Chapter I
Cornelius told the cab driver that he did not need help with the box, paid him and exited the car with the package in his hands. He closed the door with his leg and moved to the door of his building, where he struggled to keep the box from touching the dirty ground while opening the door. Despite his recent decision to use the stairs more often, he took the elevator up the five floors to his apartment and repeated the struggle with the keys by his front door. Finally he was home, and could place the box on the clean floor. The man took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, next to a portrait of his parents. It was an old picture, and showed them shortly after marriage, looking something like hippies transitioning to the disco age. Cornelius hoped that they would appreciate the anniversary gift.
He stretched his neck and groaned theatrically, as if convincing himself that it was finally time to relax. With a sigh of relief he locked the door and walked into his living room.
“Don’t scream” said a voice behind him. He froze in place, mid-step. He wondered if he had really heard something or if it was his imagination. Perhaps someone speaking outside the door?
“Take a seat on the couch” the voice added, in a slow, deliberate way. Cornelius was sure that it was real, now. Slowly, he took a few steps forward and sat down on the old worn couch across from the television. He kept his eyes forward, looking at his own reflection, his entire body stiff with tension. There was the sound of a glass being placed inside the kitchen sink and footsteps towards him. Then, a man was standing in from of him.
He woke a black balaclava over his face, only his eyes and the bridge of his nose were visible. His jacket and pants were made out of some synthetic fabric, the pants were a dark blue and the jacket was grey with bright orange highlights. Latex gloves covered his hands. The was at the same time afraid to look at the man and incapable of looking away, so he ended up staring straight into the criminal’s chest. It took a few moments of silence before he worked up the courage to speak:
“My computer is in the other room. My wallet—”
“Be quiet for a moment.” The man answered, not even looking at him. There was the sound of a door opening and closing behind Cornelius, and another set of footsteps moved beyond his field of view. From the corner of his eye (because he dared not move his head), he saw another man take position by the window, looking down at the street.
“We’re not here to rob you.” The first man said. “Empty your pockets.”
The hostage began to carefully remove the contents of his pockets and place them on the coffee table between them. He wondered what was the meaning of this. If they were not there to rob him, what were they planning on doing? Maybe they had confused him with someone else, someone who owed them money, or was a witness or something of the sort. The man was wearing casual, sporty clothes. Didn’t mafia guys dress like that, or was that just something from the movies? He was scared enough to try to understand what was happening by the criminal’s fashion sense.
“I think there was a mistake, I’m not the person you’re after.”
“Yes you are” the man from the window answered, not looking at him.
“I’m just—”
“Are you done?” the one in front of him asked, stepping closer.
“Y-yes.”
“Get up.” He said, and Cornelius did as he was told. “Put your arms up, spread your legs apart.” Once again, he complied, and the man stepped over to him and began patting him down, as if searching for weapons. But he had nothing left on him but his clothes.
“He’s clean.” The man announced.
“Good. Let’s go.” The other answered, stepping away from the window and walking towards them. “You’re coming with us.” This other man announced, unlocking the door. He also wore a black balaclava and gloves, but his clothes were blue jeans and a flannel shirt.
“Now hold on a moment, what’s going on here? I’m not going anywhere unless you tell me what’s happening.” Cornelius sounded much more confident than he actually was.
The man by his side took hold of his arm, and the one by the door turned back to look at him. Eyes that seemed angry bored into him. “We’re not asking,” he said, and opened the door, “we’re telling.”
“Don’t try anything, we won’t hurt you.” The criminal by his side added, almost in a reassuring way.
The three of them moved quickly to the elevator and one of them pressed the call button. The moment the doors opened Cornelius pushed the one to his right and made for the stairs, the only move he could think of. The two kidnappers ran after him, the one in jeans just behind him. As his legs moved faster than he ever thought possible, Cornelius ran barely touching the steps below him, not bothering to look as he went down the spiral staircase. But the man in the shirt was surprisingly agile, and leaped over the gap between the two flights of stairs, landing just in front of the escapee and slamming him into the wall and knowing the wind out of him. Cornelius fell down on his back while gloved hands took hold of his wrists and placed a zip tie around them, binding them in place.
“Shouldn’t have done that.” The man said, pulling him back to his feet and guiding him back to the elevator, where the man with the jacket held the door for them.
“I told you not to try anything.” He commented as the three of them got inside. Cornelius’ chest and arms hurt from the impact and the binding, but he didn’t make a sound.
They exited at the lobby, and there was no one there to see them. The three of them exited the building and turned left until they reached an alleyway, which they entered. The alley was as dark and unwelcoming as one would expect in a neighborhood like this: trash bags, graffiti, puddles of strange liquids, and a homeless man sleeping next to a dumpster. Sad how a person can be made to look like just another fixture in the scenario.
“Be quiet, now.” The one in jeans said, and a black fabric bag was placed over his head, completely blocking his vision. He was terrified now, but did not dare say anything.
The trio continued down the alley, and the hostage heard the sound of a car alarm beeping and something opening just ahead of him. Strange, he was sure that this alley was a dead end.
“There’s a trunk in front of you. Get inside.” One of the two said.
“Please please please… I’m not… I’m just a geologist, I don’t owe anyone money, I never did anything wrong… I…”
“Hey!” Someone grasped his arm strongly, and shook him to silence. “We’re not going to hurt you as long as you do as we say. I promise.” His tone was assertive, but not aggressive. “Now, are you going to do as we say?”
“Yes…”
“So get in the trunk. This won’t take long.”
They helped him get inside and lowered his head to it wouldn’t hit the edge of the compartment. His feet were pushed in, and the lid was closed. Even if he did not have a bag over his head he would not have been able to see anything now. But he could hear, and he heard the sound of the two men entering the vehicle and slamming the doors shut. They started the car and began to drive away, speaking to one another in a hushed unintelligible way.
Cornelius was absolutely terrified. His breathing was fast and shallow, and he could barely get enough air into his lungs. The plastic zip ties dug into his skin, and his shaking hands were starting to go numb because of it. He could not extend his legs, and was forced to lay over his shoulder, listening as the men spoke and the car moved on. He did not know how long it was before they stopped.
The lid of the trunk was opened, and a pair of hands helped pull his legs out. He was assisted in sitting at the edge of the trunk, and the bag over his head was suddenly pulled out, to reveal the two kidnappers standing in front of him.
“We’re letting you go.” The one with the jacket said as the other pulled the hostage’s hands forward and cut he zip ties away with a pocket knife.
“What?” He asked, incredulous, while standing up.
“You’re free to go. Go to the police, tell anyone you want about this. It doesn’t matter. We’ll probably be in touch soon, but that’s not supposed to scare you.”
“What are you talking about?” He insisted, but the men simply closed the trunk and got into the car. “Is this some sort of prank? Hey, Who put you up to this? What’s going on?!”
But the car was already pulling away, leaving him behind in the empty street. He looked around, and saw that it was a commercial or industrial area, all the establishments being closed given the hour. He was definitely still in New York, as they couldn’t have driven for more than twenty minutes. Cornelius realized that he was rubbing his wrists where the zip ties had been placed, and he thought of what a cliché that gesture was. Apparently, there was no option but to start walking.
The night felt much warmer than when he first got home, but he chalked that up to the adrenaline discharge. His hands were still shaking, and his steps were unsteady, but he continued marching down the street, constantly looking over his shoulder to see if they weren’t coming back for him. But they didn’t. And so he kept on walking, until he finally started seeing people on the street. Not many, but a few, and started recognizing the names of the streets. He made his way downtown.
The convenience store was from a chain he had never heard off, and the interior light shined though the front windows, lighting the street and sidewalk in front of it. He went inside and walked over to the cashier, a bored-looking overweight man flipping through a magazine.
“Excuse me,” he said, placing his hands on the counter. “I need to call the police. Can I use your phone?”
The police car arrived twelve minutes later, with sirens off. The two officers came inside looking around, and Cornelius stared nervously at them as they approached him.
“Mister Silk?” the older one asked.
He told them the entire story, every detail he could remember, and they wrote it all down on a pad, occasionally asking questions. They reassured him, asking him if he was hurt, and told him to get in the car, because he was going to the police station with them.
At the station he gave them his personal information and was told to sit down by a desk, where he would give a statement to a detective. They returned a few minutes later, but the first thing the man said was not a question:
“Mister Silk, we can’t find any trace of you.”
“What?”
His name was not in any records, his social security number belonged to someone else, his address was apparently that of a clothes store, and every other piece of information he gave them didn’t match. He offered to let them run his fingerprints on the system, and they hesitantly accepted. It didn’t seem like they were willing to take him very seriously now. The detective still took his statement, and promised to look into it, but there was little sincerity in his voice.
“Is there any way we can contact you, in case we find something, or need to talk to you again?”
He had left his phone at home, and the number for his landline didn’t exist. He walked out of the police station feeling completely lost.
Cornelius Silk walked down streets he had known for years, and could barely recognize any of them. The buildings were different, or weren’t there at all. Most were very similar to what he remembered, but still not the same: a different color, a different store inside, small things that compiled into an enormous difference. It took him over an hour of walking, but he finally reached his address. Standing in front of the building, he touched the glass of the display, and mannequins stared back at him wearing fancy clothes. He was homeless.
He tried using a public phone to make a collect call to his parents, but it seemed like way to do it was different than he remembered. Was he going insane? Everything around him felt simultaneously familiar and foreign. It was like going to work and seeing everyone there wearing kimonos, except it was much stranger than that. This wasn’t a prank, or some sort of joke. It couldn’t be a reality show either, there was too much out of place, too much to have been changed from one day to the other. It was all impossible. And yet, it was happening.
He walked for hours, not really sure where to go. Times Square was still there, at least, but it looked different in so many ways that he might as well have walked into Tiananmen Square.
Cornelius didn’t know what time it was, but it should be morning soon. Better to try and get some sleep, at least. He settled in the entryway of a costume shop, curled with his knees to his chest, resting his head on his folded arm. It took some time, but at some point he fell asleep.