He was ironing his socks when the phone call came. Not that he often ironed his socks; he was not nearly so anal as that. This was a special occasion. This was his wedding day, the day when even his feet wanted to be smartly dressed; the day on which all other days would rest.

He was whistling to himself, the breathy half-tweet of someone who had never truly learned the art. He whistled absently while his mind pictured his sweet, beautiful Anna flowing toward him down the aisle, her eyes bright with love, her lips parted slightly in a smile. Ah, Anna, the woman of his dreams, the one who understood him when no one else had even tried. Together, they would escape this vile city and live in peace, forever, in the Adirondacks. He had it all planned. He had charted his salary, made lists of supplies. It would only take a few years and those years would slip by blissfully with Anna at his side.

The phone jarred him from this reverie, and for a moment he was annoyed. Who would be so presumptuous as to intrude upon his preparations? Well. He would not allow the phone’s continued ringing to mar his happiness. He set down the iron carefully and walked to the kitchen landline. Politely, but with a curtness intended to show disapproval, he removed the receiver and said, “Hello?”

A stern, almost foreign sounding voice shouted back at him. “We have the girl!”

“Excuse me?”

The voice, sounding decidedly foreign this time, repeated itself with more fervor. “We HAVE the GIRL!”

Baffled by these words and the manner in which they were spoken, he nonetheless managed a terse reply. “Of course. You must also have the wrong number.”

He intended to return the phone to its base, but the voice startled him with a desperate plea, “No! Don’t hang up!” This time it sounded not quite so foreign as before, and therefore, not as threatening.

He gripped the phone firmly and said, “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. You must...” His words dwindled off as shuffling sounds and unintelligible whispers made speaking pointless. When a new voice spoke, it brought to mind Arnold Swarzenegger wielding a ginsu knife.

"We have Anna," it said. "We want $250,000 in unmarked bills or she will die. We will call you in four hours with instructions." Click.

He stood holding the phone dumbly, as though the purring disconnect sound might become a voice again. Then reason kicked in and he chuckled quietly. It was a wedding prank, like shaving cream on the groom's car. Not that he sanctioned such things, but they were inevitable. One of Anna's young cousins must be the culprit. Yes, of course, only a teenager could create such an accent! He would call Anna and... no, it wouldn't be right to talk to her before the wedding. There were age-old laws against contact with the bride before the ceremony, although he supposed phones were somewhat new and might be excused. Still, he wanted everything to be perfect. Surely none of the ancients had anything against calling the bride's mother?

Phone still in hand, he dialed his mother-in-law to be. She answered too loudly, her normally rich soprano sounding too thin, too alarmed. This was not the happy tone of the mother of the bride on her proudest day. With a certainty he felt all the way to his naked feet, he knew things were not going to go as planned.

Anna lay quietly on the moldy green carpet, her ankles and wrists bound tightly behind her back. Occasionally she moved her head from side to side, whether to negate the situation or ease her strained muscles, she couldn’t have said. Her mind, after the miserable night spent in this smelly van, was blank. When she closed her eyes, she still saw the shadowy man leaning over her bed, pressing his hand to her mouth, while another knotted rope around her limbs. The two were dressed in black from head to foot, with nasty looking hooks hanging from their belts. She’d been too frightened to make any effort to defend herself, even when the taller of the two had stumbled under her weight and dropped her to the floor with a loud thump.

She opened her eyes. Things were bad enough without reliving the terrors of the night. Instead, she directed her eyes to the front of the van, allowing them to rest on the overflowing ashtray, her mind empty again. She might have stayed this way, had the passenger doors not simultaneously flipped open and two black-suited men flopped onto the seats. The motor chugged to life. Backward movement bumped her head against the wheel well, changing her view from the ashtray to an odd looking two-toed slipper on one man’s foot.

“I can’t believe you forgot her name!” snapped the owner of the foot. “I handle all the phone calls from now on.”

“I didn’t forget her name. It was more ninja-like to call her the girl.”

“It’s not ninja-like to hold someone for ransom and not tell anyone who she is!” The toes were tapping angrily now.

“Like he didn’t know. He was bluffing, I had him.”

“Hmph.” The slipper stomped on the floor for emphasis. “Load a bowl.”

“Nicholas, is that you? I’ve been so unsure of whether to call and upset you! I know it’s your big day, but... things are not going well at all!”

Nicholas sighed despite himself. He knew Mrs. Hall was excitable and would burden him with a dozen trivial problems better solved by anyone besides the groom. He also knew that listening stoically while she talked of such matters, and sighing occasionally, would make him feel like something between a martyr and a superhero. He enjoyed this feeling and, basking in it, decided he should also resolve whatever had made her voice so shrill. Wouldn’t that be a nice, heroic way to begin married life?

“Is there a flaw in Anna’s dress?” He questioned gently.

“Yes! She’s not in it!”

“I see,” he replied thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to dispense from his great store of experience and logic, but there was only silence. He tried again, this time managing, “So… you expected her to be in it?”

“Oh Nicholas, I expected her to be in something!”

“She’s not dressed?!”

“She’s not dressed, she’s not here, she’s not home..." Each successive not was higher pitched than the last, until Nicholas felt he must interrupt or she would explode into space.

“I see," he said.

“This is not like her at all! She left the bedroom window open and the screen lying out in the yard! She had plenty of time to move her furniture all about, but did she get to her mother’s on time before the wedding? No! Do you suppose she’s lost her mind and run off? Oh Nicholas, she could be naked and babbling in the street!

“Now, Mrs. Hall," he spoke as soothingly he could despite his spinning head, “she has probably just run an errand -- there may be a problem with the window that can’t be left until after the honeymoon. Don’t worry about a thing. Just wait for her to arrive. In the meantime, I will make sure everything is taken care of so the ceremony can begin as planned.” He was quite pleased with the authoritative sound of this recital.

“You don’t think she’s lost her mind?”

“Of course not.”

“She’s just... late?”

“Yes, just late. Stop worrying and call me when she arrives.”

“OK.” She said it tremulously, but at least the panic had left her voice. His work here was done. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and sat down in the nearest chair. Had evil thugs kidnapped Anna? Or was this a bizarre coincidence, hinging on a wedding prank? Maybe it was a plot devised by Anna to leave him without hurting his feelings. She'd always been so considerate that way. How could he get to the bottom of this?

He'd call the police, that's how. The police would trace the call, fingerprint the window, and pin it all on the naughty cousins. With everything in a detective's capable hands, he would be free to make sure the wedding went off without a hitch, assuming there was a bride to wed. Which, of course, there was. He would not allow himself to believe otherwise.

A quiet voice whispered to him from the depths of his imagination, a doubting, suspicious voice that said, "Calling the police is against the rules, Nicholas. You know kidnappers don't allow it." He tried to push the voice back to the dark hole it had crept from. "They didn’t say that! Maybe they don’t have a problem with police... or... maybe they wouldn’t mind if we just had a little chat... or... well...”

Visions of muscle bound hoodlums with ginsu knives danced in his head. Angry words echoed down his mental corridors. “We know you called the police. The girl will die!” Mrs. Hall moaning, “Oh Nicholas, how could you do such a thing? They’ve killed her and it’s all your fault!” The wedding guests shouting his name, their torches blazing...

He would have to come up with a plan B.

The smoky smell filling the car made Anna cough. Or actually, it would have made her cough if her mouth had not been covered in duct tape. Instead she puffed fitfully a couple of times through her nose and tried to turn her head to where the smoke was thinner.

“So. What now?” asked ninja number one in a pinched, whispery voice before he blew more smoke into the van.

“Huh?” Ninja number two asked back, reaching for the pipe.

“Where are we going? We can’t drive around the block for four hours.”

“The four hours part was your idea,” wheezed ninja number two before adding his own smoke to the growing cloud.

“We had to give him time to get the money.”

Ninja number two took a second hit off the pipe. “It’s cashed,” was all he replied.

The van went silent except for the occasional swooshing sound of passing traffic. Anna wished they would open the windows, although the smoke was not so much unpleasant as it was cloying. She began to feel enveloped in it, held captive by it. There was no escape from it. No hope. Helpless tears rolled down her cheeks and her nose began to run. She couldn’t move her arms to stop it from dripping into her hair. She couldn’t even ask them to open the window. She couldn’t do anything. The tears came faster until she was snuffling and sputtering, unable to get enough air through her stuffy nose. In a panic she struggled with the ropes, thrashing about but getting nowhere. She was going to die here, in this disgusting smoke-filled van, die by her own tears. She tried to scream, but the only sound was a gurgling whimper.

A face appeared between the seats, a young, surprised looking face. She heard someone say, “What’s she doing back there?”

The face said, “She’s having a fit or something. Pull over.”

The van slowed, then stopped, and another face appeared between the seats. It looked confused. “What’s wrong with her?”

She looked at them pleadingly, still sniffling and rolling about. “My grandmother’s dog used to do that,” added the second face. “It was because he was bred badly. He snorted and drooled a lot.”

“Get her a tissue or something,” demanded the first face, the one ringed with unruly blond waves. He looked more anxious than surprised now.

The brunette giggled. “What’s she going to do with it?”

“You’re going to wipe her nose with it!”

“What? You wipe her nose with it!”

She was beginning to feel lightheaded, the two faces staring at her from within a gradually diminishing tunnel. There was a light glowing behind them, a friendly, loving light. She wanted to go to the light, become one with it. Everything would be fine then. Everything would be...

She felt an intense stinging on her upper lip and abruptly the light was gone. Her body heaved as she gulped in foul, smoggy air. It felt wonderful. She coughed it out and took it in again. Her eyes opened slowly to find the blond leaning over her, a piece of silver tape hanging from his hand. He was watching her intently.

“Don’t say a word,” he said. “Don’t even squeak, okay? If you yell or cry or even breathe too loud, the tape goes back on. Got it?”

She nodded.

“You’ll be sorry if you screw up.”

She nodded vigorously.

“Okay,” he announced before crawling back to the passenger seat. He couldn’t have been more than 25 or 26, just a few years younger than she, but his dark clothes made him seem threatening despite his boyish face. There was a fierceness about him that made her feel he must be obeyed. She was silent.

“We have to put the tape back on,” said the driver.

“No,” said the blond.

“She’ll scream the first chance she gets,” explained the driver, as if he were talking to an idiot.

“She won’t,” replied the blond, with a finality that ended the conversation.

Again the van was silent. Anna twisted her neck and tried to wipe her nose on her shoulder. She wished they’d used the tissue. Still, it felt good to breathe, even if the air in the van made her feel woozy. She moved her lips around and stretched her mouth -- that felt good too. Funny the things you find pleasurable under the right circumstances. She stopped when she noticed the driver's eyes looking at her uneasily from the rearview mirror.

"If we drive past that gas station one more time they're going to start waving at us," noted the blond.

"I told you," the other responded, his eyes leaving the mirror, "it wasn't my idea, this whole four hours thing."

"Well, can you do something a little less obvious?"

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Maybe leave the scene of the crime?"

I'm posting some of my older fiction and poetry here. Depending on how this goes, I may start posting new stuff too. :-)