Frightened Boy

Chapter Six - Fish and Frogs

6. Fish and Frogs

I woke up in the trunk of a car with a hood over my face and my hands cuffed behind my back. I could feel Erika’s body jostling against mine. I tried to comfort her, but she seemed unconscious.

The car stopped, and I was carried out of the trunk and tossed around some more. Again, I reached around for Erika and called her name, but it was no use. I spent maybe an hour with my hood on in a cold room and my hands pinned behind me on a cement floor, listening to my heart thump.

Finally, strong hands lifted me up from the floor and placed me in an aluminum chair. A hand dove into my pants pocket and pulled out my cell phone.

When they finally took the hood off, Escher’s face was only inches from mine.

Five Strangers stand behind him, some in trench coats and others dressed savagely in torn clothes, tattoo-strewn skin greasy in the light.

“Where is Erika?” I asked Escher, trembling. My voice cracked as I spoke, and I blushed.

“She’s our prisoner.”

Escher paced back and forth in front of me. He was dressed like some sort of pimp caricature with a deep purple velvet robe and matching top hat. I couldn’t see a weapon on him, but that didn’t make him seem any less dangerous.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you Clark Horton? You aren’t the only one. Do you know what really killed America?” he asked.

“No…no, I don’t.” I would say anything to get out of the spotlight.

“Fear killed America. We thought that if we were just secure enough, if there were enough safety procedures, we’d be safe, but safety is a myth. They used airplanes against us, and in response we made airplanes unusable. We used trains instead. Then they put a bomb on a train, and those were taken away. Soon just the threat of an attack was all they needed.

“We choked our own society. We thought that lions and wolves eat with knives and forks. We didn’t realize our enemies would use our fear against us. It’s a sick cycle, Frightened Boy. You, like America, need to wake up.”

I sat petrified, watching him.

“Excuse me,” Escher said suddenly. A lithe, dark-skinned man with set of quotation marks tattooed over his temples stepped up to the purple-robed leader and opened a wooden box, similar to one a wealthy man might use to store his cigars. Inside was a syringe filled with a thick red liquid. It looked like blood.

Escher took it out of the case and carefully injected it into his arm with the familiarity of an experienced junkie. When it was empty, he appeared dizzy for a moment. Then he looked down at his arm, at the injection site. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious. I don’t use drugs. My dreams are frightening enough.”

I stayed quiet.

“Now, for you.” The leader of the Strangers bent over until his eyes met mine. He stared into my face, gaze unfocussed. I sat uncomfortably for thirty, forty seconds until at least he blinked again and began speaking. “Let him go,” he said.

Someone I couldn’t see stood over my shoulder, and they untied my hands at his command.

“You are free to move about, but be cautious. You cannot leave, and there is more to be afraid of here in the Orange than the Strangers. You are welcome to stay with us for a period of time, but you must know - I know you have the footage taken of me while I visited Tasumec Tower. I know the police don’t have copies of it, which is the only reason you are still alive. You will be free to leave when I have my hard drives, and I am satisfied yours are the only copies. As you could imagine, I have a lot on my hands. Enjoy my hospitality.”