Page 9 of Morsel

He’s got me trapped.

“Tell me you understand.”

“I understand.”

He nods, and he gets out of the car. A true gentleman, he comes over to my side of the car, and he opens the door. I accept his hand, wait for him to shut the door behind me, and then we walk to the elevator. We pass about a dozen cars on the way, but no people. He pushes a button for the elevator, and once we’re inside, he inputs a little code before hitting the top floor.

“You don’t need a keycard?”

“No.”

“Have you lived here long?”

He’s quiet.

The elevator moves up. The doors open on the main floor, and a tall woman in a blue dress steps in.

“Hello,” she says.

“Hi,” Oscar says.

I say nothing.

“Traffic is crazy today, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Oscar says.

“Luckily, I walked home from work. Can’t imagine being stuck in this. Did you see the wreck on 17th and Millbrooke?”

“Oh, I did,” Oscar says. He didn’t. We took a different route. He’s just making small talk with this random lady, and I’m trying my best not to completely freak out.

I could ask her for help.

I could beg her to take me somewhere else.

She could call the police for me, she could help me.

But what would I say?

“Sorry I kidnapped a billionaire. I didn’t know better.”

“I didn’t mean to kidnap my boss. I thought we were just going to talk to him.”

“I didn’t mean to do a crime today. It was an accident.”

No matter how I try to phrase my answer, I just think it’s going to come up short. No matter what I could possibly have to say, my words feel weak.

Frail.

Impossible.

“Good thing we’re all off work tomorrow for the holiday, right?”

“Absolutely,” Oliver says. “You have any big plans?”

“Oh, you know. I’ll probably just do chores,” she laughs. “Bathtub needs a good scrub.”

“Well, best of luck,” he says. The doors open on the seventh floor, and she steps out. The woman offers us a little wave, and then she’s gone. The doors close again, and we start moving.

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