Why me?

There was no use in kidnapping. My parents and other family members were not rich or influential to demand a ransom for my release. What for had they created that multistage and multilayered scheme? Just to drive me crazy, and that was it? They might have spent so much money hiring people, implementing special effects and, eventually, using drugs to convince me; and they had been performing it for not one day or a weak but for two damned years! Possibly I was experimented on, like a rat, and due to this obtained luminous powers. I looked at my palms and long fingers. They seemed pretty normal, except for scratches and some mud I was not able to get rid of. No pain, no light, nothing suspicious.

Maybe I’m having some kind of hallucination again?

I had lots of swarming ideas on my head, but none of them seemed sane enough to explain the way things were going. I felt sick being trapped in the merry go round of assumptions.

In movies the unfortunate characters were usually caught because they had used or kept the phones or paid by credit cards. I should get out of Max’s stuff, for mine was left in the car. Come on…When anybody finds it, they will definitely find Max sooner or later, and think it was me who had injured him or killed! Though, he could be pretty fine and ready to catch me any moment. One more thought bothered me – how did he manage to paralyze me? I didn’t even feel the injection. Did he put something in my food when we were at the restaurant table? I clenched my fists and shook my head. No time for this crap!

I found a dark cranny between office buildings. There was no light from the windows and the houses resembled square monolithic boxes. Blondie was right; I was surrounded by lifeless boxes. Ironically, I sat on an empty wooden box and started inspecting the backpack, to my great surprise, I fished up enough cash to buy a plane ticket and stay at a luxury hotel somewhere with some sunshine. Sneaky little bastard was rich. Oh, God, how I missed old Max, the Max I used to know: funny, tender, helping, cheeky. I missed his comforting fond smile and encouraging words, our walks or quite evenings on the couch watching TV. I remembered those jovial moments when he unsuccessfully tried to teach me how to play JRPJ games on his computer or when we argued about the best ending for a movie. All was gone.

“What if I really killed him?” A torturing thought flashed in my head like a sinister lightning, and I moaned as if I was in pain. The realization that I might have taken his life even for my selfdefence was terrible. I rubbed my temples.

But if he is alive and finds me, he will not be so nice and confess his sins to obtain my forgiveness to start a decent life from scratch. The guy spent two years pretending to be my friend that entire time, making me gradually fall in love with him just to fulfill someone’s order.

When I was desperately searching for anybody familiar during the daytime, I came across a place I’ve never seen before. A small family hotel stood squeezed between two modern buildings with screaming neon lights and cheesy banners. I would never notice its modest looking door if not a beautiful brass lion head with a glossy ring in his mouth.

I took all rolls of money and put them in my hoodie pockets. The rest of his stuff was useless. I tore his, probably, fake driving license and smashed his phone against the ground. On my way to the hotel, I threw the remaining items, pieces, and the backpack in different dustbins.

I need to lay low for a while and think this through. But out of all of them, I need some sleep.

I noticed no other door handle. The lion head was not a decoration or a doorbell variation, so I pulled a ring to open it. The hall was murk and unwelcoming. At the reception desk was a girl with a high pony tail. When I came closer, I saw a septum nose ring and a small rose tattoo on her neck. She was busy texting and paid no attention to my humble presence.

“Hello,” I said meekly. Evidently, she didn’t expect any guests.

“Can you let me have a room for a few days?”

“Certainly. What kind of room would you like?” She tried to put a mask of professionalism on her foxy face.

“It doesn’t matter. Just room for one,” I slightly wriggled my shoulders.

The girl looked at me askance.

“Do I have to pay by credit card?”

“No, you need not pay by card. You could pay in cash if you want. I shall sign you in presently. I need your passport for registration, please.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve changed my mind. I would rather find another hotel.”

I am not going to leave my personal data in case anybody tries to find me. I’ve seen a horrible motel not far from here. Maybe they won’t ask me to show my passport and simply take my money.

“You know what? Take this room. Here is your key!” She put a hotel key card on the reception desk.

I didn’t believe what she just said to me.

“How much?” I found my voice quickly.

You got to get it while you can!

“Nothing. You can stay as long as you want or ready to talk to me or anybody else.”

"You might have problems with your managers or bosses,” I reasoned.

She glanced at me again but this time with pity:

“Toxic relationships?”

“Kind of...” She was not entirely wrong.

Accidentally I had a look at a big full-length mirror and gulped. Apparently, she took me for a battered girlfriend on the run. My chin was rubbed raw; the left cheek, elbows, and knees were adorned with mud. And as the icing on the cake: tiny twigs and leaves in my disheveled hair.

Oh. Holy. Hare. No wonder she looked at me that way. Anybody would!

“Don’t worry. My parents are the owners of this dump. They are at their friends’ baby shower or gender reveal party or something with a flower garden of happily unstabled, hugging ladies,” she rolled her eyes. “I was lucky to stay away from this panopticon even if it means my staying here. My folks are the most accepting people; they won’t mind, I promise. We don’t use this room: it needs renovations, and there is no conditioner. But it’s clean and quite,” she assured me with a bright smile.

She stood up to show me the way to my room. The owners’ daughter looked sassy in her high waist jeans and a crop top revealing her impressive sixpacks. Walking upstairs, she was talking nonstop about different optimistic things maybe to cheer me up, as for me, I was thanking her for the hundredth time. We stopped at the dull door. She was tampering with a plastic key that didn’t work. When the door was opened at last, she glanced at me over the shoulder:

“The ointment for your chin is on a bathroom shelf. If you need anything, you know where to find me. We girls must back each other up,” she said it, winking. I turned my eyes to the linoleum floor and nodded.

The decor was typical for a cheap hotel room: one bed with a pale bedspread on it, a wicker chair, an old “fat” TV set on the wall, but a huge farmhouse dining table in the very middle. The family probably put it temporarily. The first thing I did when the girl left: checked the windows. Thanks to the girl’s parents prudence the windows had bars and quite sound; then I perused a small bathroom with cracked square tiles: No one, so far.

Not without efforts, I moved the table to the door making too much noise. That furniture rearrangement won’t help me if anybody decides to break into. And it was only just last night when I failed mentioning two adults creeping into my apartment.

It’s hard to believe it was only last night!

Lying on the right side and watching the door, I was not sure whether I was dreaming or awake. Shivering from time to time like in fever, I have no stamina to go downstairs and ask the girl for some painkillers or one more blanket. I was afraid of closing my eyes. Every time I did it, I would start and gaze at the door again.

I didn’t even realize I had already fallen asleep. In my dream I saw Zarya. She was sitting on soft minty-green grass in the middle of nowhere. We were surrounded by endless fields. The grass would bow down to the tepid gusts. She was very beautiful in her yellow dress. The wind was tearing her curls that were falling across her face or lifting high above her head. She seemed like a weightless sprite in her flying, light garment. As if under a spell I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

A flash.

We were fighting: her countenance was grave; she was screaming at me. Zarya was telling me something trembling with anger, but I couldn’t hear the word. She was opening her mouth like in a silent movie.

A flash and a pleasant cool darkness again, yet the luscious smell of grass and marigold’s body mixed together and still lingered in the air.

Have you ever had an odd feeling that you are still at home waking up in a hotel- or guest-room, or maybe on a cot in a hospital wand? With your eyes closed, you begin to understand slowly while your brain is resisting a sticky dream that, in fact, the pillow is too big, and the mattress is too hard, and the smell of the room is different, and the sun can’t shine into your eyes, for the window in your bedroom is behind your bed. When you open your eyes, hits the realization of where you are now.

I found myself on a king size bed under a soft duvet embroidered with monstrously huge roses. I rubbed my eyes in disbelieve.

Great! I was kidnapped after all!

I was not alone in the room. On the bed knob was my old friend from the park. I know, they all look the same, but it is nice to imagine I have something constant in my chimerical life:

“We are not in Kansas anymore, right rat?”

I felt I was watched by someone: two astounded and nosy young faces were looking at me through the darkness of a big threshold.