Unpaved Roads

[dianamanso]

August 16, 2014 - BOBBY

After some furious knocking at the door, Bobby headed towards the door. It wouldn't be the first time she forgot her keys. As soon as Bobby opened the door, he regretted it, as two pairs of hands pushed him into the apartment, knocking him on his ass. One of the guys was enormous. He could have been a bouncer or a circus gorilla, and despite all the ideas on how to escape the situation, Bobby knew he couldn't take that guy. The second guy had more of a normal build, but he had the clear advantage of a gun, and a no nonsense attitude to go with it. There was no point in resisting, unless he wanted his sister to walk in on his dead body. Which could still happen even if he didn't resist. "Where are the journals?" said the no-nonsense guy. "I...I have no idea what you're talking about." This seemed to try the larger guy's patience over the edge, so Bobby added "There are a few boxes with notebooks under my sister's bed, but I don't know why you would want any of th..." And then everything went black. When he woke up, the sun was starting to set and he wondered if Alanna was home yet. She must have been, because a book whatever it is that she was going to, couldn’t possibly take that long. He saw that he was inside an old and dirty car, on an unpaved road that seemed to lead nowhere and people seemed to be aware of that being accurate. But behind the wheel, Corey knew exactly where he was going: he knew every twist and turn from their origin to the once abandoned cabin. "I see you are awake. Should've blindfolded you, but we are almost there" came a harsh voice from the front seat. Almost where? Bobby started noticing how dirty everything was, including the driver. He was on the back seat, but the driver’s body odor reached all the way back there. As Bobby and Jesse would discover, over the next few months, Corey was not only lacking hygiene, but also charisma, intelligence and confidence. He kept talking about his son, Ryan and how he kept trying to write him a letter to get the two of them to meet after he got out of prison and never found the right words. At the end of the road, there was what used to be a cabin but was now a sad collection of moldy wood panels that seemed to stay up because of inertia alone. If the Bad Wolf blew on this cabin, he’d be eating them in no time. “Get up! We have things to do! Move!” There was a lot of roughness in the way Bobby was led into the house and pushed down a set of stairs into a dark, cold and damp basement. After his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw a small figure in a corner and hoped it wasn’t a corpse. Bobby closed his eyes again for his eyes to adjust further to the dark and noticed that the pile he thought to be a corpse, was breathing really fast. It was a small guy, so pale and skinny that he must have been deprived of the sun and food the outside world had to offer, for a very long time. If it wasn’t for his fiery red, Bobby wouldn’t have noticed him, for he blended in too well with his surroundings. Like being invisible was going to save him from a terrible fate. And that might just have been accurate. His red hair, general lack of muscle mass, or fat for that matter, and the fact that he was lying in a fetal position made him look like a wilted flower and Bobby immediately felt sorry for him, but decided not to draw attention to the fact that he had noticed the other guy, just to not blow his cover. He wouldn’t have been able to take a beating. The driver yanked Bobby to the opposite corner and chained him, after which he pulled a dirty rag made out of the cheapest fabric possible. It was harsh, especially against the delicate skin around the eyes. To Bobby, it made no sense to get blindfolded now, after they had reached their destination, but decided to take a page out of “Wilted Flower” and stay quiet. From what he could hear, the guy walked away from him: his footsteps echoed on the basement, as he moved to the far corner. “Get up! NOW!” A single punch was blown and then a loud thud. “Dammit! Will you stop collapsing, you sissy? Change in plans then. You! Come upstairs and draw!” How did he know Bobby drew? The two guys that got him out of the apartment had asked for journals instead of asking for money or jewelry, so maybe they did know him after all. Bobby found out he was able to stand, in time for a harsh set of hands to brush against his, untying him. Other than the body odor, Bobby was able to perceive the scent of Cheetos and beer coming from his host. Meanwhile, all Bobby could think of, was that he would probably never eat Cheetos again. He was dragged for a few feet until he tripped with one of the steps he was unable to see, and a blinding pain took over. “Get up!” Bobby got up slowly and crawled his way to the top of the stairs and waited for shouted instructions while sitting on the floor, trying to assess how much blood was coming from his nose. Next, he heard a door being locked. “This is really simple. I will take your blindfold off and you will draw something for your lovely sister.” “Don’t you dare lay a hand on her, you psycho!” A solid punch came to his ribs, and then another. “I am the one calling the shots here! You will stay quiet and draw. Unless you want to get reunited with your parents tonight!” As much as the reference to his dead parents hurt, Bobby stayed quiet. Not because he wanted to obey, but because the punches received had left no air in his lungs. The hard blindfold left his face as harshly as it had been put on and he was able to see a room that could use some cleaning and tidying up. This space seemed to serve as kitchen, living and dining rooms. The dining table had seen better days and all the chairs looked like they had been part of different sets. There were empty beer and soda bottles, takeout menus and boxes scattered all across the floor. There was an old tv on top of a milk crate and what had been a couch a couple of decades ago. The flowery pattern on the torn fabric made it seem like a piece of furniture that could have been found at his grandma’s. Except that at his grandma’s, the flowers would have been pink, the leaves a tone of greenish aqua, over a beige background. Here, the colors were different: the flowers were brown, the leaves were black and the background was grey. How could anyone sit there and not lose a limb, he did not know. Luckily, he got dragged to one of the chairs around the table instead. “Draw whatever you’d like on this piece of paper. When Jesse stops being dramatic, I will have him write a very special message for your sister. After that, you’ll draw something on this second piece of paper. Don’t look at me like that. You’ll be here for a long time.” Corey sat next to him, a beer on one hand, a gun on the other, smiling. As he started drawing on the dirty piece of paper, Bobby thought this guy had the ugliest smile he’d ever seen, including villains in movies. Since I cannot write to her, maybe I’ll use these drawings to send Alanna a message. The question was what. Only thing he knew is that he needed to make his mind up fast, because the clock was ticking.

[dianamanso]

September 17,2014 - BOBBY/ROB

“I prefer to call you Rob. This kidnapper dude keeps calling you Bobby, and it might have been your lifelong nickname, but it’s starting to feel unsettling for me. Like we are getting a case of Stockholm syndrome, and I’d rather die before I let these guys influence what I do.” Bobby thought that changing his nickname was a way of letting Corey and his lackeys influence them, but decided against pointing it out. “I like that better, actually. Bobby makes me sound like I’m still seven. If we survive…” The sound of Jesse clearing his throat made him stop. “I’m sorry. WHEN we get out of here” – he corrected himself – “I will have people call me Rob instead.” “Okay, so how do you suggest we escape? We have barely seen this room, and we are tied all the time.” Jesse interrupted him again, he had a tendency to do that and Rob hated being interrupted. However, all the things he considered annoying coming from just about anyone, didn’t seem half as annoying when Jesse did them. It felt oddly comforting to be stuck in this mess with him. Back in August, he assumed being kidnapped would have been better if his cellmate was one of his high school friends, like Kyle or Brad, but lately, it seemed like the stars had aligned for it to be Jesse, as cliché as that might seem. “Hey, I just gave you the most foolproof and amazing escape plan and I think you missed most, if not all of it. You know, I understand you said this lack of concentration or whatever runs in the family, but it’s starting to get old. I kinda need your input here, man.” “Yes, both me and my sister tend to retract into our own bubble more often than people can handle. I can’t wait for you to meet her. So how are we leaving this place and live to tell the tale?” “You know how they take us upstairs, me to write for him and you for the drawings. We’re just gonna have to stab him in the carotid or something! Followed by coming downstairs to get the other one. We will have to do this on a Wednesday, which is when only Corey comes. Maybe one of us will ask to go to the bathroom while the other one is being your sister’s pen pal, and hope he gets sloppy. Meaning that he will leave both of us untied at the same time.” “Let me get this right: your foolproof plan to get our freedom back, rests in the hope of him being sloppy? I know you were being sarcastic about this being foolproof, and that we don’t have anything else, but… I have serious doubts about this. I will have to do the stabbing. You are too weak for that. I was bigger to begin with, and you have been here for forever. I had to get kidnapped to give you hope of leaving this place. I think you are starting to fall in love with Corey and that’s why you never tried to escape before”, he teased. “Don’t dare ever say that again! Don’t even joke about it again! I forbid you!” Being a redhead and having almost albino-white skin, Rob imagined Jesse’s handsome features reddening until his face looked like a tomato, and couldn’t suppress a chuckle, which would probably make Jesse’s rage grow, and his face turn an even deeper shade of red. Rob immediately regretted the bad joke, but it was already out there. Should he apologize? Again, his internal monologue got interrupted. "Describe yourself." "What?" Asked Bobby, half surprised about the random question, the other half not knowing exactly where to start. Jesse continued "it just seems unfair, you know. You got here after I did, and got to see a glimpse of me before you were blindfolded. And I haven't seen you. Before we are killed by this lunatic, I want to see you, even if I am blindfolded while I do so." That was a somber turn for a guy that had just interrupted Rob when he mentioned the possibility of getting killed. "I will be your eyes, then." Bobby started, wishing he could be closer to Jesse and hold his hand, maybe. The agitated rhythm of Jesse's breathing, revealed he was probably thinking of how they would die. And when. He just wished he could comfort and protect who could now be considered his roommate, if you were to use real-life labels. Rob had never fallen in love, but this need to comfort Jesse and protect him with his own life… was this love? Feelings can be dangerous, especially when both your lives depend on a crazy guy’s decisions. Had he fallen for a guy that he had only seen for a second? There was not much to do in the basement other than talk to his cellmate and Jesse was an extraordinary guy. That much he knew. He still didn't know what had landed him there, but then again, he didn't know what he had himself done to deserve this new hermit life. Whatever it was, a part of him thought that in some way, this had been the best that could have happened to him, because out there, in the world, he would have never met Jesse. Was that selfish? Thanking the Universe for reuniting them on that basement? If anything, it felt dark Then his thoughts drifted off to his sister. Alanna was out there, probably going crazy and not working or living, and just trying to find him. She would be better off if he died, because she wouldn't have to worry so much about her little brother. Just about herself. Which is what he had wanted for her and kept asking her to do. But his sister was stubborn as Hell and wouldn’t stop looking for him until she found him either dead or alive. Otherwise, she would dedicate her whole life to finding him and never get closure. "Are you awake? I’m still waiting. You said you'd be my eyes and so far I don't see you. Was that an empty promise?" "I’m here! Sorry. Guess I was daydreaming again. There is not too much to it though. I am 6’-3”, white skin, blue eyes, and very blonde, almost golden hair. Well, it's gotten darker over the years, but mom used to say my hair had to be some leprechaun’s pot of gold at the end of the rainbow" said Bobby, his voice breaking at the thought of his parents and the possibility of not seeing his sister again. “Okay, let’s stab Corey next Wednesday because I cannot take this anymore.”

[dianamanso]

August 17, 2014 - ALANNA

When I went into my bedroom to get the anxiety medication Dr. Price always insisted I took, but didn’t, it took me a few seconds to realize they were looking for something specific. Something in writing. All my notebooks were scattered across the bed and a few pages had been torn, probably out of frustration. Bobby and I always said that I’d write children’s books and he would illustrate them. I had only known he was gone for about ten minutes and I already missed him more than words could explain. Sobbing quietly, I shoved all the notebooks back into the boxes without caring for the organization and walked to the kitchen.

It took me a whole mug of chamomile tea and two of the aforementioned pills, before I had the courage to call my brother’s number. I had to be calm because there was no telling what the low life that took Bobby would do to him, if I pissed him off. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity. No answer. My mind started drifting off towards what this was going to be like. Should I call the police? Should I give in to his demands once they started coming in? If this person wants money in exchange for my brother’s life… maybe I’ll go into prostitution, because there is no way the job at the bookstore will cover the expenses of a ransom. I tilted my head to look out the window and there it was, in our fridge door, held by the turtle-shaped magnet Bobby had made me for my birthday so many years ago. It read “Hope you got my message, Alanna. An old friend.” My heart sank and in an impulse, I ran, faster than I thought possible, back to Ryan’s. I was about to be run over a dozen times and couldn’t say I cared. All I wanted was to see my baby brother, and some sick person has him, God knows where. I saw a note on Ryan’s door when I left that morning, but it wasn’t my door, so I left it alone. Now, I was convinced it was the “message” I was looking for. The choice of location could only mean two things: either someone had followed me all afternoon, or Ryan had something to do with this. As creepy as the possibility of having someone following me was, I preferred that option, rather than knowing I was sleeping with the enemy. The note was signed by “an old friend”, which supported the being followed theory, and probably not just yesterday.

When I finally got back to Ryan’s apartment, the note wasn’t there anymore. Great, now I have to knock on the door and actually ask him for the note. Movie kidnappers don’t seem to like having too much of an audience. Or rather they enjoy the attention but try to hide it.

I could hear Ryan playing guitar and thought the tune sounded familiar, but there was no time to enjoy the music. At least I knew he was home. I debated whether to text him, call, or just knock. I decided for the latter, as I didn’t have any time to waste and neither did Bobby. As soon as the door handle rattled, I yelled: “PLEASE GIVE ME THE NOTE! IT’S FOR ME!” Ryan opened the door with a rather confused look, gestured me to come inside and turned away, headed to the nearest trash can, while saying: “Well, the note made no sense, and had blood, so I threw it away. What makes you think it’s for you?” Can’t say that I blamed him, I would’ve thrown it away too had it not had anything to do with me. Wait… BLOOD? Did he say blood?

Once he came back with the crumpled piece of paper, I yanked it from his hands. Note to self: I really have to work on my people skills. This second note was dirty and had an orange tinge to it. And sadly, I have to say there was blood alright, but not all over it, just on the corner, over one of Bobby’s drawings. It made my heart ache to see the blood OVER his drawing. It certainly affected me more than if the blood had been scattered all over . This note read: “If you ever wanted to ask anyone for anything, what could it be? To have Bobby back? Your parents? What are you willing to sacrifice for it? Let’s play!”

This was much more than I had ever had to handle and this was a game to someone. I now realize that this is the second time Ryan and I see each other and is also his second time seeing me cry. I thought about my anxiety pills and felt I needed a dose. Or a few. When we buried our parents, we had each other to lean on, so I didn’t need anything else to survive this. Now, with Bobby being the one who was gone… it was just too much. I don’t know exactly when it happened, but I noticed I was on the floor, when I saw Ryan looking down at me, as he kneeled to sit on the floor, next to me. He looked concerned. I guess he must have been wondering if he had hooked up with a crazy chick. Let’s just hope he doesn’t think I was the one to put the note there. He couldn’t have known the Bobby on the note was my brother. I never mentioned his name the night before. If Ryan thought I was crazy, he hid it very well. I saw kindness in his green eyes, as he wrapped his strong arms softly around me. I felt powerless and just hid my face in his chest. He must have just showered, because he smelled like one of those Men series of soaps. I have to say it was a good combination and the moment would have been perfect had I not just read a crazy note from a crazy stalker that wanted to play Joker with me. I allowed myself to think about this note while enveloped in Ryan’s protective bubble. Bobby had definitely drawn on that paper. Was he okay? At least he was alive. Or rather, he had been at the time they made him draw. There was blood, which was never a good sign. The note from “my friend” - that detail always got to me - mentioned my parents? Why would he bring them into the equation. This guy seemed to have been following us for a while, if he knew Bobby liked to draw, so he must know mom and dad were long gone now and there was nothing I could do to recover them.

After what felt like an entire lifetime, I noticed Ryan was still hugging me. Even though I had spent the previous night in his arms, this felt much more personal than having him explore every inch of my naked body. He now knew the exact location of my hidden birthmark, and yet, this embrace felt like he cared about what I was going through; as if he was able to understand my pain and was allowing me to process it for as long as I needed, before saying anything. When he finally spoke, it was the perfect timing, and yet, not at all what I was expecting he would say. An "everything will be fine" or an "I'm here for you" would have been normal and perfectly good comments. Instead, he said: "I know you don't want to hear this, but I didn't see you flip the note. If this is for real, which I can see it is, by how upset you are, he wants something from you." Oh, the "demands" portion of a kidnapping: "Gather your father's journals and bring them to the bridge. Don't talk to anyone about this. You have until Tuesday to figure out how much Bobby's life is worth to you." And just like that, the race was on. Here we go.

[dianamanso]

August 16, 2014 - ALANNA

“People suck. And I hate them.” There, I said it. I’d much rather spend my days around animals. All day long. In many ways, they seem to be much more rational than us humans. But this is not the story of why I think people are disappointing. It is rather a story that started with a ransom note. The ending? I still don’t know how it will end.

It started on a hot mid August afternoon. The streets were deserted, everything was still, the leaves up in the trees weren’t rustling, and even the otherwise noisy squirrels were nowhere to be found. There were no kids feeding the ducks at the pond. It could have been described as lifeless, very much like a scene from a post-apocalyptic movie. It was an eerie sight. In retrospect, I should have stayed home. Someone else might have seen it as a sign of what was about to happen, but I had been waiting for this book reading for a while and dismissed all the warnings, crossing the park as if in a hurry, instead of breathing in deeply, taking nature in, like I usually did.

As I walked past the cafe on 57th Street, I saw him, playing guitar inside, strands of his black hair falling over his shut eyes. His voice carried so much emotion, it mesmerized me. I stared into the cafe, unable to move, and before the song was finished, I had walked in and sat at the table closest to him, as if a force stronger than myself had called the shots. I looked around, but he didn’t seem to hypnotize anyone else like he did me. I was only half listening, but there was a deep melancholy to everything he sang. Not that I cared what the content was. I would have followed him to the end of the world, even if had been singing about mass murder. “CAN I TAKE YOUR ORDER?” I wasn’t ready to come back to Earth, but the waitress’ disgruntled voice, brought me back in a rather abrupt manner. “I’m sorry. Nonfat latte, please”, I said distracted, without looking at the waitress, wondering for how long she stood next to me, asking if I wanted to order anything, before losing her patience.

Before I sank back into the music, my cell phone vibrated. It was Bobby, saying he was going to the baseball court, a few blocks from the apartment. “Good for him. Maybe some fresh air would do him some good”, I thought, while smiling. My brother and I had moved here only three weeks ago, so he could go to art school; he truly had a gift. When I was forced to grow up, I gave up on my goals, and decided, he wouldn’t go through the same ordeal. We only had each other, and didn’t know anyone in the neighborhood. The start of the semester was still a week and a half away. I already hated my boss at the bookstore, and Bobby seemed to miss his friends, to the point that he rarely ever talk to me anymore. Had this been a mistake? Should we have stayed back home? Did Bobby question any of my decisions? And more importantly, did he resent me? Would we get back to normal? I shook my doubts away, preventing myself from causing a scene. Last time I cried in public, I vowed never to do it again, and I meant it. Nothing like a few tears to make everyone suggest we go back to therapy, or grief counseling, or something. But no one knew us here. I wouldn’t open the door to find Mrs. Brown standing there, with a casserole in her hands, and a worried frown in her face. I guess that also meant, we wouldn’t be going back to Dr. Price on Tuesdays and Thursdays, at 3:00 p.m. I have to say, that part was a relief. I have never been good at sharing my feelings and let’s face it, having to pay someone to listen to you, really sucks. My friends didn’t know what to say or do, when I started talking about our parents, and I cannot say I blamed them, but it made us drift apart. Facebook updates show me pictures of their offices, their husbands, their babies…

This next song was about his home, I think. Up until that moment, I thought there was no way anyone could describe their childhood house with such detail: the smell of cinnamon and nutmeg coming from the kitchen, while his grandmother baked, and the “he will have to pay for this!” or “I will always love you” coming from the TV she insisted of having on, even if she wasn’t really watching it; the faint smell of cigarette on his mother’s clothing, and the look of despair when she sat in the porch for hours, staring into nothing; the exact color of the sky on the day they took his father away; the perfect row of hyacinths in the garden; and the unpaved road that “I could see through the rearview mirror” with so much detail. I envied that feeling: having a home to want to go back to. The sense of belonging somewhere. Could I remember the house we grew up in, that well? I closed my eyes, trying to remember anything. Slowly, a faint, smoke-like cloud filled my mind’s eyes. For a split second, I saw Mom in the front porch swing, back when we were happy, reading Bobby’s favorite short story, while he climbed on the railing, pretending to be a monkey. He was a cute toddler, his blonde, always messy hair dancing with the wind. Soon, that image was replaced with the fire, flames consuming the possibility of being a happy family, and my childhood memories, all at once. I wiped away a tear, looking around, to see if anyone had seen me. “That is what makes music so powerful. I was singing about leaving home to become a musician, and here you are crying. I am Ryan, can I sit here?”. I nodded slowly, hoping there was a way to gracefully wipe away my tears, and maybe check if my eyes looked normal or a shade of crimson. There was not much I could do, seeing that he had noticed I was crying. He stared at me for a second, before asking: “You okay?” So much for not having people recommending therapy. He’d probably eave now “Here you go. Take my therapist’s card, so you can go see him sometime.” “Y-Yes, I’m okay”, I stammered, trying to compose myself. “I was just trying to remember the house I grew up in, but some bad memories came to mind”, I said, before I had realized I was talking to a complete stranger. This was a breakthrough Mr. Price would have been proud of. When the ransom note came, I thought it was joke. A bad one, but still a joke. If it had come to my door, I would’ve paid much more attention to it. I didn’t make it home until the next day. Things were looking up for me, now to see if Bobby had made any friends. I can make his favorite for breakfast: blueberry pancakes with strawberry sauce. The door was closed, but unlocked and panicking, I called his name over and over, as I ran around the empty apartment. Filled with despair, I immediately knew, the joke was on me. He was not gonna answer my desperate cries, nor my phone calls because somebody had taken him. But who could have done something se despicable? Who did I hurt? And more importantly, what the fuck should I do now? I guess, first of all, see if his kidnapper answers my phone call.