Something I Don't Know

2: kidnapping is not a good way to start a conversation

When I open my eyes, the world is spinning, and spinning fast.

I blink a few times until the room stills itself, but still my heart is pounding, and my head hurts like hell, and goddamn, it's so bright that I can't see. There's no way to know where I am. Am I dead? No, I think; I'm still breathing. Okay, am I about to be dead?

There's something cold, wet, on my forehead. I try to lift my hand to touch it to see if I'm bleeding, but it turns out I can't do much else besides wriggle. I'm strapped to a chair, and worse, there's a gag in my mouth—a rope, specifically, that tastes like dirt and wood. I try to chew through it, but then my tongue burns, and I realize it's been doused in holy water.

Who the hell was that guy, anyway? And how does he know who I am?

After blinking a few more times, my eyes finally adjust. I'm not in a basement, or a garage, or any other weird, creepy place that people get taken to in all the movies. In fact, it's rather...lavish. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and the walls are adorned with elaborate, psychedelic tapestries. There's an oriental rug beneath me, red and black and yellow, and the walls are a calm, subtle beige. In front of me is a massive wooden desk, mostly clear, save for a file organizer and a golden plaque reading Mayor Anik Bhatt.

You'd think the name would clear some things up for me, but the only thing it does is confuse me even more.

Above all, I keep thinking that I should have listened to Midge. If I make it out of this, no doubt she'll tell me, I told you so, and I will let her, because she did, indeed, tell me so.

A door opens behind me. I start wriggling ferociously.

"Whoa, there!" calls a voice I don't recognize, and I go still. "No need to panic, boy—Ryan, did you really have to tie him up?"

There's a murmured reply, and I'm not sure, but I think I hear whoever Ryan is say, "Uh, yes, those were your orders, sir."

"I didn't mean—well, no matter," replies the other guy, exhaustedly, and a moment later he steps around in front of me, and a face I'd only seen on campaign posters and on television now looks straight at me.

He extends a hand. "Mayor Anik Bhatt," he introduces, "but you can just call me Anik."

I glare at him, waiting for him to realize that 1) I cannot shake his hand, because they're literally tied, and 2) I can't reply to him, either, because there's a holy water-doused rope in my mouth.

It takes him a second; he snaps at someone behind me. "Ryan, for the love of God, untie the man."

I catch a glimpse of the scruffy blond hair as Ryan hurries forward to undo my binds. He tears the rope from my mouth without warning, and I gasp, my lips burning. A cough tears from my chest, and I look up at Anik, seething. "What the hell, man?"

Anik exhales and reclines against his desk, a half-smile on his face that would actually be sort of comforting if he hadn't just kidnapped me, gagged me, and tied me to a chair. "I understand your anger, Mr. Meesang. I'm sorry; I just wasn't sure how else to contact you."

I stand up, kicking the chair back. "You could have like, called me! How do you—how do you even know who I am?"

"Ryan, leave us," says Anik, and a moment later, the door clicks shut. Anik waits a moment, as if ensuring we're alone, then opens his hand and gestures towards the chair I have just knocked over. "Why don't you sit, and you and I will talk a little?"

Anik pushes away from his desk, and I'm not sure how I didn't notice it before, but he's a rather tall guy, at least a head taller than me. I watch the grace with which his almost spidery legs move as he tours around his desk and eases himself down in the souped up leather desk chair, tenting his hands.