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I was unhappy when I woke up the morning of April 8th, 2011, but that was hardly an unexpected state of affairs for two reasons. It was a Friday, which while notably better than any day equivalent to resting between a Monday or Thursday, was nevertheless a school day and therefore detestable. However, there was a somewhat more notable reason for me to be unhappy on that particular Friday morning. Namely, I had woken with a bag over my head, the scratchy black fabric blocking out all light and giving me a truly horrible nose itch that I couldn’t scratch on account of my hands being tied behind my back.
It was, I was forced to admit, a novel way to start my day.
Had I... been kidnapped? I remembered going to sleep the night prior, and after that—nothing. I couldn’t imagine any explanation other than being kidnapped, but from my home? In the middle of the night? Who could have done that without waking—
Dad . “Dad?! Where are you?!” I attempted to yell, but the fabric tied around my head and mouth made it all come out as, “Mmm?! Mmm mm mm?!”
“Mmm...? Mm—!” The likewise incoherent grunts of my dad abruptly became understandable after a Pthah! sound I could only assume was him spitting out his own gag. “Taylor?!”
He was nearby. We hadn’t been separated, which was good. A salty musk hung in the air, and I could hear the sound of an engine and traffic. We rounded a bend, and I realized we were moving. I took a second to work at the fabric in my mouth but found it had apparently been secured much more tightly. That was less good, but I would work on that once I could get a useful bug in here to tear at the fabric.
“Mmm!” I finally answered Dad, abandoning trying to speak in favor of focusing on my bugs. Was that why we had been kidnapped? Because I had powers? I hadn’t even finished my costume yet, so surely not...?
“Oh thank goodness!” he replied with a sigh of relief. “I thought they’d separated us!”
A thwump cut through the noise of the road outside followed by the unmistakable sound of Dad wiggling around, like a live fish left to flop around on the floor. I planted some flies to monitor him and got to work getting some wasps and beetles the vehicle was approaching into position.
“I never told you what happened the day I met your mother, did I, Taylor?”
Why is this relevant, Dad? I wanted to scream. The, “... mm?!” I was forced to settle on didn’t exactly have the same bite to it.
He grunted, wiggling some more. “Your mom, she... well, let’s just say she used to be part of the wrong crowd , and they took offense to her leaving but especially that she showed an interest in me. Put us in a bit of a similar situation... to...”
The sound of fibers catching and tearing reached my ears as the wasps and beetles landed on the vehicle and started slipping underneath, searching for a way in. But before my mandibled minions could find a nook or cranny to slip through, there was a final riiiip that cut through the noise of the street.
“... this .” The fly on Dad lifted up off the floor and leaned in towards me, my bag and gag removed.
I could only stare, disbelieving as Dad, thin hair everywhere and glasses missing, leaned around me to start sawing at the ropes binding my wrists. He had broken free. He had broken free .
He made far shorter work of my ropes. Once I was free and he pulled back, I rubbed my wrists to work out the numbness and eyed the knife in his hands, its black handle and his fingers smeared with... well...
“Dad... Where...?”
He flicked the switchblade closed and started cleaning his hands and the handle using the black hood he’d pulled off of me. “You don’t want to know.”
He was right. I didn’t. But I did know, so I couldn’t quite stop myself from demanding, “Dad, why did you have a knife shoved up your ass?? ”
He eyed me consideringly, rubbing his weak chin with his now clean hand. He nodded, as if coming to a decision. “Your mom was wiley, Taylor, and she taught me all her tricks after we escaped together that night. I may not have the, ahem , same equipment she did, but I have my own pocket, if you know what I’m saying.”
I had slapped my hands over my ears the moment he started talking about ‘equipment,’ but it was sadly not enough to spare me the horror of learning that Mom had ever shoved a sheathed knife up her hoo ha. There was more than a hint of hysteria in my voice as I begged, “Stop. Please stop .”
The vehicle, which I could now see was a van, pulled off the road, smooth asphalt giving way to loose gravel. Dad put his hands on my shoulders, and I cringed at the memory of where those hands had plundered in the past five minutes.
“Taylor, listen to me,” he said, leaning in close, voice quiet. “I failed you after your mom died. I should have been there for you. Should have seen how bad things had gotten. I let things fall apart, and I knew there was only one thing I could do... But we’re going to get through this together. We will .”
He pressed the knife into my hand, and I tried to give it right back. “I wouldn’t... wouldn’t know how to... use it?” I lied. Well, kinda. I didn’t know how to use it, but really I just wanted to never, ever see that knife again in my life.
“Neither did I,” he said as the crunch of gravel slowed to a stop, “but you’re about to learn the same way I did. Fighting for—” He paused, a hand to his chest, head bowed. “—your freedom .”
The driver and passenger doors opened, and before I could voice any of my numerous objections to this plan, Dad put a finger to my mouth while grabbing a length of the cut rope from the van floor. I jerked back, frantically wiping my lips on my shirt collar, and Dad stalked forward on towards the door, far more quietly than I would have thought he could manage.
Feet crunched on gravel outside, and all at once, it really, fully hit me that I was about to be attacked. I had been preparing myself for this as surely as I had been preparing my costume in the basement of the house, but it had always been distant. Something coming but not yet here.
Danger had arrived.
I shoved my disgust down and hurried forward, nowhere near as stealthy, to squat next to Dad. I had no idea if this would work as well as it did in my head, but any plan was better than no plan, wasn’t it? “When the doors open, shove hard .”
Dad gave me a vicious smile, whispering, “That’s my girl.”
Two voices muted by the steel walls of the van approached the double doors at the back, and as the lock clicked and the door by Dad started to open, he charged into it shoulder first. The door flew open with a bang, smashing into the face of the person behind it, drawing a sharp yelp of pain.
Out of sight, I had the wasps I had planted on both of our captors’ unmentionables bit hard .
That had them both howling as I flung wide the door on my side and leapt out, knife flicking open as I leapt from the van towards the prone, balaclava clad man that wasn’t currently being choked by the rope held tight in Dad’s hands. I fell upon that man like the hand of god, slamming that knife down into his chest even as I flubbed my landing. I fell hard and awkward, banging my head as I rolled to a stop in the gravel.
Next thing I knew, I was in Dad’s arms, and he was running, breathing hard. “You were great. You were perfect , kiddo.”
I threw my arms around his neck, sobbing, “ Dad ,” as everything caught up with me at once. I had killed a man. There was no way I hadn’t just killed him! The knife had gone in so easily, no resistance whatsoever!
He hustled around the corner of some building and set me down, holding me tight. “Can you stand? Can you run?”
I nodded, face still buried in his neck. I couldn’t manage words.
“I need you to be brave for me a bit longer, okay? We have to run —get far away from here. Now let’s go!”
My hand in his, we turned and ran. We ran and ran until we got to the convenience market several streets over and called 911. We were safe. We were going home .
And while we waited? I hugged my dad like I hadn’t in years, and he held me back just as tight.
Elsewhere, the two ‘captors’ got back in the van and drove it to the Dockworker’s Association headquarters the next block over, swapped it out for their pickup, and drove home.
“You know,” Lacey said, voice nasally from the wads of paper she had shoved up her nostrils to stem the bleeding after Danny had smashed the van door into her face, “I can think of better ways to spend my day than waking up at the before sunrise just to get a door smashed in my face.”
“Sure, but can you think of a quicker way to earn this much cash ?” Kurt countered, indicating the wad of bills in the cupholder between them.
“Well, no , but I only expected to be fake choked! That hurt !”
“I bet,” Kurt agreed with a sympathetic wince, driving with one hand as he toyed with the fake, retractable knife in the other.
Lacey sighed, reclining her chair, plucking the wad out of the cupholder and idly counting $20 bills. “I still can’t believe he won all this in a raffle .”
Her nose throbbed, as did the spot on her leg where she had been bit by something . She sighed again and dropped the money back into the cupholder. She genuinely hoped Danny had successfully reconciled with Taylor... but she was absolutely going to put some tacks in his chair at the office.