by Emme Rollins
Cut screen to Adeline Frost in her home, nicely tucked in an armchair.
REPORTER: Adeline Frost, how are you today?
ADELINE: I’m fine. I’m surviving.
REPORTER: You have been paralyzed from the neck down since your high school graduation, haven’t you?
ADELINE: (her eyes shining as she gazes into the camera) That is correct.
REPORTER: Was Kurt Taylor your high school sweetheart?
ADELINE: (pauses) Yes.
REPORTER: Are you still together?
ADELINE: No, we broke up.
REPORTER: When was this?
ADELINE: Soon right after my accident.
REPORTER: (shocked) He left you because you were paralyzed?
ADELINE: Oh no. It wasn’t like that. We were going different paths anyway. It wouldn’t have worked out.
REPORTER: How do you feel about him getting on with Rebecca Hall? She was your best friend in high school, was she not?
ADELINE: Yes, she was. I’m totally fine with it.
(She looks into the camera. Tears visibly spool from her eyes.)
I just wish . . . I wish things could have different. I wish I wasn’t involved in that accident. Then who knows what different paths we may have taken? Kurt might not ever have gone for the audition and he would never have been a rock star today.
REPORTER: Do you harbor resentment towards Kurt Taylor and Rebecca Hall? I mean . . . it’s obvious they are young and rich and in love and whole.
ADELINE: (looks away) Please . . . I don’t want to talk anymore. I don’t resent the two of them being together. They have gotten on with their lives and I obviously . . . am finding it more difficult to get on with mine.
(holds up hand to ward off the camera)
I don’t want to do this anymore.
*
NEWSCASTER: There has been some public backlash against Kurt Taylor after Adeline Frost’s interview. Some people have taken to Twitter to call for a boycott of donations to Kurt Taylor’s ransom fund.
Cut scene to a student protesting outside Times Square, New York. He is holding up a sign that says: ‘DIE, KURT TAYLOR, DIE!’ With him are other young people holding up placards with ‘KURT TAYLOR IS NO SAINT’ and ‘KURT TAYLOR HATES CRIPPLES!’ sentiments.
REPORTER: We are speaking here to Finnick Corrigan. Finnick, you are a fan of Red Velvet, are you not?
FINNICK: Correction: I was a fan of Red Velvet when Atticus Ford was lead singer. They had to replace who was irreplaceable with that upstart, no-good, no-talent wannabe.
(bares teeth into camera)
Kurt Taylor, are you listening? I’m not going to give one red cent to your ransom fee. You should get your fingers chopped off one by one, you no-good son of a bitch. I always knew you were no good, and now your ex-girlfriend just confirmed it. You left her, a cripple, when she needed you most. What sort of man does that, huh?
REPORTER: (speaking to the camera) There are also anti-Kurt Taylor fan clubs spreading all over the Internet, including factions who don’t think we should be pandering to the demands of kidnappers, lest it should set a precedent. What do you think of those, Finnick? I understand you are the webhost of one such online club.
FINNICK: You bet I am. I have always been against Kurt Taylor. I ‘hated’ on all his YouTube videos. I left ‘hate’ comments all over his official websites. And you know what? I was right all along. Kurt Taylor deserves not our pity, but our contempt.
*
“Oh shit,” I say.
“At least I found out who one of my haters is,” Kurt says, a little sadly.
“Do you think that will affect us?”
“I don’t know. I really don’t know.” He favors me with a grim look.
“At least we know Adeline is OK with it,” I say, even though I know it isn’t what I think.
Truth be told, the spectacle of Adeline going on TV unsettled me. She was clearly still fighting her demons, and she is so not OK with us being able to walk and use our hands and leaving her behind for a whole new different life.
“Yeah,” Kurt says uneasily, “she seems to be OK with us.”
REBECCA
On the fifth day, Jai and Faora throw a party to which we are even invited. Or perhaps we are the main event, as we are to find out.
The whole pirates’ enclave or smugglers’ den have come to the island, it seems. OK, there aren’t that many of them anyway, but there is still a sizeable crowd of about fifty on the beach, and they have brought their women along. They brought beer and all sorts of booze. And drugs. Coke, E, Special K, Weed. Everything is available . . . and there’s not even a price.
Screw that. There was a price. The pirates are celebrating being forty million dollars richer. They have already withdrawn the money from the paying account and sequestered large sums all over the world in private bank accounts from Switzerland to Singapore.
For the occasion, Faora can certainly afford to buy us new clothes. And so she did, from the mainland, wherever it is.
I look at myself critically in the mirror.
I am in a green Grecian goddess gown with one shoulder left bare. The dress itself is worked with glittering embellishments. Secured on the strap is a golden clasp. I have done my red hair up in piles of softly cascading curls, and I daresay I look nicer than my usual self.
Kurt seems to think so too.
He stands behind me in the mirror, his hands on my shoulders. He is very handsome himself in a tight black tee and black jeans. His hair has been washed and combed. He is clean-shaven and he smells of eau d’ toilette.
The situation is almost deceptively ‘normal’.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs.
I sigh. “Just five more days of this, then tell me we’ll be out of here.”
“We’ll out of here.”
“What’s today’s tally?”
“It’s eight o’ clock at night, and the tally stands at $48 million,” he says darkly. “We’re running behind today.”
“And yet we’re going to a party.”
“We may as well party like it’s our last. Ooops, I’m not supposed to scare you.”
“I’m plenty scared already.”
The door opens without preamble. The thump-thump-thump of music immediately becomes much louder. Thank goodness we are decently dressed.
One of our captors jerks his head. “Come.”
Do we have a choice?
For once, no one manhandles us – at least not yet. We are not treated like visiting royalty either. The house is filled with drunken, dancing people – all in various states of revelry and drug-induced stupor. Some are getting undressed. Some are in the midst of getting fellated in not-so-dark corners. Some are getting fucked on sofas, armchairs, surfaces. The air is punctuated with groans and moans and sighs amid the not-exactly-fuck-me music.
Jai comes up to greet us. He is clearly inebriated.
Doesn’t touch the drugs he peddles, I think. Only alcohol. Smart man.
“Welcome, thrice welcome to our humble party in your honor,” he says. “Come. Sit. Have a drink on us. You’re going nowhere.”
Sure, rub it in.
Someone has set up bar in a corner and I now go to it. A bartender is there and he grins at me as I saunter up.
“One margarita, please.”
“We don’t have margaritas.”
“Then give me a vodka on ice.”
“One vodka coming up. Neat.” He smiles at me again, showing white teeth. Like I said, the situation is almost normal.
Faora sails in, drink in her hand. From the color of it, it looks like bourbon. She makes a beeline for Kurt.
She grabs him by the T-shirt collar.
“Come,” she says, “dance with me.”
“Uh, no thanks.”
“You would refuse your host?” She arches her eyebrows.
Kurt looks at me and shrugs as if to say ‘Better get into her good books’. I agree. As long as it is just dancing and none
of what is going on around us.
They start dancing, and I lean against the bar to watch. Kurt is an amazing dancer, of course, but I already knew that. He is stage trained and he rehearses like mad with his choreographer to get all his moves perfectly synchronized with all his back-up dancers. Now that I have more insight into Kurt, I really admire how hard he works and how much effort he puts into everything. If only his haters could see and experience that.
Faora isn’t a bad dancer herself. I put her age to be about thirty-seven or thirty-eight, and it is clear that a natural rhythm flows in her genes. She is not dressed in her usual caftan today, but a sexy strapless red gown which shows off her curves to full effect.
I must admit she looks fabulous.
She is also all over him. She is clinging to his back, his waist, and then her hand slips down to his buttocks in his tight jeans to cup them firmly.
Hey.
Kurt immediately reaches down for her hands to bring them up to his waist again.
Jai comes over to the bar beside me.
“Enjoying yourself?” he says in his slow, lilting voice.
“Maybe your sister is,” I jibe back.
He glances at Kurt and Faora. Faora is trying hard again. Her hands are all over Kurt’s waist, caressing his flesh under shirt. She bunches his T-shirt and pulls it out of the waistband of his jeans.
“Can you blame her?” Jai says. “She has been a fan of his for the better part of four years now. He is a very attractive man.”
“Whom you are trying to maim, so cut it out, OK?”
He stares at me, and then laughs heartily.
“Your fire is back, cara. You were so silent in the beginning that I was wondering if the cat had stolen your tongue. You redheads are known for your fire, no? Perhaps the thought of your impending freedom has made you bold. But do not count your chickens so soon, as they say it.”
“What do you mean?” I say, a frisson of fear suddenly blossoming within me. The thing I’m most afraid of is that these people would renege on their deal. They are cutthroats and pirates after all.
He leers at me. He smells of whiskey. His face is very close to mine. I cringe.
“Exactly what I mean, cara. It is now eleven o’ clock. You have not met your target today, no?”
I knew exactly what it was half an hour ago.
“Not yet,” I say.
“It now stands at $49 million.”
“We will meet the target by midnight.” I sound more confident than I feel.
“We will see about that. We will see. The last forty-eight hours has been slower than usual, no? Perhaps your boyfriend has received too much negative publicity of late, or perhaps people are just tiring of him.”
“That’s not true.” My cheeks burn.
But deep down inside, I’m afraid it is. Perhaps it’s a combination of all things. The ‘countdown’ is no longer ‘new’ news. After the big injection of cash from the music industry, the regular folks have begun to be complacent. The negative onslaught of press of late is worrying, of course. Maybe fans are beginning to think that Kurt is not all goody-two-shoes.
But no one is perfect!
They just aren’t!
It doesn’t mean they deserve to get a digit mutilated!
Out on the dance floor, Faora is trying to grope Kurt again, and he is trying to wriggle out of her grasp. I make to go to them, but Jai restrains me gently.
“He’s a big boy. Let him decide what he wants to do.”
I can only hang back, gripping my shot glass so hard that it is almost at breaking point. Kurt seems to be having an argument with Faora. I can’t hear what they are saying from here – the music is too loud – but Faora’s eyes are flashing dangerously. It ends with Kurt stalking off towards me.
“Kurt!” I rush to him. “Are you all right?”
“So far.”
“What did she want?” I say in a low voice.
“What do you think?” He glances back at Faora uneasily.
Faora wears an annoyed look. In fact, it is more than annoyed. It is one bordering on barely contained fury. I recognize that look. It is of a woman scorned betwixt with jealousy, especially when he immediately comes over to me – his girlfriend.
Uh oh.
Jai checks his cellphone. “It’s less than half an one hour to midnight.”
Faora says, “Then we should give the world a lesson in our ways of justice.”
Jai jerks his head at two of his men.
“Seize him.”
KURT
They haul me back into the room. I am putting up a lot of kicking and biting, but one of the Jokers clips me rather harshly on the side of my head. The room spins a little and I wobble on my feet, but they hold me upright.
Then they seat me on a chair in front of the table. On a tripod before the table, the camera’s seeing eye captures everything. On a side table to my right, a laptop screen shows the ticker tally: $49.5 million.
My heart is drumming in my ears, and I’m aware that they are NOT KIDDING and people like these would do anything to get their way, whether or not I’m famous or a national treasure or both. Jai comes in and closes the door. He wears a President Nixon mask. In his hand is a carving knife.
Outside, I can hear Rebecca screaming as she is being restrained.
“Place his hand on the table and hold it down,” Jai commands.
The door opens and Faora steps in with Rebecca, struggling in the grasp of two other men with Joker masks.
“Don’t hurt her!” I say immediately.
They forcibly straighten out my left arm and place my hand on the table. I bunch my left fist. My gut feels like it’s in freefall.
“Do that and I will chop your entire hand off instead of just your little finger,” Jai warns.
“No,” Rebecca is pleading. Tears are falling down her cheeks. “Please . . . don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t . . . don’t hurt him.”
Beside her, Faora is smiling vindictively. She is enjoying putting me through this, I can tell. And all because I refused her indecent advances.
“No, Rebecca. Don’t listen to her, she’s not making any sense. Please . . . I can call my accountant. He will find you your one million dollars. I can call someone.” I’m babbling, I know, but I’m so scared that my bladder feels as though it’s going to release all its contents at any moment.
Jai looms beside my table, cleaver raised.
“Straighten out your fingers, or I’ll cut your hand off at the wrist,” he says casually.
I blink back hot tears. I am aware the camera is capturing this entire scene. I force my own fingers to unclench themselves.
The ticker starts to move:
$49.6 million.
“It’s not even midnight yet,” I say. My throat feels very sore with my ragged breathing.
“But it’s very close.”
So he’s going to wait till the exact moment, like Cinderella?
“Only fifteen minutes to go.” Jai smiles.
I’m sweating bullets. Rebecca goes limp in the grip. She’s crying openly now.
“Please,” she keeps saying. “Please don’t hurt him.”
I force my vocal chords to work. “So tell me . . . that guy I found on the cliff. Did you kill him?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you did.”
“Then you thought right.”
“Just who was he anyway?” I suddenly wanted to desperately know the name of the man whose clothes and belongings I raided.
“He was an American, like you. And his family didn’t pay up in time either, so we put a knife through his neck and left him up there for the birds to pick clean.”
This ghastly thought imprints itself into my head like a mental scream.
“But you – ” Jai grins. “No one has ever done anything like this before . . . until you came along.”
“It’s almost midnight,” Faora interjects. She makes sure her uncovered
visage is off camera.
Uh thanks.
The ticker shows $49.8 million.
Oh shit shit shit. My blood has suddenly run very cold.
Jai grabs my wrist on the table where my four quivering fingers are splayed in a fan. All my limbs are now paralyzed, and I no longer have any feeling in my hands.
Jai produces a piece of rag. He proceeds to tie this around my left forearm very tightly in a makeshift tourniquet.
The clock on the laptop monitor inches towards midnight.
The ticker shows $49.9 million.
Rebecca screams.
Jai raises the cleaver.
“What if you cut off my fourth finger as well?” I ask in a hoarse voice.
“Don’t worry. I’m a good knife man.”
Just then, the sound of shattering window shutters booms in the room. Shards of wood rain on me from behind. I half turn, as do my captors. A black clad figure materializes in the room. It immediately aims some sort of gun at Jai and pulls the trigger. A noiseless projectile strikes Jai’s upraised arm. The cleaver falls.
“No!” I scream and pull my hand away in time as the cleaver’s blade falls onto the table and embeds itself into the wood.
Two other black clad figures burst into the room through the door and aim guns at Faora and her men. They immediately raise their arms in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Let her go,” says one of the figures. He has a man’s stentorian voice. His face is hard-planed and serious.
The men release Rebecca. She falls to the floor in an almost faint.
“You all right, Ms Hall?” The man says, kneeling by her, concerned.
Now that I am no longer held back, my limbs unfreeze themselves and I rush to Rebecca’s side. I pick her limp body up and cradle her in my arms.
“Rebecca?” I say urgently.
Her eyes flutter open and she smiles up at me.
“Is it all over?” she whispers.
“I think so.” I look up in wonder at the man who spoke. He clearly is the leader of the operation here. “Who are you?”
“We are Navy SEALs, commissioned by the CIA to rescue you and Ms. Hall. I’m Jared and this is my team.”