Conversations of an Unusual Kind
It was in the hall of the abandoned house. He was on his knees, hands bound together by a set of metal cuffs, flanked by a pair of nameless, unimportant officers. She lay on the mattress, sipping from a plastic bottle while a doctor inspected her for injuries. The doctor was wasting his time for she had none.
She had been gone for almost five months now. Five months ago, he had single-handedly bound her into a van and brought her here. Five months ago, she had kicked and screamed and wailed. Not that he had actually done much, other than to kidnap her, of course. He hadn't even bothered asking for a ransom. "Too much trouble", he had said.
"If you don't want a ransom," she had reasoned, "are you going to sell me? Prostitute me? Turn me into a beggar?"
"Nah," he had conceded, "I'm not exactly short on cash."
He had not been cruel. She got her three meals, enough water, a mattress to sleep on. There was a bathroom; not a fantastic one with gold tap and gold bath, but it had a shower and enough soap. Several days in, he had brought her a box of old books and a battered television that would have belonged either to a very old woman or to a family of twenty or so children.
"I stole it," he said simply.
"Oh," she had replied. "Who from?"
"No idea." He shrugged. Then, they had settled down to a TV dinner of cold macaroni. It didn't taste bad either.
He didn't lock the door. She didn't try to escape. She had tried once, because that's what kidnapping victims do, but it had been a halfhearted attempt. He had tried to stop her, halfheartedly. The day had ended with sandwiches and chips in front of the battered old television.
When the police asked her about it later, she hadn't been able to answer, not really.
"He kidnapped you on the fifth of June, correct?" The officer had queried.
"If you insist, then yes, he did."
"I don't insist. It is a question of fact." The officer had replied dryly. "He kidnapped you on the fifth of June, true or false?"
"I suppose it's true," she had conceded, "if, by kidnap, you mean I was brought to that house against my will. If that's what you mean, then yes, I was 'kidnapped', on the fifth of June." A scribble of pencil on paper.
"But you did not try to escape?" She shrugged.
"I might have," she replied.
"Obviously you were unsuccessful." The officer murmured. Another scratch of pencil.
"Is it that obvious?" She asked mildly, sipping from a plastic cup. "I did try! I turned to leave the house but he asked me not to, so I didn't." The officer marked her as 'being of unsound mind'.
She wasn't exactly "out of her mind". In fact, she was not of 'unsound mind' at all. In fact, it was precisely because of her simple rationale that she had gave a small wave as the officers led him out of the abandoned house.
"I quite like you!" She had called, "let's keep in touch!" He had turned, his expression bored.
"Sure, why not?" He had said. "It'll be boring in prison. Nice to know someone's gonna come see me."