly warm, and under my fingers I felt wet creep out from under me and I’d just peed myself. 

*

My armpits stank with sweat and my hair clung heavy on my scalp. He let me use the bathroom again while he figured something out. He was mopping and thinking of a way to kill me. To get rid of me. I was trying to wipe but my hands were shaking and I didn’t want to finish up in the bathroom. It felt like right before they drag someone out for their last meal. My leg went numb from sitting on the toilet for too long. I needed help getting up but my lips wouldn’t move. 

I didn’t want to die; I don’t want to die. Surely someone’s doing something by now. One night away is concerning but three should make mom and dad and Aimee worried. I didn’t know what day it was, but it’s been two now. Two nights and two breakfasts, so it was Sunday. Aimee was causing hell at home. If she was gone, the whole town would know. She’s like a whirlwind of emotion, and she’s really loud and pretty. One day without her would feel weird for mom and dad. Their routine would be broken and their blood pressure would drop. Then they’d be out looking for her, and the whole world would watch and wait and pray for her to come home safe. Instead, this guy grabbed me, and now I’m the unlucky one who has to die because there wasn’t a newscaster roaming the streets yet. If she was here, we’d be home already and he’d get caught. It’s what he’d want.  

“I need help!”

“With what?”

“I can’t get up!”

The mop thwacked on the floor and he stomped to the room. “Are you decent?”

He wasn’t lying about not being a molester. “Yes.”

Those hinges needed grease, and I held onto his thin arm to get up. My leg tingled a thousand needles while we hobbled back to the couch. There were garbage bags cut and displayed on the floor. I didn’t understand. Instead of the couch, he led me to the plastic and had me stand there. It was hard to keep balanced with a cast and a leg half asleep. 

“Stay.”

“Can I have my crutches?”

“You won’t be standing long.”

I closed my eyes and let tears burn down my cheeks. Rain tapped on the roof and my tears hit the garbage bags the same. Henry went to the pantry and reached for something on one of the thin wooden shelves. Something clunked down and he cursed. I flinched. It was heavy. I didn’t dare to look. Just tremble on the plastic and focus on not falling. It was hard with my eyes closed. 

The pantry doors creaked shut and he came back to where I was wobbling. He put the thing on the counter and washed his hands. Then he looked under the sink for something. I felt like I was standing at an acute angle and my balance was failing me. 

“Open your eyes.” There were rubber gloves on his hands and he was blocking my view of whatever he’d grabbed from the pantry. A jug of bleach sat on the floor next to the sink. “Are you sure you don’t want more grape juice?”

“Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry kid, it’s just the way it turned out.”

“Can’t we wait another day? Just one more day? I’m sure there’s other stuff going on, they’ll get to me, I’m sure!”

“They’re taking their sweet time.”

“I know.”

“How can we speed it up?”

“We can’t- we just have to wait. Just one more day. Please, I’m begging you.”

“Look,” He turned around and fiddled with the thing. It was metal. “I’m sorry, okay? I am. I didn’t want it to turn out like this, but I can’t keep you here forever. It’s a waste of time, it was a long shot, and nobody cares apparently.”

“Please, there has to be another way. And what’s the point if you kill me? What then?”

“Then I try again.”

“Try what again?”

“This, this whole thing. Get someone better.”

“What?”

I watched his bony shoulders drop and he gripped the counter. My leg had come back online but I still felt shaky. “I messed up, like I said. I’ll grab someone worth it next time that people want to hear about. You’re worthless to me- I’m sorry, I know that’s harsh but it’s true. I don’t know what I was thinking- you just looked like an easy target.”

“Then let me go and find someone new!”

“I can’t. I can’t. Do you have any cute friends?”

“What?”

He shuddered and turned around. There was some kind of a tool in his hand. It was red and had a battery. I didn’t know what it was. “I’m joking. Just for next time I think I need someone cuter. And a girl.” He stepped closer and held the tool up. “You see this? This is a Milwaukee framing gun. I bought it while you were out the other day. I was going to put something better together to keep you for longer but I’ll make something more permanent for the next one. Isn’t it crazy they don’t ask any questions if you want to buy one of these? You won’t feel it, I promise. I just need you to lay down.”

I’d never felt more sturdy in my life. The pain in my cast went away and my heart bumped in my stomach like my slide down the steps at home. Home was all I could think about. How much I missed being there, even just in my room. Away from his clutter and the kitchen. He nudged me to lay down but I was stuck with my eyes fixed on the glowing red hand tool. He pushed harder on my shoulder but I wouldn’t budge. I looked up at his eyes. I avoided his eyes since I’d been here. I forgot how trusting he looked when he picked me up. He said he was a doctor and that he knew me. I told him I had a family and a sister, but now he was going to kill me. He told me he was going to do it with me standing up. I yelled as the tip of the gun touched my forehead.

“Wait!”

There was a relieved look below his cruel eyes. “What?”

“Let’s make a deal.”

“Like what?”

“You don’t want to kill me, right?”

“I have to.”

“You don’t want to, I know you don’t. I have an idea.”

There was pause before he stepped off of the garbage bags. I asked to sit. I’d been standing for a long time and he understood. He helped me to the couch and his hands were as clammy as mine. There was a different newscaster talking about the weather and I cleared my throat. 

“I want you to promise that you won’t kill me.”

“What’s your deal?”

“Promise me!”

“Tell me first, then maybe.”

“No. Promise first. I can help you, but I don’t want to die.”

“Fine. Fine. I promise I won’t kill you. What’s your plan.”

“My sister.”

“What sister?”

“My sister- I talked about her a bunch- aren’t you listening?”

“Don’t get smart.”

“I’m not. I’m not. My sister- she’s like fifteen. You should grab her and wait it out. There’d be coverage for her. For sure.”

“Describe her to me. Is she cute?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty. She’s thin, has blonde hair and brown eyes.”

“That does sound good. What’s she like? Is she popular?”

“I think so. She’s funny and smart and I think you’d have a good chance of getting some coverage if you took her.”

“So if I get her instead- what do I do with you, then?”

“Keep us both here. If you’re not going to hurt us, then you might as well just keep us both here until you get what you want.”

He paced on the rug around the wet purple stain. The tip of his sock had a splash of the same colour. I didn’t know if he liked my idea. There was a lot of huffing and puffing, and some loud head scratching. My chest ached from waiting but I saw a movie where they said the first person to speak when a deal is proposed is the one who loses. My mouth was glued shut. He snapped his fingers to get my attention. We made brief eye contact and he squinted at me. Like he thought I was lying. He looked at the red tool in my peripheral, then back to me and my cast. His hands left prints on his tan pants. He cleared his throat and it startled me. 

“Okay. Okay I’ll do it. Where does she live?”

***

I didn’t know how he planned on doing it with just our address and her schedule for the day. She has piano class today same as every week. The class was at the mall in the early evening, so he set out around five thirty. The doctor line might work to get her here. If not, I told him to tell her that he found me. 

Aimee likes doctor TV shows. There was one that came on every week about pregnancy and babies that she really enjoyed. She’s obsessed with babies. It’s all she ever talks about. One time she got in trouble because she streamed a bunch of videos on dad’s tablet of real women giving birth. She tried to show me but it was really gross. Mom found it somehow and yelled at her about it, and she lost internet privileges for a month. I don’t understand why they had that reaction- it’s something she’ll go through one day, and it’s not like she was watching it to get off. I got in trouble like that once, but it was different videos. 

I sat in the dark with my hand cuffs on, listening to a sitcom with a laugh track. I felt like one of the guys in the shows she watches. Waiting for the thing to happen. I was excited and nervous about it. I wished he would hurry up. Then I heard the front door kick open and I heard two sets of feet scrambling on the linoleum. I scooted against the wall. Aimee yelped, then was muffled by Henry’s hand. 

“Shh shh shh shh.” He kicked the screen door shut. 

“Where’s my brother you sick fuck?” 

“He’s here, he’s here. He’s in the closet- just be still!”

“NO! Let me go! Let me go!”

“Aimee! Calm down! He’s in there!”

“How do you- how do you know my name? Who are you?”

“Just calm down!”

They scuffled in the entrance for a long time. I didn’t think about her anger when I told him. I felt bad for him. I tried to help by shouting but her shrieking and the panels muted me out. 

Henry yelled and the screen door opened. She was running. 

“Get back here you little bitch!”

I tried to get up but it was hard with the cuffs behind my back. My fingers were shaking in the heat of it all. This wasn’t good. I bumped my head on the wall and felt overwhelmed. Maybe this was a bad idea. Aimee was terrified. 

A few minutes later the door kicked open again and Aimee was still shrieking, but now she sounded sad and out of breath. He dragged her across the linoleum. Her shoes pattered around but he made it to the door. The room filled with light and he tossed her onto the mattress next to me.  

“She fucking bit me!” He held his arm up and stormed off. Blood dripped onto Aimee’s jeans. She whimpered with her hands over her face on the floor. I’ve never seen her cry like this. I nudged her with my good foot and she looked up in horror. 

“You’re alive!” Her arms wrapped around me and she accidentally pushed her knee onto my cast. I yelped. She apologized. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. I’m good.”

“Are those hand cuffs?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No.”

Henry came around the corner with a rope. He smiled at me, then her. She screamed and stood up on the bed with her hands up like a boxer. 

“Don’t fucking think about it you sick balding fuck! I’ll kill you!”

“I won’t hurt you-“

“Says the kidnapper!”

He looked at me for help. 

“Aimee- wait.” I stammered.

She lunged with fingers for claws but he deflected her against the door frame so she cried out and grabbed his pants. She sunk her teeth into his leg and he kicked her square in the jaw. The back of her skull smacked the frame. I couldn’t move and I watched him drag her limp body by the armpits out of view. The rope cinched like a zip-tie and he dragged her back next to me. He looked sorry.

*

I listened to Henry pacing around the living room with the TV on full blast. The news wasn’t different from the day before or the day before. It was just the weather and the war. After an hour he came to take my cuffs off and talk to me. Aimee was still out cold but she was breathing. There was a big bruise on her jaw and her lip was puffy. My eyes were puffy too and my wrists were sore.  

“This better work.”

I reassured him. “Just give it some time.”

“Do you see these?”

There was dried blood in splotches on his makeshift bandages. I nodded.

“This better be worth it.”

“Why’d you have to kick her?”

“She bit me again! What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, not kick her!”

“You try grappling with this little bitch and tell me how that turns out-“

“She’s not a bitch.”

He smushed his palm on his forehead. “Sorry, sorry. Are you hungry?”

I hadn’t eaten since lunch but I wasn’t in the mood to eat. Aimee smelled like Becca and I felt sick. I shook my head and waited for him to go away. He stood there looking at us. He wiped his eyes with his fingers and choked something out about how he was sorry. I didn’t hear him very well. 

“Do you want to come out here with me?” It sounded like my dad when I’m in my room on the weekends. This time I’d say yes. 

He helped me step over Aimee and we sat at the TV- him in the chair, me on the couch. I grabbed a pillow and tucked it between the hard back and my neck. This was better than dying, but it wasn’t good. 

*

Aimee screamed me out of a nap. Henry bolted out of his chair and I leaned forwards. The grape stain was dried but it smelled the same. Aimee needed to know I was okay. I followed after him towards the door using the wall for support. She was kicking and shrieking and crying while Henry tried to console her. He was apologizing profusely. 

“Get off me! Get away from me! Who the fuck are you? Where’s Grover?”

“He’s in the livingroom, calm down.”

“Fuck you! Where is he?”

“The livingroom- don’t either of you listen?”

“Aimee,” I stood in the doorway. 

Her eyes glowed in the dark and she darted between me and him. “What the fuck is going on?”

“It’s complicated, just calm down.” He reached to her. She flung her foot up at him. Her shoelace was untied and it whipped his hand. He stepped back.

“Relax. He’ll untie you.”

“Dude what the actual shit is going on? Hit him! What the fuck are you doing?”

I looked at the bald spiral on the back of his head. It looked open, and I swung my hand around without thinking. My hand grazed his head and he barely flinched. He turned around and stood all the way up. He looked insulted. “C’mon man, what are you doing?”

“Hit him! Punch him!” 

“Don’t do that, man. Just tell her our plan.”

“What plan? What fucking plan dude? What is happening right now?” Aimee cried. 

I froze. It was all too much. She was screaming and he was looking at me like I was crazy and I felt weird and sick. Sicker than before. The ears thing was happening again and I watched their mouths moving slow and quiet. I lost my balance and I slid down the wall but he helped me get back up. He ran to the kitchen and pulled some cups down and poured a glass of juice for me and her. He handed me one, and he handed her one with a straw. I slurped it down outside the closet. No chalk. I don’t know where he went to but it was quiet in the house.

“Grov?” Aimee asked.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me what’s happening right now. Why aren’t you tied up anymore- where have you been?”

“It’s a long story-“

“Tell it to me. Were you kidnapped too?”

“Yeah. On Friday after school.”

“How?”

“He said he was a doctor and it was raining so he gave me a ride.”

“And you didn’t think to run?”

“He drugged me and I woke up in that closet.”

“Did he touch you?”

“No. No he’s not like that.”

“Are you sure, like even when you were asleep?”

“I don’t think so-“

“Why are you out there?”

“He felt bad about keeping me in there.”

“He kidnapped you. He kidnapped me. And he feels bad?”

I could see the screwed-up face she was making without looking at her. Her front teeth were stuck out and her jaw was slack like Napoleon Dynamite. I laughed. “Yeah.”

“So what the fuck are you doing? Can’t we get out of here? Come untie me.” The ropes thumped on the bed. 

I crunched my hair on the wall. Henry called out from the other side of the house. “Don’t do it!”

“I won’t!” I yelled back. It felt wrong.

“Grover what the fuck?” She whispered.

“Look, he won’t hurt you. He won’t hurt me. It’s complicated, but we just have to wait.”

“Wait for what? Mom and dad have been out looking for you. They barely let me out of the house to go to piano.” 

“Really? Why?”

“Well you didn’t come home on Friday so I covered for you and said you went to Bryan’s for the night because he felt bad for pushing you. I went over to Becca’s house to see if she knew anything but then while I’m there, Becca’s mom got a phone call from mom asking if I was there with her. Then she said I was over there with Becca and then they came and picked me up. Dad yelled at me for lying. I guess Bryan got in trouble for blowing firecrackers up or something and it was a whole thing. Then we went to the police and mom was a total mess- like crying and crying about how they needed to find her baby boy- and dad just sat there with his hands in his pockets and didn’t know what to do. So I’m grounded now for lying-“

“How’d you get out of the house then?”

“Well, me and mom got into a huge fight before she was going to go to church-“

“Mom at church?”

“Exactly! So we fought about- I don’t know to be honest- just something and dad called me immature and then mom and dad talked and they said I needed to get out of the house so they sent me to piano and then,“ she cleared her throat to yell, “THIS BALD RAPIST came and told me that they found you and said I needed to get in- he said mom and dad are looking for me now and I got in and then he told me to have some water but I didn’t want his water, but he was really pushy with it and he kept driving, and it felt wrong so I yelled at him and we fought all the way back to this trailer. I tried to get him to crash his car but he told me I’d die if I didn’t cooperate. He had some kind of gun thing- a nail gun.”

I was spaced out at the wall thinking about mom and dad looking for me. They noticed right aways. I thought it would take longer. 

“How’s your leg?”

“It’s fine.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, look-“

“Wait he said you had a plan- what was that about?”

“Yeah, um. I don’t know- there’s like something I should tell you. Like, you got uh- grabbed- because of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, so, he isn’t going to hurt us, he promised me he wouldn’t.”

“Well fuck that promise- look at my jaw dude.” She spat white spit for the drama. 

“I know, I know. But like more than that, he won’t hurt us. He’s just having us wait around for the police or the news to show up.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“Like, he picked me up on Friday because he wants to like- I don’t know- I think he just wants to get on the news or something.”

“For what?”

“For, like, kidnapping or something. Something big, I guess. So, he grabbed me but there wasn’t any news coverage at all-“ I lowered my voice, “-which is normal, I think for anyone within a day or two, but he got really upset about it and felt bad for kidnapping me but he didn’t want to let me go so he was going to kill me-“

“He what?” The ropes creaked on her wrists. 

“He was going to kill me but I- I’m really sorry. I’m sorry for bringing you into this but he wanted like a spectacle or something and I figured your disappearance would be more noticeable.”

“Huh?”

“Like, people would notice you were gone before anyone would notice I was gone.”

“We noticed right aways- you’re never gone! Grover what the fuck.”

“I didn’t know that- and he didn’t know that!”

“Well now what?”

“We just have to wait for the cops to show up.”

“How the fuck will cops show up if nobody knows anything about you going missing other than the date and time anyone saw you last?”

“I don’t-“

“And what about me? It’s not like anyone saw me go fucking missing! Mom’s gonna lose her mind but dad’ll think I’m just off with my friends!”

“I’m sorry-“

“We gotta get out of here. Nobody’s coming, not for days- we gotta get out of here.”

“He was gonna kill me-“

“And he still might if we don’t get out of here.”

“Well, hang on, we can figure this out.”

“Grover. Wake up. We’ve been kidnapped. This is serious.”

“But it’s not, like nothing’s gonna happen to us.”

“Dude! What are you talking about? It already has happened to us.”

*

Aimee slumped on the mattress as we were trying to figure out what to do next. She stopped responding to my questions so I peered around the corner. Out cold. Her blonde hair was a mess. I felt bad for getting her here.

“Henry!” I whispered. “Did you fucking drug her?”

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck!”

“Sorry.”

“Any word?”

“On?” He asked.

“Us!”

“None. There better be some tomorrow, man.”

“Or what?”

He didn’t respond. I didn’t think he’d kill us. I would be easy but Aimee would put up a fight- and win. Right now would be the time to do kill her but he was sitting on the chair with his legs crossed and his hands behind his head totally checked out. The TV was muted. Maybe Aimee was right; maybe we did need to get out of here. It wouldn’t be too hard. I hoisted myself up the wall and went to the living room and sat on my couch. Grape. 

“I’m not a rapist, you know.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not fucking bald. I do Rogaine.”

“I know.”

He looked bothered now, and he was massaging his scalp. 

“How’s your arm?”

“Arm and ankle. They’re fine. Not bad now.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Fine.”

“Do you need anything? Food, water?”

“Why’d you drug her and not me?”

He shrugged. “She’s a fighter. You’re not.”

***

Monday morning, and not a word on the television had come through. Aimee joining us would buy us time to live. Henry was a mess still. I didn’t know what to think. I slept on the mattress with Aimee and she woke me up with a kick to the leg. I moved myself to the living room and had the TV on low before he came out for breakfast. War. News. Weather. No missing children. 

“How long have you been out here?” He asked.

“Not long. About an hour.”

He scoffed. “What’s wrong with you?”

Coffee smell cut through the stale house. I asked for a cup and he raised an eyebrow. Something about my age. I shrugged and he poured me a cup in a big white cup. It was horrible but he didn’t have any sugar or milk left. Breakfast was eggs and pancakes. Aimee was still out cold. 

“Can you untie her when she wakes up?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

He rolled his sleeve down to show me his arm, then his pantleg raised up. The pancake batter was done and now the element clicked on. I was excited to eat. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Batter sizzled on the pan and he shrugged.

“What’s the point of all this?”

“Like with you?”

“Like with kidnapping us.”

“I told you. I have cancer.”

“Yeah but why not just live a regular life?”

“I did live a regular life. Now I want to end irregular.”

“And kidnapping us is the way you wanna go?”

“If that’s what it takes, yeah. Do you like chocolate chips?”

“I do. Make some without for Aimee.”

“Alright.” He turned with a spatula in his hand and came towards me. I didn’t look away from the TV but he talked. “Look, it’s complicated, but I just want my life to mean something when I’m gone. Have a legacy. I don’t have one, but after this I’ll be all over the place.”

“So you get caught, then what? Then you go to prison for kidnapping two kids?”

“I’m not planning on going to prison. I’m really sick.”

“But if they came today right now, then you would go to prison.”

“Not if I don’t go.”

“You mean like running?”

“I mean like dying.”

I thought about his idea while he cooked. He flipped the pancakes and told me how good they smelled with a bit more vanilla in them. There was happiness in his words, followed by sad droops in his posture. 

“Dying makes no sense to me. You’ll get caught and kill yourself instead of just living your life out until you die naturally. That sucks. That’s not how I’d do it.”

“Well how would you do it?”

“Like I said, I’d live my life out. I’d keep going until the lights turn off. Go to school, see Aimee, just live. See firecrackers and watch movies and stuff. Life.”

“Life is firecrackers and movies to you?”

“It’s not dying and being a criminal.”

“I guess.” 

He went back to the kitchen and flipped the pancakes over. He cursed that they were so dark but didn’t turn the heat down. I didn’t say anything after that. There was an air between us beyond what I expected when I woke up in the closet the other day. It felt like we were friends in some wicked way. I saw through the weird. Aimee groaned in the closet and he side stepped into her view. She screamed and he flitted the spatula at me for me to go check on her. With the wall as my support, I went over. 

“Morning.”

“Shhh. Untie me. This bucket reeks.”

I whispered back. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can. Come here. We’ll get out.”

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“He’ll die if we go free- or worse he’ll kill someone else.”

“Who gives a shit? He kidnapped us.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Grover. Snap out of it. Untie me.”

“Wait.”

She scoffed and laid back down on our mattress. I went back to the kitchen. There was a nice stack for us and he was working on the eggs. 

“Aimee has to use the bathroom.”

“The bucket is right there.”

“Her pants.”

“You can’t help?”

“She’s my sister.”

He craned his neck and assessed his options. It was weird for everyone. 

“Stir these eggs. I’ll help her.”

I bounced to the counter and he passed me the spatula like a baton. I heard them struggling and then the ropes hit the linoleum. “Let go of me!” she yelled. I watched him haul her by the elbow to his bedroom. All the while she screamed and kicked. I was surprised she didn’t bite him again. The door opened, then the bathroom door slammed shut. He stood outside the bedroom and waited for her to be done. He raised his eyebrows at me twice. I understood. 

“How’re the eggs?”

“Done, I think.” 

“Put them on the plate and put the pan in the sink please.”

The toilet flushed and Aimee came stomping out of the room. He tried to grab her but she ducked his hands and spun around his back. He screamed. Blood seeped under his shirt. She cut him with something. 

“RUN!” She yelled at me. There was a razor in her hand. The pan hit water droplets in the sink and I hopped to the door. Sizzling. Henry caught up to her before the screen door could unlock. I was next to them and he shoved her against the drywall and there was a big dent in the wallpaper where she hit. She screamed. I lunged on top of him. Aimee cried and he swung me off of him. I lost my balance and fell on my ass. My tailbone lit up. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her up from the floor and tossed her to the kitchen. She scrambled, I cried. There was commotion in the living room. One of them hit the coffee table. Aimee yelped and a big crash happened. There was a loud pop on the television set, then the volume blasted up. It was the end of a diaper commercial. 

“Stop running!”

“Get away from me!”

I got up using the table by the entrance and jumped to where they were. Aimee was crying and he had her pinned with his big hairy hands over her mouth. Her heels dug into the grape stains.

“QUIET!” He barked. 

I stood and her eyes were the size of dinner plates. The TV was playing the news, and a picture of me and a picture of her were next to each other. There was a picture of his car, and mom was getting interviewed by a handsome man with cool sunglasses. 

“Finally!” He yelled. His hands still subdued Aimee underneath him. There was blood trickling down his bicep onto her chin. She sobbed under his palms. I felt relieved for us, but scared for Aimee and him. I’d be saved. 

“Grov- quick- get me the ropes.”

“What?”

“The ropes, get them from the room. Help me tie her up.”

Aimee shook under his hands and thrashed her feet and arms around. He dodged her fingers and pushed her further into the carpet. I didn’t want to get them. I just wanted to sit on my couch and wait. The car meant license plate. The license plate meant address. Address meant they’re coming. “Hey! Get the ropes!” He cursed.

“I don’t want to.”

“Then come hold her down- stay put you little shit!”

He got up and Aimee stayed on the floor exactly where he left her. She wouldn’t look at me. Her eyes were glued to the popcorn ceiling. I moved along the wall to watch her. She looked helpless and lifeless. Her spark was gone, that fire was put out. It was my fault for bringing her into this. 

“Hey.” I whispered. There wasn’t anything I could say to make it better. Henry came back and flipped her over like a couch pillow and tied her hands together like before. I moved closer and he asked if I wanted to eat now. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I felt as drab as the stained carpet. 

He got himself a plate of cold eggs and pancakes, then ate mine too. All that were left were the plain ones. 

Mom looked really sick on the TV. She and Aimee shared a complexion with the intake lady at the ER. It was grey, and dad didn’t say anything to the camera besides some anecdote about mental health and what the kidnapper might be like on a psychological level. If this is an emergency, please dial 911.

The detective on the case was Detective Chuck Hammer from the city. He had a square jaw and dark eyebrows and looked like some kind of man of mystery. He’d get it done. The next news segment was a montage of girls like Aimee that have been missing in the last five years. Kenzie Newton, Alana Jones, Leticia Devloo. Dime a dozen, and Aimee was on that list now. They mentioned she fits a potential serial killer’s profile and that’s how Hammer got on the case. Lucky her. Lucky Henry.

***

When I broke my leg there wasn’t much to say. I fell. I got pushed. There was a video. It wasn’t special. Fat kid, bad fall, funny moment. Poor, poor me. Aimee cared and she took care of me. She called the ambulance and she sat with me in the waiting room and answered all the questions that they asked. She knew the exact angle I fell and she had our insurance numbers memorized in case I didn’t have my card with. The nurse looked at her funny when she told her so. Then there was mom, who wanted to leave right as she got there. No hey, no how are you. We just had to leave. She raised hell to get me the crutches only because we had to go. Dad didn’t pick up Aimee’s call but he shirked it off to not picking up stranger’s calls. The hospital didn’t call him; Aimee did. After all that, I was told not to skateboard because of the makeup of a skateboarder’s psyche. And we had green beans. Fucking green beans. 

Then my friends abandoned me and people who weren’t my friends signed my cast. I counted thirty-seven signatures all in all. Some of them meant less than others, but all of them meant nothing to me. I got tricked into a car and given drugs. I was kidnapped, forgotten, and almost killed.

Now that Aimee is here, I’ll be saved and my captor will get what he wants; legacy and death. He might get a dozen murders pinned on him, Aimee will go on to tell the story, and I’ll return to regular life. My life is boring and painless and unassuming even with a big cast and a broken leg.  The world doesn’t worry about people like me. Chuck Hammer doesn’t work cases for kids like me. Poor ugly duckling. Detectives don’t like the poor ugly little ducklings. They like blondies with big eyes and pale skin.

What was I supposed to do? 

Henry came back to the room after doing the dishes to pick Aimee up from the floor and put her back into the closet. She didn’t fight or look at me. Her feet dragged on the linoleum. It looked like she was dead inside. I wanted to look outside but the newspapers and cardboard still blocked the view. A piece of plastic tape gave way to a little light but it wasn’t see-through in a productive way. Just light, not sight.  

I was on my couch again and I was sad. Deeply sad. Henry went about his business tidying up the room and I just sat. He was humming. There wasn’t any resistance in my mind to warm my ears or choke back tears. They just fell out of my face while I watched the news. Our story came and went for the hour and it was back to the war. The war far away from here. Even things half a world away were worth attention. I wondered if Chuck knew my name or if he knew me as Aimee’s brother. 

“I’m gonna take a shower before they get here. I want to look good for the cameras!” Henry held his hand out for me to high-five but I had my eyes shut most of the way to pass as asleep. He held it there for a moment then kept going about his work. The shower turned on, he was whistling. Good spirits all around.

I got up and heaved over to the closet. Aimee was crying on the bed face down. 

“Hey.” I knocked.

“Hey.”

“How are you?”

“Why are you helping him?”

“I’m not- I didn’t-“

“What is going on Grover? What is this?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be over soon.”

“Then what? We just go back to school after this?”

“Maybe. There’s a detective looking for us now.”

“Yeah. ‘Chuck Hammer.’ Big shot pretty boy-who-gives-a-crap.”

“That’s kind of exciting-“

“Do you hear yourself? You’re talking about this like it’s some achievement that a hotshot detective is coming to save us, as if that makes what’s happening better.”

“It means we’ll be okay.”

“It means we need rescuing.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Something! You’re all buddy-buddy with this creep. Do something- get us out of here.”

“That’s what Chuck-“

“No! Stop! Do something! Grover, time is running out! This guy- our kidnapper is going to do something crazy to make it worse than it already is! He wants to go out in a big way- he’s gonna kill us!”

“No, he’s not.”

“Yes he is! What kind of thirteen-year-old sides with the fucking bad guy!”

“Dad did.”

“Phooey, dad’s an idiot. He doesn’t know how to feel anything. It’s all analytical with him.”

“So what do I do then? Kill him?”

“Yeah, or something. What did he give me the other day? What was that?”

“It’s that same medicine grandpa had, I think.”

“Really? Oxys? Where does he have them?” She sounded upbeat for the first time since the fight.

“In the kitchen, somewhere.”

“Go find them!”

I went to the kitchen, crunching my cast underneath to help with time. The shower was still going but it could change any minute. The top drawer was a fake drawer with no hinges or sliders. The lower ones were cleaning supplies. There was white residue like the crushed pills next to a white jar but it was flour. A pill bottle mixed in the fruit bowl was the jackpot. There were twenty-one pills in the bottle. Thirty milligrams a piece. Lots to go around. 

Aimee took a look at them and told me to go back to the kitchen and try to crush them up. He used a knife and a cutting board by the looks of it. Cutting it was hard one at a time so I put two under the board and pushed. It sounded like my cast on linoleum. Another press and it was powder. I wiped it into a cup and did it again and again. The shower was still running and he was whistling a very upbeat tune. 

“How many you got?” she asked.

“Eight done.”

“Do four more and stash the rest.”

“Alright.” I wiped the rest of the powder into the cup and put the knife and cutting board away where I found them. There was a dent in the counter where I was working. “Now what?”

“What does he drink?”

“I don’t know.”

“Coffee?”

“Put it in the coffee pot and start making it.”

“Won’t it look funny?”

“You’ve got time, just make it. That much should do it.”

I pushed the buttons and scooped grounds into the filter. It smelled like it needed to be cleaned and all of the white plastic was yellowish brown. I pressed go, the water bubbled, and coffee slowly dripped onto the pile of white powder in the pot. The shower stopped and I crunched back to the couch. 

“Beard or no beard?” He asked through the walls. I tried to picture his face but it was jumbled in my brain. I hadn’t been looking very much but I remember he did have a beard and it wasn’t ugly.  

“No beard.” I yelled back. 

His trimmer hummed through the walls. The coffee bubbled. Aimee was quiet still. My leg bounced. 

*

“Grover,” Aimee whispered.

“What?”

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“The cars.”

“No. What cars?”

“There’re cars outside. Go to the window.”

I got up with my eyes glued down the bedroom hallway. The shower steam made it smell like pine but the water was off and the trimmer had stopped. Any minute he’d come out and see me. Fuck him. 

I wobbled to the window and picked a corner of paper off the glass. It caught under my dirty fingernail. There were three black cars outside with black windows. They were at different angles. I couldn’t see inside but I knew who it was. 

I patched it back up and hobbled to Aimee. 

“They’re here!”

“Who?”

“Cops, detectives, I don’t know.”

“Untie me then.”

“Fine.” I scooted down the wall to meet her at the mattress. My cast thumped and my butt was sore on the hard surface from my fall. The ropes dug into her wrists worse than my handcuffs ever did. The bathroom door opened and I paused. 

Aimee shook. “Keep going.”

“Wait.”

“Hello?” Henry yelled.

“In here!” I returned. I lost track of the loop. 

“You made coffee?”

“Yeah. It’s hot.”

“Thank you.” I heard a cabinet open and shut, then liquid into a mug. 

I fumbled with the ropes but I was shaking so bad from the cars outside that I couldn’t fully undo the fancy knots he made by her wrists. I’m no Eagle Scout. 

“What’re you doing in there?”

“Talking.”

“Come here,” he insisted, “Let’s talk.”

“Go.” Aimee whispered, “It’s okay. I got it.”

I stood up and hobbled out to him. He was blowing steam away from the fresh brew.

“Do you want to join me?”

“For?”

“With the coffee- you made it. It would be rude to drink it alone.”

“No thank you.”

He smelled the cup and nodded. “Alright. Look- hang on actually let me-“ He pushed past me and shut the closet door. Aimee didn’t fuss. “I wanted to ask you something about what we talked about the other night. I was thinking about this and us and her and all of this stuff while I was in the shower and it occurred to me; what do you feel about all of this?”

“About?”

“About being right- about being the wrong kid and being invisible. You didn’t have any effect on anything since you’ve been gone. Does that make you mad or upset at all?”

The corner of the paper unhooked in the living room and from where I was standing, I could see the silhouette of two men. One was on the phone, the other had a gun at his side. 

“I didn’t-“

“I think you and I have a lot in common. A lot more than you might think- that’s why we clicked so easily. Sure, at the very base level I might’ve kidnapped you, but if you look at it, we did well together over the last few days. You and I are invisible to the world. I never had a legacy; you get outshined by your sister all the time. Life keeps guys like us down- keeps our stories hidden. Nobody wants to hear about a kid like you getting kidnapped- it’s just not fun! Everyone likes the missing white girl; we sympathize with her, we think she’s cute, she looks like that girl we used to know or what our wives were like before the baby. She’s not some dweeb like you with crutches and a cast- she’s young and promising and so innocent. Even if they aren’t so innocent after all. Did you watch that show Twin Peaks?”

The men switched places and passed a pair of binoculars. I shook my head.

Henry slurped. “This is a damn good cup of coffee, by the way. Twin Peaks was a show from like fifteen years ago based in a small town like ours where a girl- a white blonde girl- winds up dead at the lake. Everyone loved her; she did the whole meals on wheels thing, she was a community player, and they shut the school down when she died. But, just like all these little white girls that wind up dead or missing, there’s something underneath that adds a bit of context as to why they end up wrapped in plastic. Laura Palmer- that’s her name in the show- was working at a brothel, was into drugs- hard drugs like cocaine- had two boyfriends, and was wrapped up in all kinds of naughty stuff. Naturally, she was killed for one reason or another.”

There were four men now, one with binoculars looking straight at me. I wanted to wave but I had to look away. Henry gulped the rest of the cup down and poured himself another. 

“All I’m trying to say, kid, is that we don’t get a story like that because nobody pays attention to guys like us. If you want to be noticed, you have to become noticed. Things don’t happen to us. Things didn’t happen to us- now look at you. Let’s go take a look at the TV and see what we’ve done. You did this too, you know.” He sounded proud as he flicked around through news channels to find our story going on. Flashes of sitcoms and cooking shows. The interview and our pictures were playing again from earlier on a national station. The newscaster was talking to the governor of the state about it with some kind of psychiatrist to back up their serial claims. I took the remote and turned the volume up hoping he’d shut up. He yelled over it. 

“I know your sister probably won’t tell the police what you told her- and she’ll forgive you- in due time she’ll forgive you- but at the end of the day it was your idea to bring her into this. Not mine, yours. A damn good idea too. Imagine- if I’d have shot you right there in the kitchen like I wanted, you’d have never been found. What a joke! And now, thanks to you, we’ve got pictures circulating and people looking and police calling and all kinds of malarky. Hell, they even got my license plate and they’re running it all over the place. It’s only a matter of time before they come find us.”

I positioned myself as best I could to block his view of the tattered papered windows. He was focused on seeing his name on the television instead of the world around him. It was quiet between us, and Aimee wasn’t making any noise either. 

“Look, I understand if you say no- I do. You’re young- real young- and you’ve got a lot ahead of you. But let’s look at the facts here. After this- are you gonna go back to school? And is anyone gonna care about what happened to you? Or is the attention gonna go all to Aimee in the closet?”

I shrugged. 

“Wouldn’t you rather go out in a crazy way instead of just be the guy whose sister got kidnapped?” 

“What do you mean?”

“You have a chance here to be something bigger than yourself- bigger than me, and bigger than Aimee. Immortal, in a sense. You could have a legacy. An impact. Something real and meaningful now that they know you’re here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Earlier- yesterday- when we had the, you know- the incident in the kitchen. You were smart; you convinced me not to do it. I agree, it’s all a bit morbid to kill a kid- but take a second step back with me now. It sounds crazy, but what do you think is gonna happen to you after this? Like seriously, what?”

“I don’t want to die.”

“But you will die, in a sense. You’ll get drowned out by Aimee after all of this commotion. Wouldn’t you rather go out in a big way?”

“You mean die?”

He tucked a smile between his teeth and rolled his tongue under his lip. It was like a scarab in the Mummy. “Is that what you want?” 

The men outside were restless and my palms were sweating. The urge to run tickled my foot but my cast said no. I froze, and he asked again. “Do you want that?” As he waited for my answer, he ran his thumbs over his temple and stepped back. The coffee cup slipped from his fingers. Brown over grape. “Hang on, man.” His eyes fluttered at me and his demeanor went serious. “What did you do?” He stamped his feet to keep his balance and he leaned towards me. 

“Aimee!” I yelled.

She came out of the closet and ran to the bedroom with the ropes unfurling behind her. They dragged on the floor. He looked confused and fell onto the couch. His couch. He beat his hands on his chest and wrung his fingers around his shaved neck. I heard stuff falling in the bathroom. There was anger underneath his pain. It was all so sudden. His face turned the color of the carpet. I stood over him tilted and in shock. That’s what the silence is; it’s shock. There was a white foam coming out of the corners of his dry mouth and I knew he was trying to scream but I could not hear him. 

Aimee came back and smacked my arm. She had a razor in her hand. The kind from the old movies. My hearing came back and it all was happening so fast. Gargling. She slammed her knee into his thigh and shoved his head back onto the hard wood base of the furniture. He thrashed and I moved over to them. He was in and out of consciousness in an instant and I took the razor from her. Now was my time. I’d been complacent in getting free but I felt unstoppable. Aimee nodded for me to do it. The men were running to the house. He had shaved his neck, and I dragged the razor deep across his Adam’s apple and up to his ear. Blood spurted out and his arms went half way up to hold it in but he lost any ability to move. I had blood on my hands, Aimee had some on her face from before. I stepped back and dropped it on the floor. The door crashed open. The police had us out of there in thirty seconds. 

*

They saw the commotion through the window and kicked their way in just as his heart stopped beating. Their marching scared me and I felt like a murderer. Chuck Hammer picked Aimee up like Superman and I hobbled along with a man in a hat. We were prodded into a big black SUV and they didn’t put seatbelts on us. The trailer looked pitiful from the road. I was glad he didn’t get to see the ending he wanted. It was almost how he wanted it, but at our hands instead of his. Less of a bang. They said it was self defense. 

When we got to the station, I was put in a different room than Aimee and I was questioned by a police officer with a crew cut and a scar on his cheek. He was blunt and it was uneventful and I was out before the hour. When I got to the hallway, mom was crying and dad gave me a weirdly tight hug and Aimee was still in the questioning room for a long time with Chuck Hammer. At the end, I had to get my picture taken with all of them and was told that someone might follow up for more questions soon. They put concealer on her face for the pictures. A month went by and the phone never rang.

Aimee went on television to tell her story- one that she made up and didn’t include the bad parts like how she got there. I got more questions in school than I did from the police, and I had to get my cast remade from all the damage. Another bigger wave of girls I didn’t know signed the new one with bigger bolder letters. This time they asked my name or said it straight up. They’d heard about me on the news.   

That’s the girl who got kidnapped’s brother; Grover.

***

The End

***