Ransom

Because it's good for the imagination to alternate fiction with reality, here's a bit of a shift from the last few posts...

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The ransom note didn't look anything like the ones she's seen on TV.  No crookedly cut out letters from a newspaper, no carefully typed, nondescript text to disguise the author, just a few hastily scribbled lines, clearly written by someone who doesn't resort to pen and paper often.  If the letter's origin was murky, the contents were quite straightforward.  Rachel was to bring five hundred dollars in small denomination bills to the address given in the note or she'll never see Clementine again.

Rachel reread the note a few times, idly wondering if she should be touching it at all.  What about fingerprint analysis? Of course, that concern was secondary to the main problem at hand.  She had no idea who Clementine was.  She turned the note every which way, hoping she missed something that would negate the obvious answer - the note was intended for someone else.  But it was under my door, Rachel argued silently with herself, suddenly furious at the incompetent kidnapper. 

She put the note on the kitchen table, carefully smoothing it out and sat down before it, trying to gather her thoughts.  First things first, maybe it was a joke?  It could be, but was she willing to take that chance?  What would happen to Clementine, whoever she was, if Rachel disregarded the note? Assuming for a moment that it was real, what now?  Call the police?  And say what?

Rachel reread the note again and realized that there was no deadline given to deliver the money.  Clearly the kidnapper expected the ransom to be paid as soon as the note was found, but what if Rachel had been traveling?  The lack of clear expectations annoyed her further and she found herself composing a "proper" ransom note in her mind while her hands worried the one on the table in front of her.

Michael was slightly taken aback when the normally soft-spoken Ms. Moore rushed to his bank window ten minutes before closing and breathlessly demanded five hundred dollars in small bills.  No larger than $20, she gasped as she tried to catch her breath.  Michael glanced at his screen and confirmed what he already knew; this was well out of Ms. Moore's normal withdrawal pattern.  He opened his mouth but got nowhere before Rachel raised her palm to stop him.  In the torrent of words that followed, he caught snatches of "mistake", "Clementine", "have to do it", "way more than normal", and finally, "please, please, just help me."  Sighing, he opened the drawer and started counting out bills.

Clutching her purse in one hand and her phone in the other, Rachel cautiously approached the dingy storefront that bore the address from the ransom note.  The sign on the front was flipped to "Closed" and Rachel's heart sank, was she too late?  But now that she was here...  Rachel took a deep breath and knocked loudly on the glass door.

Clementine came home with Rachel that evening; the large orange tabby none the worse for wear.

What can happen in a second...

A car can run a red light and hit a child running across the street to keep up with his older brother.

A life can end or be forever altered by a stray bullet.

In the middle of a heated argument, you can see the expression of utter contempt flit across your spouse's face and, in that second, know that your marriage is irrevocably over.

A phone can ring... or not... in the second that will forever be branded as the turning point.

You can close your eyes for a second and miss the look of absolute love on your child's face.

You can turn the key in the lock, walk into the house when you should have been at work, and in the second that will stretch into eternity see your teenage son passionately kissing another boy.

A second is longer than it takes the doctor to say the word you can already see forming on her lips, "cancer".

A second easily carries the words, "you're hired" and "you're fired."

A second to tell someone, "I do" or "I hate you" or "I had an affair" and countless seconds morphing into breadths of time to deal with the consequences.

A second to lose your footing or regain it on a treacherous climb.

A child's first breath or her last.

A second is all it takes for the realization steeped in many sleepless nights to sink in and become reality.

Reading the first line in a book that will change the rest of your life from this second forward only takes a second.

The ringing burst of laughter from a child having the best day ever.

The rushed embrace that lasts a second and is never to be repeated because the plane never made it to its destination.

The last kiss on the forehead before the machines are turned off.

The phrase "pencils down" falling from the test monitor's lips before you realize it really is over.

The answer "yes" when you had been praying for "no."

The answer "no" when you were desperate to hear "yes."

A cry of surrender, followed by humiliating regret.

An intake of breath in response to brutally honest pain; pain that is expected, desired, and feared.

A bow of defeat.

Nothing, to be chased by many more nothings.

Something you never expected.

Everything you've ever been afraid of wishing for.

It only takes a second.