The bio-dome that was raised to lessen the extreme temperatures of global warming and normalize our weather may be blocking vital energizing sun rays. Where scientists assured us that all necessary light spectrums could filter through the carbon-releasing layer, long-term sleep studies with college students show that we are not getting the same amount of rest. Some are blaming the dome for making children lazy while others point fingers at the technology at our fingertips.

-Tech Zero News

I am awake, lying awkwardly across the backseat. A footprint marked the inside of the curved window. Mud is smeared under my back where I had my feet up before. My hair is messy with static. I hear the beep-beep of the doors unlocking.

I lower the Tech Zero magazine I’d been holding up and turn my head.

He isn’t standing by the car. I glance over to the house and spot him on the second floor, visible behind a wall-length window.

His clothes are casual. Charcoal jeans and a long-sleeve green cotton shirt that fit him well. He turns smoothy and descends an invisible flight of stairs until he moves out of sight. I almost miss the previous leather ensenble.

A minute draggs by. I wonder if I should play his game. Then I reach forward and pull the latch to pop the car door. I sit up and steady myself, placing my feet against the clear plexiglass landing pad.

I look down, tracing the visible wiring under the surface, so different from the usual jutting metal platforms with wires wrapped underneath.

I carefully watch the placement of my shoes as I see the city below, like the highs and lows of a music chart. Before my mind can spin away from me with vertigo I raise my head. I've made it to the door and my eyes lock onto the video panel used for greeting guests.

The house number 1554 is engraved on the top. I tap my wrist phone and copy the number into a notepad for later. The message backs itslef up to a server as the network connects, but I haven't decided whether to call the police.

The authorities might not believe my story, which starts to feel more like a lover's quarrel than a kidnapping. At best we could both be arrested for possession of drugs, and at worst he could bribe his way out.

I become aware of a buzzing sound coming from the solid paneled door. My initial thought is that the wiring is messed up, before I mentally kick myself for my stupidity and yank open the curved brass door handle.

The space inside is white and large enough that it could be a ballroom. The ceiling, raised two floors high, echoed with the swing of the door. My host is seated further into the room at a tabletop made from a sliced piece of tree trunk. Clay plates molded as leaves are topped with hash browns and bacon. The smell reminds me of sunny balconies. He holds an antique flip phone that he must have used to buzz the door.

Behind him to the left is a spiral staircase reminiscent of a waterfall with thick sea-green glass steps and a spindly copper railing connected to the second floor. Beyond a doorway-like opening in the wall to my left, I spot the corner of a leather couch and can imagine a wall length television.

I suppose that it makes sense for a rich guy to want to bring back a bit of nature. He pockets the phone and leans back as I approached.

"There you are. Did you enjoy the camping trip?" 

"I think that I permanently cramped my back," I complain, grabbing hold of the top of my metal chair. I dragged it out with a screech to sit down, daring him to keep his facade. His calm expression doesn’t flinch.

"You can't complain about the view though, unless...you aren't afraid of heights are you?"

Irritated, I look at him dully. It was one thing to choose to sleep in a car and another to be subjected to a cramped and stale space.

But…my eyes flicke toward a jug of orange juice that blocked half his face. I decid he isn’t worth it and look closer at the food on my plate. The bacon is lightly crisped, instead of the molten black bits I’m used to and the hash browns smell of butter and are sprinkled with pepper instead of salted dried lumps.

I chance a glance up. In the lighting, I can describe his eyes as grey-blue.

"You cook?" I am lazy in my ways, but my parents have accustomed me to good food even as they ate garbage reheated meals.

"Can't you tell?" he said.

He lifted the jug of orange juice and filled my empty glass.

"Here I thought I was going to be forced to demand a refund," I say. 

"Why?" He set the jug down easily.

"I can't stand the salt in instant food. It gives me migraines."

"That's ridiculous."

"Like you would know. All you eat is prime steak."

He chuckles before sipping his own cup of juice. Fork in hand I stab into the pile of hash browns.

"Do you always sound like a critic?" my captor intoned.

As I chew slowly I shrug my response. The food tastes honestly good. Maybe I should have taken a picture and Instagrammed about it. I swallow. My kidnapper is quiet and I raise my head to see that he hasn't touched his food.

I look at his stirring storm-coloured eyes. This queasy feeling builds in my stomach as my captor calmly pushes his plate over to replace my half-finished meal.

He smiles, a silently amused and devious expression as he observes the contained panic behind my eyes. Then he picks up his fork, spears a single potato cube, puts it in his mouth, and swallows.

"Cliché much," he mocks my fears.

He got me, I think

...with my own sordid humor.

"No." I say, to avoid the awkwardness. I look at the full plate but am no longer hungry.

I glance at the opening into the living room in search of windows and avoid contact. You could probably see the parked car from there. Thinking about that...

"Why do you keep wine in your car?"