Wrong place, Wrong time

Magdalena It's dark and it’s raining. The streetlights illuminate my breath as the cold nibs at my cheeks. I enjoy wintertime more than the average human, or so I like to think. We all want to feel special or unique, but realistically, someone out there probably enjoys it more than I do. I let out a sigh as I grab my suitcase and start walking along the sidewalk to get to the stone path leading to the grand building before me. The cab has just dropped me off at the curb of a fancy hotel. I usually don’t splurge on hotels, but after the eleven-hour flight I’ve just been on, and the news I’ve just received, I think I deserve a good night of sleep, and a bit of pampering. By pampering I mean room service, and a nice warm bath, since I’ll need to figure out the next steps of my life tomorrow. I definitely won't be able to stay at this hotel for long when I have to find a new apartment and put down a new deposit now that my originally rented apartment fell through. Actually, it didn’t really fall through. I got scammed like the damn i***t that I am, though I reckon this could have happened to just about anyone. I was just the lucky one this time around. An hour ago, I showed up at the given address my apparently fake landlord sent me, just to find out the apartment is already resided in by a family who knew nothing of the landlord or the contract, nor where my money has gone. The family was kind enough to direct me to this nearby hotel, which always has a room or two available at all times because of the absurdly high price. I’ve always been a planner, spontaneity stresses me out, so the fact that I’m here in New York right now on such short notice is unlike anything I’ve ever done in my life. No one knows that I’m here, and I don’t plan on ever letting anyone from my so-called previous life know that I’m here. This is the first step to the beginning of a new life where I’m the one in charge for once. A life where I have no expectations from anyone to fulfill. No one gets to tell me something as shallow as ‘you’re eating cereal wrong’. It feels good, it feels really good even though things are already starting out rough – that must mean that everything will get better from here, right? The streets are mostly quiet apart from the music that seems to be coming from the back of the hotel. Judging from the number of expensive cars parked on the street, and the people I spot in the lobby through the big glass doors, dressed in expensive, fancy clothing, I’m assuming there is a big party going on inside. I decide to spend a few extra minutes outside the hotel breathing in the fresh air and smoking a cigarette before checking in, except I can’t seem to find my lighter. I rummage through my pockets but come up empty handed. I must have misplaced it somehow. I know I’ve got an extra in my suitcase, but I’m not going to start unpacking it on the street. This day has been nothing but one obstacle after another. As I’m about to grab my suitcase to head towards the entrance of the hotel, a couple of well-dressed men come walking out from behind the hotel. I assume they are guests of the party considering their suits and glasses of what I assume is liquor. One of the four men is lighting a cigarette whilst the others are murmuring quietly to each other as if they are afraid someone might hear what they are saying. They come to a stop on the same pavement I’m standing on, and they cast a few quick glances my way. It’s hard to make out their faces, so I can’t assume their ages, but they all have the bodies of Hercules, which makes me second guess my thoughts on asking to borrow a lighter. Particularly one of them is even bigger than the rest. I don’t know much about American people or their hospitality, but I guess I’ll be an i***t one last time today and take my chances. Time to pull up my big girl pants and be socially stable enough to ask for something as simple as a light for my cigarette. I grab my suitcase and begin walking towards the group. Never leave your suitcase unattended, kids. As I’m nearing them, the sudden screeching of tires brings me to a halt. I turn my head towards the street just as two dark vans come speeding around the corner of the next block. What in the world? The screeching of tires intensifies as the drivers slam the breaks almost right beside me. Not a single useful thought runs through my mind as I observe the scene unfolding before me. The sliding doors of the vans open, and I observe the barrels of what looks like guns sticking out. This is bad, really bad. It feels like I’m watching everything in slow motion, even though the entire ordeal can’t possibly have lasted more than thirty seconds. A bunch of masked people come pouring out of the vans as they spray bullets at the hotel. I’m almost too shocked to move, but the sound of glass shattering from the impact of the bullets pulls me right back to reality. I throw myself to the ground, trying to take cover behind my suitcase as if that’s going to save me. I don’t see much more than that because a cloth suddenly covers my mouth, and the world around me turns black. I begin to feel present in my body again. What in the actual f**k is happening to me? My eyes feel like they are glued shut, my head is pounding as if I’ve listened to an auto-tuned Smurf on a continuous loop for seven hours. The nausea pushing its way up through my throat is not a great feeling either at the moment and, whatever the f**k I’m lying on, is cold and hard like concrete. My body is sore, it makes me wonder how long I’ve been lying in this position. I pry my eyes open after several attempts, blinking multiple times to clear the fogginess in them. Looking around me, I’m in what I assume is a basement. Did somebody drug me? It's cold and the sound of water dripping into a puddle confirms that this place is dank. I’m tied to a metal pipe sticking out from the middle of a wall, far from any corners, so I can't even cower away from whatever might come at me. I don’t even know if it's night or day, since it's quite dark here. How long have I been here, and how long was I out for? As my eyes finally adjust to the darker setting, I realize I’m not alone. I prop myself up on my elbows, moving slowly as I try to get the blood flowing to my sleeping limbs. There are four other people down here with me. One guy is shirtless, tied to the ceiling and bleeding from his shoulder and wrists, and another is shackled to a radiator. The third guy, the massive one, is placed in a chair too small for him, like, way too small for him, with both his hands and feet tied to it. The last guy is sitting on the floor tied up against a wooden pole in the middle of the room. My eyes glide over each of the men in this room. They’re watching me as well. I was not prepared for other eyes to meet mine, and I scramble back in shock. It seems like most of them are awake, except for the guy tied to the radiator who is still knocked out. I quickly avert my eyes. I can’t possibly be a part of whatever the hell is going on here. This must be some hugely mistaken identity kind of thing. Those guys are the ones I was going to borrow a lighter from. They clearly know each other. I wonder what the hell they must have done to piss someone off to the extent of being shot at, drugged and kidnapped. I have absolute zero clue about how to handle this situation. When faced with a serious, high risk situation, like a supposed kidnapping, the first rule is to not allow yourself to be taken to a second location – obviously I’m f****d from the get go. Great. My heart is almost beating out of my chest as I imagine all the possible horrible outcomes of this predicament. I need to breathe. All right Lena, you’ve got this! Don’t panic. Deep breaths, one, two, three, four. Don’t panic, don’t make eye contact or speak to the men, give the kidnappers what they want, and of course… stay alive, hopefully. A light has been turned on somewhere outside this room. The light illuminates through gaps in the door, allowing me to see more clearly. Sleeping beauty has finally awoken. He looks a bit younger than the other three. He looks my age, whereas the others look like they might be in their mid-thirties. The men don’t seem too nervous about the situation we are in at the moment, and don’t seem to bother lowering their voices. I don’t recognize the language they are speaking, so I can’t get a hint as to why we are locked up in this basement. I wonder if they speak English. I mean, I know my English isn't the best, but hoping they speak Danish is a bit far-fetched. Or, maybe nothing is too far-fetched at the moment because, you know, I’m tied up in a basement. This has to be some sort of misunderstanding. I literally just got to the United States. I haven’t done anything wrong yet, and I don’t know who these people are. Maybe coming here was a huge mistake. I slump back against the wall with a heavy sigh, resulting in me banging my head into the metal pipe with a hiss. Four pairs of eyes immediately turn to me, as if they forgot that I’m here. Their brows furrow as they study me closely and I quickly avert my eyes. So much for avoiding eye contact. “Who the hell are you?”. I glance up to see who is asking the question. The man in the chair is looking straight at me with an intense gaze, though he wasn’t the one who addressed me. Mr. Ceiling is glaring at me. Why is he giving me an attitude? I didn’t do this to him. What a douche. His demeanor is scary as hell, and if he wasn’t tied up like myself at this moment in time, I might not need to consider whether I should answer his question or not. Before I can open my mouth and give this rude man a piece of my mind, the door to the basement slams open with great force, startling me and making dust fall from the ceiling. A weasel-looking man steps into the room with us, or is it called a donkey? You know the animal from the movie Shrek? I can’t remember the little fellas’ name, the one who has four legs and never shuts up? The small, gray, horse-looking animal? Yeah, he looks like the human version of him. “Who the f**k is banging on the pipes?”. The Weasel man shouts, looking at each of us. His goatee wiggles when he shouts. f**k, my stomach drops and I probably look fifty shades of white. I banged the pipe with my head. I really don’t want to turn myself in, he does not look like he cares whether it was an accident or not. The ceiling guy sneaks a glance my way, and for a second I think he’ll snitch. Maybe I should point at him first to save myself, but that doesn’t feel like the right thing to do. My eyes water and I try to blink away the wetness. Mr. Ceiling shows off a small smirk before spitting right on Weasels’ shoe, making my eyes widen in shock. Something tells me that action won’t go unpunished. Another guy enters the room with a gun and hands it to Weasel, s**t. “So that's how you want to play this game, huh?” Weasel sends Mr. Ceiling a smirk of his own before punching him hard in the ribs, and I flinch on his behalf. I’m pretty sure I heard something crack in there. “I’ve been warned about you guys, you’re tough nuts to crack. Luckily for you, I’m always up for a challenge. I’ve been waiting for the perfect time to strike, and you basically served yourself to me on a silver platter. When people hear about this, I’ll be f*****g worshipped like a god”. Superior god complex, noted. Mr. Ceiling and the rest of my so-called roommates look amused even though this is the least amusing situation I’ve ever been in. I literally can’t even make up a situation that would be worse than this. A deep chuckle starts echoing around the room, making me freeze up even more. Mr. Small chair is f*****g chuckling. Are we even in the same room right now? I glance around confused to make sure I didn’t miss something. There is a raging lunatic with a gun who practices physical violence and wants to crack our nuts, and there Small Chair is, just enjoying the moment, having a little chuckle. Though, Weasel looks a bit hesitant before opening his mouth again. His hesitance confuses me, I’m pretty sure he is the one who has the upper hand here. I can’t say that I blame him. Small Chair is massive. He looks like someone who eats people for breakfast and drinks the tears of his enemies, like a character from Game of Thrones. Weasel’s size compared to any of the guys he has taken hostage is almost comical. “Is this funny to you?” Weasel asks him, looking at him in disbelief. Oh god, please say no Small Chair. “I’m glad you asked, this is indeed very funny.” Oh god, why? His answer seems to anger Weasel, but he still keeps his distance. Is he afraid of Small Chair? “I can’t believe someone would be desperate enough to hire a little punk-ass looking b***h like you, to do their dirty work.” He’s got a fair point, Weasel is one weird looking dude. Even though Small Chair’s nonchalant vibe is putting me a bit at ease, this probably isn’t the best time to piss him off further – He’s got a gun. And wait a minute, is he being paid to do this? Weasel is seething, and he pulls his gun up and aims it at Small Chair. I accidentally let out an involuntary squeak, making him turn his attention towards me. My eyes widen fearfully. “What do we have here?” He lowers his gun and takes slow strides towards me, making my chest feel uncomfortably tight. “You don’t usually bring your whores to your gatherings, this one must be special.” Rude. He comes to a stop right in front of me and crouches down to my height, making me gulp. He reaches out a hand to grab a strand of my hair, making me flinch back, resulting in my head banging against the pipe again. He smirks at me disgustingly. I just got busted. “I guess we’ve found our culprit.” He is about to reach for something in his pocket, but stops when Mr. Ceiling interrupts him angrily. “She’s not with us.” Thank f*****g god. This has to be my out. I haven’t seen much yet, and I still have no idea what's going on here. Maybe he will let me go when he realizes that I have nothing to do with this. “And you really expect me to believe that?” Weasel looks bored as he continues. “They must really like you, little girl. Trying to spare you from the same fate as them by pretending not to know you, how noble.” He rises from his crouching position, and looks over at the guy who handed him the gun earlier and gives a nod towards me. “Bring her.”