Page 6 of Love Set Free

Honestly, whenever I see those sorts of contests that are giving away large, luxury prizes, I always assume they’re a scam. A scheme to get gullible people’s names and other important contact information that could be sold off to marketing companies. Or some sort of ruse run by identity thieves; a trap that the intended victims willingly and blindly stepped into all by themselves.

Ironically, Jackson seems to share my opinion, as shown when he continues, “I figured it’d be a hoax. Some sort of fake contest, with no actual prizes or only a few, token, small money prizes. And by signing up, I was just handing some no-good crooks all my information so they could try to trick me out of my money.” Jackson laughs again, a small, bitter, sad-sounding laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that. I don’t got any money for a crook to steal. That’s why I figured, why not enter. I don’t got nothing to lose. And if all I do get out of it is a $25 gift card, then fuck yeah. That’s twenty-five bucks more than the shit all I had before.”

“But instead…you won?”

“Ah’yup. Free trip to Rio fucking de Janeiro. All expenses paid. I thought I’d won the fucking lottery, getting a free vacation. Away from my crappy life. Away from all the shit of… Anyway. Yeah. Here I am. Big fucking winner. Can’t you tell?”

“So, they…what? What happened? You made it to Rio, right? And then what?”

“Yeah. Man, I gotta admit that I was shocked as anything when the tickets showed up. I kept gripping ’em in my hands and feeling ’em over and over. Trying to make my brain believe that they were actually fucking real. And then the plane ride went just as expected and I landed in Rio. I collected my bag, was met by a dude who seemed to be waiting for me, got into a shuttle van to take me to my hotel… Well, what I thought was the shuttle van that would take me to my hotel.”

“And instead…”

“Yeah.Instead.”

Jackson falls silent, but I’m able to fill in the gaps of what he’s implying. That he’d trustingly climbed into a van, escorted to it by a man he thought had been from the hotel or whatever company had run the giveaway, only to be spirited away by the same person or persons who’d nabbed me.

“Hey, I know it doesn’t look like much,” Jackson says. “But make sure you’re eating the food they bring you.”

“I will.” My voice is soft and gentle as I make the unneeded promise to Jackson. In a situation where we’re powerless, I figure that giving me advice and helping me adjust to my captivity is Jackson’s way of feeling a small measure of control.

There aren’t any utensils to scoop up the stew, so I raise the square Styrofoam container to my mouth and slurp a small amount of the bland goop out of one of the corners. It’s messy eating this way, but my appearance and the state of my clothes aren’t terribly important to me right now.

It isn’t as if anyone of importance will be seeing me in all my grubby glory. I might care if Jackson sees me looking like a filthy slob, but he can’t. He’s blindfolded, in fact, according to him. And his appearance is probably in an even worse state than my own.

Besides, unless the guy graciously brings a change of clothes with my next meal, I’m only going to get dirtier and grungier the longer I’m kept here.

Which brings me to another thought. Jackson said that he’s been here for two weeks. And counting…

If now isn’t the time for fastidiousness, it also isn’t really the time for tact. Throwing aside all thoughts of being polite, I bluntly ask, “Why are you still here? Are they just waiting for the money from your people? And how much longer do you think they’re going to keep you?”

“No people, no money. That’s why I’m still here,” Jackson answers matter-of-factly. “Joke’s on them, huh? I saw someone who looked kind of like me, boarding the same plane as me with the first-class passengers. I’m betting they thought I was him and snatched me by mistake. Now they’re stuck with some random guy, with no money of his own to pay a ransom and no one else in the world who’d want to pay it either, even if they had more than a couple of bucks floating around in their wallets.”

“Holy shit.” My reaction comes out in a gust.

I can’t even imagine… Being kidnapped sucks, but at least my kidnapping makes sense from a criminal point of view. The idea of being thrust into this nightmare because of a case of fucking mistaken identity…

“Holy fucking shit,” I repeat.

“Yeah.”

If I were Jackson, I’m sure I’d sound much more pissed off. But I suppose, he’s had two weeks to get used to the unfairness and suckitude of his situation.

“As to how much longer they’ll keep me…” Jackson says. “I don’t really know. They might carry around guns, but I’m not sure how willing they are to use them. Thank fuck.”

“Maybe…maybe they’ll just let you go.” It’s a nice thought, but I’m not sure if Jackson buys it any more than I do. I try to inject some optimism into my statement, but it really doesn’t make it into my voice.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Hey, you never know. You said you’re blindfolded, right?” I point out. “Surely they’ll realize you can’t identify them and there’s no reason they can’t just let you go.”

I say it to stop Jackson from sounding so glum and resigned, but it is a good point. Why would a kidnapper turn to a more violent solution if they don’t need to? Illegal detainment and extortion are one thing. But actual bloodshed, and of an American citizen…that has to be inviting more of a hassle than our kidnappers are willing to take on. Right?

I refuse to think too hard on the fact that while Jackson is blindfolded, I’m not. And what that could mean for me. A lack of money to pay a ransom isn’t going to be a hurdle for my eventual release, so the fact that I’ve seen my captor shouldn’t matter. I’m a golden goose, and harming me…well. That isn’t the way to ensure that they receive all the lovely loot they’re after for me.

Realizing that I’ve fallen into speaking of my kidnapper as a they—more than one person—because that’s how Jackson has been referring to them, I go ahead and ask, “You keep saying ‘they’. Does that mean there is more than one kidnapper?”

“Obviously, I can’t say for sure. Blindfold, you know. But I’ve heard a couple different voices. So, I’m pretty sure it’s more than one person. Wish I could be more helpful and tell you how many…but I just don’t know.”

---