by Nancy Madore
“If she had the mother-fucker with her, it would have been forced out by the incantation,” Clive was saying. “And anyway, there wasn’t an ounce of metal on her.” He seemed exasperated. He picked up one of the masks that was lying on a nearby table and sat down. Sulkily he played with the mask while the other two continued their conversation.
“That doesn’t mean she doesn’t have it,” Will pointed out. “It could be hidden anywhere.”
“I just don’t think she’s involved,” said Gordon.
“She’s involved,” insisted Will. “We just have to figure out how.”
“I mean I don’t think she knows how she’s involved,” Gordon clarified.
“All the more reason to keep her talking,” said Will.
“She’s already filled in some of the blanks,” Gordon remarked optimistically. “And she seems to be telling the truth.” It occurred to Nadia that Gordon might make a good ally.
“I’ll grant she’s got one hell of a poker face if she’s lying,” conceded Will. “Although it wouldn’t be hard for someone like her to pull off this kind of bluff.”
This made Clive smile—a sly, mischievous kind of smile—and as he listened to Will and Gordon he began humming a tune under his breath while absently tapping the mask on his leg. It was different from the song he was humming the day before. It was more popular, a song she’d heard many times, though Nadia still couldn’t quite place it. She tried to focus on what Gordon and Will were saying.
“I don’t know,” said Gordon. “I still think we should pass her on. We might be a little out of our league here.”
“I’ve already made the call,” said Will. “But before we give her to those goons I want to make sure there’s not a djinn hiding behind her skirts.”
“Whoa, ohohoh, whoa, oh-oh-oh-ah,” Clive kept quietly singing. Nadia had to strain to hear him. He put on the mask and got up, moving his body to the tune that was, so far, mostly just in his head.
“Yeah, I guess,” Gordon agreed. He jumped when he caught sight of Clive dancing toward him with the mask on, but then burst into laughter.
Encouraged, Clive sang a little louder. “Pa pa pa poker face, pa pa poker face.” His voice was surprisingly suited to the Lady Gaga classic; a low, baritone with a slight twang. Nadia couldn’t help noticing, too, that he was a very good dancer. Gordon kept watching Clive, amused, while Will looked on disapprovingly. “Whoa, ohohoh, whoa, ohohoah. I’ll get her hot…show her what I got!” Clive pumped his hips and flipped his head from side to side—much like Lady Gaga herself might have done.
Suddenly Gordon joined in for the chorus, moving his body as if to dance, but unlike Clive, his moves were completely out of tune with the song. His singing voice was a soft falsetto, though he, too, kept it very quiet. “Can’t read my, can’t read my…no, he can’t read my poker face,” they sang. “Mum mum mah, mum mum mah. Can’t read my, can’t read my…”
To Nadia’s utter disbelief, Will, who looked as if he was about to reprimand Clive and Gordon at any moment, actually joined in, moving his body in perfect harmony with the song. Yet his expression remained as stern as ever. There wasn’t so much as a hint of a smile on his face.
At this point a single burst of spontaneous laughter escaped Nadia’s lips, shocking her as much as it did them. She immediately suppressed the outburst, but they had already caught her spying on them from the doorway. Nadia just stared at them—and they at her—for a long moment. It was particularly unsettling to observe such carefree, spontaneous fun from men who were in all likelihood either felons or crazy. Nadia wasn’t sure how to handle the awkward moment, and neither, apparently, were they. An awkward silence ensued, during which Nadia decided to use their momentary discomfiture to her advantage.
“I want a toothbrush and a shower,” she said. “A private shower, without the camera.”
Will recovered first. “We can’t risk letting you out of our sight,” he said, clearly indignant at getting caught goofing off.
A control freak, thought Nadia. “Baloney!” was what she said. “If you want my continued cooperation, you’ll have to respect my limits, and I definitely draw the line at providing cheap thrills to perverts.”
Will’s face actually went white, and he looked as if he was about to choke on his outrage.
“You didn’t even know that I had gotten out of bed,” she added meekly, thinking she should probably try not to provoke him too much if it could be helped.
“That’s not the point,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “The purpose of the camera is to keep you from doing something stupid because you won’t know if we’re watching or not.”
Nadia couldn’t help noticing how defensive he’d become and she added this to her growing list of observations for possible use later. Always has to be right. Can’t take criticism.
“What is it exactly that you think I’m going to do?” she asked. “Do you think I’m going to chew through this chain while I’m in there and then claw my way through the wall?”
“We can’t keep treating her like one of them,” Gordon objected, and Nadia turned to him hopefully, thinking that he definitely would make a good ally. “She’d have nothing to gain by killing herself,” he added with a shrug.
“What would anyone have to gain by killing themselves?” Nadia wondered out loud.
“All right,” said Will, throwing up his hands. “You have fifteen minutes, not a minute more, got it?”
She nodded. Will turned his withering look on Gordon and Nadia smiled inwardly. Surely Gordon was getting as tired of Will’s high-handed manner as she was.
“I’ll ah, also need something to wear,” she said, determined to strike while the iron was hot. Will turned the withering look back on her but she stood her ground. “I’ve been stuffed in a garbage can, dumped on the ground…”
“Gordon…” Will interrupted.
“I’ll get her something,” he replied, scurrying off before Nadia could thank him.
The awkward silence returned while they waited for Gordon get the clothes. Although she managed to keep the smugness out of her expression (lest the tyrant change his mind), Nadia couldn’t refrain from meeting his icy stare with one of her own. His eyes seemed to widen the tiniest bit, perhaps in mild surprise or it could have been amusement. But in the next instant his expression went back to normal, and the grim, determined mask returned.
Nadia was relieved when Gordon finally got back with the toothbrush and clean clothes.
“Thank you,” she said meaningfully. Gordon followed her into the bedroom and began removing the video camera.
“I really appreciate all the little courtesies you’ve tried to show me while I…” Nadia paused, searching for the right words. While I’ve been held hostage and nearly killed by you and two of your accomplices seemed a bit antagonistic. “Well…you know,” she said, leaving the statement unfinished. “I just want you to know that I will make sure that the police or…whoever, knows that you were the one who helped me.” As she stumbled over the words Nadia was painfully aware of how idiotic they sounded. She was normally so good at convincing people of things, but in this case she seemed to be making things worse. Gordon acted as if he didn’t even hear her as he silently finished unscrewing the bolts that held the camera in place. It wasn’t until he had climbed down from the chair and was preparing to leave that he addressed her. There was an odd expression on his face; he didn’t seem quite amused but neither was he entirely serious either. When he spoke, he reverted to the thick, Indian accent he’d used the night before.
“It is just as the wise one says,” he told her in a gently mocking tone. “‘Those who live in the river should make friends with the crocodile.’” She narrowed her eyes at his courteous smile, unsure if he was trying to lighten the moment with a joke or flat out calling her an idiot.
“Well, thanks for removing the camera anyway,” she said with a little sigh of frustration.
“You’re veddy welcome,” he said, still
using the accent. “And now, if you will permit me…?” He took out a key and pointed to her ankle. With a little gasp of joy Nadia gave him her leg. He knelt down and unlatched the shackle that connected the chain to her leg. Her ankle was scraped and bruised where the shackle had been rubbing against it. Gordon stood up.
“The door to the bathroom is missing I’m afraid. But I will close your bedroom door and we will stay in the kitchen until you’re finished.” Nadia didn’t care where they stayed—provided it was on the other side of her bedroom door. She felt strangely happy to get the chain off her leg. But she couldn’t help musing what a strange character Gordon was. The Indian accent had a most peculiar effect. It was an unexpected and even startling characteristic for a kidnapper to have. It left one reluctant to tremble in fear. Nadia tried to imagine him saying the worst thing imaginable, with the accent: ‘I’m going to kill you now.’ She shook her head. It simply didn’t fit. And yet, surely people with Indian accents were just as capable of murder as anyone else.
Nadia was suddenly bewildered by her thoughts. Here she was, a prisoner in a strange country, forced to tell stories to her captives in order to stay alive—or at the very least to keep her from being passed on to ‘the goons,’ whoever they were. It was like she was trapped in some kind of fairy tale herself; a bizarre, more complex remake of Aladdin’s Arabian Nights. Like the resourceful wife of the morbidly jealous King Shahryar, Nadia would have to divert her captors for as long as possible in order to survive. Yet, as strange and terrifying as it all was, she couldn’t get over how relatively calm she felt, considering. She woke up chained to a post in the middle of the floor for goodness sake! But it was difficult to sustain a healthy degree of terror when her terrorists were so…Nadia tried to think of the best word to describe them, and was even more confounded when the word ‘intriguing’ came to mind. Yet—putting aside the chain, the duct tape and the chloroform—there was no denying that the men seemed lucid, intelligent and even genuinely concerned (in an extreme, conspiracy driven kind of way). There was something appealing about them. Under any other circumstances, they all might have been friends.
Nadia shook her head more violently this time, as if to shake some sense into it. What was she thinking? She always prided herself on her levelheadedness. Where was that good judgment now that she needed it most? Had the kidnapping traumatized her so much? When it came right down to it was she going to succumb to being a victim and just allow herself to fall prey to one of the many syndromes out there, like the one that afflicted Patty Hearst? Was Nadia just another poor-little-rich girl who was so weak and impressionable that she was already identifying with her kidnappers after only one day? How long before she donned the mask and went out terrorizing others in search of these imaginary djinn?
Nadia tried not to enjoy the feel of the warm water on her skin, focusing instead on the fact that it was stinging her ankle where the shackle had rubbed it raw. She reminded herself that her prospects of being rescued were slim. It was Saturday morning—or thereabouts—and there wasn’t a soul in the world who knew she was missing. She should be frantically seeking ways to escape, not laughing at their antics. But without even knowing where she was, how could she orchestrate a proper escape? Her only hope at the moment was to somehow convince her captors to set her free. She considered how she might do this. They were looking for a djinn. Could she produce one? She was pretty sure that she couldn’t, but on second thought, it probably wouldn’t help her if she could. The only reason she was alive was because they hadn’t found the djinn yet. If they thought they had it when they did whatever it was they did to her last night, they probably would have let her die.
Was there a djinn to be found?
Nadia was suddenly exasperated with herself. Don’t get suckered in, she warned. Don’t even go there.
Yet her grandmother had believed. And whatever happened to Helene back then could have something to do with this, argued this new voice, quite possibly the voice of the poor little impressionable rich girl inside her.
Okay Patty, she replied, giving the voice a name—Fine. Just don’t expect me to come to your rescue when you’re facing ten to fifteen for joining a band of kidnappers who believe they’re hunting djinn.
She laughed humorlessly at her thoughts.
Why aren’t I more afraid?
The shower felt good. Being alive felt good. Even catching that tiny glimpse of the human side of her abductors felt good. There’s no point in walking around in a catatonic state of terror all the time, the voice reasoned. I’m simply picking our battles. I promise to rip your insides out with fear when the appropriate time comes. For now we need to keep our head.
Nadia wondered if she should worry about the fact that she was hearing voices, one of which she already named ‘Patty.’
For the moment, she was too hungry to care. Pavlov’s hierarchy of needs dictated that she must eat. She dressed quickly. The t-shirt and jeans Gordon gave her were a little big, but at least they were clean.
There was no mirror in the bathroom and Gordon hadn’t provided a comb so all Nadia could do to tame her wild mane was to run her fingers through the tangles. She opened the bedroom door expecting to find Gordon, and was dismayed to see Will standing there. So much for getting a comb, she thought. The last thing she wanted was for Will to think she cared about how she looked (Why do you care? She wondered).
Nadia noticed that Will’s eyes, which were coolly taking in her appearance, paused an extra moment when they landed on her hair. She thought she detected amusement playing about his lips but it was gone before she could be sure. He lifted the chain as his eyes met hers.
Nadia felt her fortitude slipping. “Come on!” she complained. “Where would I go?”
“It’s not negotiable,” he said, bending down and lifting her pant leg. But he hesitated when he saw her leg, swollen and bruised, and glanced guiltily up into Nadia’s face. She didn’t even have to try; one large tear filled each eye and lingered there pitifully. Will sighed. “Give me the other leg,” he said, rigid as always. Nadia blinked away the tears and stubbornly remained where she was. Get it yourself, she thought angrily. He did, and the chain was now attached to her other leg.
Without another word Nadia brushed past him to follow the mouthwatering smells of toast, eggs and coffee. The eggs and toast had already been cleared away so she poured herself a cup of coffee and sat as far away from the others as she could get—which meant leaving the kitchen and going into the living room. She brooded over the chain as she sipped her coffee, refusing to even look in their direction. Their silence told her that they noticed.
Still think they’re intriguing?—she asked the voice inside her head. The chain seemed to call attention to the gravity of her situation. No matter how civil they might appear at times, or what heroic claims they might make for their behavior, the simple fact was that they were committing at least three felonies that Nadia could think of off the top of her head.
Meanwhile, she wished there had been something to eat instead of just coffee. It seemed a bit too much like eating crow to ask them to make her something now. Her stomach was growling irritably. Ignoring it, she looked out the window and was surprised to see that it was pitch dark outside. She wondered what time it was.
You’re going to have make friends with at least one of them.
Yeah. That worked really well with Gordon.
Clive seems nice. Nadia almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of a kidnapper being ‘nice.’ Not to mention that the kidnapper in question was Clive.
You could at least try to get some information from them.
Her stomach was getting noisier, but, just as she was about to get up, Will came out of the kitchen with a plate of three steaming eggs over easy and buttered toast. She would have liked to have refused but she was too hungry for that. She did her best to act put-out as she accepted the plate, like she was doing him the favor. She wondered why she found him so much more provoking than the other two. She m
ustn’t let any of them get to her. They were also moving into the living room now. She turned her attention to her food, ignoring her regular table manners if only to prove that she didn’t give a damn what they thought of her. But a sideways glance in their direction told her that they weren’t even paying attention.
“So!” she said, attempting to talk around the food in her mouth. “Which part of my story did you find enlightening so far?” She suddenly noticed that they, too, had changed into fresh clothes since the previous night. What was more, she could see that they did, in fact, have combs and/or brushes, and possibly even hair styling products…and she was once again struck by the inappropriateness of her thoughts. Why was she thinking about hair styling products? She gulped hard, regretting the huge amount of food she’d stuffed in her mouth, now that it was lodged in her esophagus like a lump of clay.
They were all just staring at her and she realized that they probably hadn’t understood her with all that food in her mouth.
“I heard you saying earlier that I had filled in some of the blanks,” she clarified once she got the food down. “What blanks?”
They seemed surprised. “Never mind what you heard us say,” answered Will. “You’re the one who…”
“I think I deserve some answers,” she said, cutting him off. “Like how you knew about what happened to my grandmother. Did you know her?”
Gordon was the one who finally answered her. “We never met your grandmother,” he said.
“But you knew about the experiment in Qumran?” she persisted.
“Yes, but only what we learned after the fact,” said Gordon. “Obviously we don’t know everything. We’re hoping you’ll be able to provide enough of the missing information to help prevent something very terrible from happening.” He turned to Will, who was glaring at him. “I’m just confirming what she would be able to figure out for herself anyway,” he said. “We might as well work together.”