invisiblecompany

A Promise and a Connection

Present day, abandoned warehouse, now

We stared at one another as the phone in the office rang and rang. Then as one, we raced toward the sound, jostling with each other in the confined space.

Since I had the advantage of prior visits, I was the first one to reach the phone. I picked it up without hesitation.

"Hello," I said breathlessly, holding the phone away from my ear so the others could hear a little of the other caller. The redhead busied herself in trying to figure out if the outdated office phone had a speaker function.

"Don't tell me--" it was the same caller as before.

"Sorry, yes," I replied. The others looked at me in new light, their surprise at my ability to converse with the caller apparent.

"I have the goods," he added succinctly. It was becoming obvious that the caller was the mastermind, or at least leader, in the kidnapping. He was the one calling the shots and making the decisions. It was also clear that he was being careful in using coded words. The 'goods' he referred to was probably the ransom money, or other item important to the crime.

"Was there any trouble?" I asked innocently. This elicited a glare from the short gun guy, a 'are you crazy trying to engage him' type of glare.

There was hearty laughter from the other end of the line. "Trouble? The cops don't know trouble if it stared up their asses," he snickered. "I'm on my way, get everything ready," he directed.

"Okay," I replied, remembering to keep my end of the conversation light. I was fairly convinced that he recognized my voice, which gave me chills I did not want to think about. Then again, there was sufficient crackling and outside noise for sounds to be indistinguishable.

"Don't let me down," he said. It sounded more like a threat than instruction.

The minute the line went dead there was pandemonium.

The long and short of it was, I was obviously one of the bad guys since the caller didn't question my answering the phone. The same fear in my head, even though I did not voice it. I emphasized my own observation, that the line was bad and he could just be expecting a female voice, not necessarily mine. This meant that either the redhead or I was a member of the criminal gang. The young girl too, though by mutual unspoken consent, it was generally agreed that she was too young to be anything but the intended victim. Or one of the victims. That, and she was the one tied up at the beginning of these adventures strongly suggested it.

I confessed that he had called before when I had just woken up and was incoherent. What I remembered of the conversation was that he would be back by four. It was now just past noon. The reaction to the confession was just as vehement and accusatory.

"Don't try to deny it, you even look guilty," the blonde guy accused me.

"Exactly how do I look guilty?" I retorted. "For all we know, we are all the bad guys."

"What? No!" the young girl cried. I could see how that thought completely freaked her out. The possibility that she was trapped here, wherever 'here' was, with four adults who may or may not mean her harm, and had in fact tied her up to a chair, was likely to be out of her realm of reality. I would be a blubbering mess if I were her. Instinctively, because she was the first person to offer comfort, the young girl moved closer to the redhead, who put her arm around the girl's shoulder. Oddly, I was glad that the young girl did not flinch.

It seemed that the group was at an impassé. We none of us had any idea who we were. We each could be criminals, victims or even innocent bystanders. Aside from first impressions, it was impossible to ascertain who was trustworthy and who was not. We had no prior experience or interaction for reference. In short, we were in a vacuum that was sucking our emotions and logic from us.

The redhead, who had seemed most practical and level-headed up to now, as if she had related experience, was the first to suggest an alternate course of action than what we had followed. "I think it's pointless for us to be sitting around trying to second guess each other. Personally, I know that I can't trust any of you, and I say this with sincerity rather than in a personal attack sort of way. I think we should work together, at least to get us all out of here. That's the best suggestion, if you asked me."

Short gun guy snorted. "Nobody asked you, Red."

"Hey, don't be rude," I interrupted. "I agree with Red. We have to get ourselves out of here. The guy on the phone is coming back. I don't know about you guys, I'm scared of him just by listening to him speak. Right now, I don't care if I'm the bad guy or any of you are the bad guys. We have to start again, assume nothing, assume we are all on the same side in this."

"Who says I want to be on your side. You don't get to decide," short gun guy continued his protests.

"There are no sides here anymore. We've lost our memories. We have no choice but to work together. And we each have an equal vote," the redhead said. I shot her a brief thin smile to thank her for her support. My heart beat faster when she returned with a smile of her own.

"That seems fair," the blonde guy agreed.

I could tell that short gun guy wanted to argue further, but it appeared that it was four against one, so he reluctantly shrugged. He didn't seem happy about it at all. I suppose he could impose his opinion on the group; after all he was the one with the gun.

That was agreed. We split up to explore the building and to find any way out. The young girl we left in the office where it was relatively safe. She didn't argue, too tired and too scared to do anything other than what the adults told her. By unspoken consent, the remaining four paired up. The two boys in a team and I went with the redhead. I felt comfortable with her, there was not the conflict with short gun guy, or the indifference with the blonde guy.

We worked our way around the external walls of the building. It was soon clear that it was a warehouse, and that it had been abandoned some time before. Any equipment or tool that might have been useful for escape were long gone or rusted to uselessness. The remaining items, mostly furniture, large cylinders and crates, were heavy enough to possibly form a barricade. I filed that thought as we moved on. There were no windows, at least not at eye level. We found what used to be the main door, it was wedged or stuck or rusted shut. No amount of bashing or pushing would budge it even a millimeter. A side door was secured by electronic lock, which looked newly installed. It went without saying that no one knew the code. It was frustrating.

As the hour dragged by frustration level rocketed. At different points one of us would breakdown and ended up crying or screaming. The redhead and I left the boys to their own devices and staked out a secluded area behind the lockers. The space was narrow, though somehow comforting. We squashed together, shoulders and thighs touching, oddly seeking out the personal contact. For a while we just sat there, idle, with no thoughts.

"I feel like I know you. You know, outside," she said suddenly, her hand making a sweep to indicate the external unknown place that was not this nightmare.

"Yeah, I get that feeling too," I said softly. I looked straight ahead, not trusting what I would do, or revealing too much.

We sat in silence, trying to articulate our next thoughts.

"Do you think that we're --?" she asked, again out of the blue. It was as if her thoughts went too fast for her, and she had to catch up and say the words.

"You mean?" I asked.

"Yeah, I mean," she confirmed.

While it may sound incomprehensible to others, it made perfect sense to me. And here we were in this alternate reality, to all intents and purposes having only met an hour ago. She made sense. I knew what she meant. Without thinking.

"I think so," I whispered.

I turned to look at her. Really look at her. I caught the softness in her eyes and I wanted her to see the hopeful desire in mine. I felt like we had done this many times before, I felt like I had held her gaze a million times, and I would not tire of it. I wanted more. We were already side by side, I shifted in the small confined space so we were even closer, our faces barely inches apart. Her lips oh so close. Somewhere in this or another universe, we had kissed before.

She placed her palm tenderly on my cheek. Everything grew still. "I feel like--" her voice was barely above a whisper, low and husky.

"I know," I leaned into her touch, wanting to close my eyes to savor the sensation yet not wanting to break eye contact.

"Do you think it's safe?" she asked. "God, you feel so good."

"Safe for whom? Safe how?" I said.

"I am having feelings. Feelings that are I'm unfamiliar with, yet know very well. This is the wrong place or time," she sighed.

"I know." That was all I could say. I didn't want her to take her hands away from me. I didn't want her to move away. I didn't want to have to face the nightmare scenario we found ourselves in. It was a respite, an escape, the brightest thing that had happened to me that day. Somehow, I knew she was always my brightest spot.

"Should we be doing this?" she asked tentatively.

I brought my hand up to hers, sandwiching her hand against my cheek. "I'm almost certain not. Like you said, it's not the right place or time. But I don't want to stop," I said.

"But we should wait," she said.

"Yes. We should wait," I echoed. "It doesn't mean we can't store this, these feelings, this closeness, for when the time and place are right," I offered, more to reassure myself.

She slipped her hand from my grip and stroked my face gently. She pulled me close for a small, feathery kiss on my forehead. "There'll be another time." It was a statement and a question.

"Yes," I said with conviction. "Come on, let's go back to finding a way out."

We were hand in hand as we continued the search.

A promise had been made, a connection forged.

Things felt better.

*****