I Am the Color Blue

The Sun Sets On a Nightmare

"What do you want?" I yell. He puts his hand inconspicuously over my mouth to silence me.

"Shut up! Just listen."

I breathe hard into his sweaty palm, my blue eyes staring straight into his deep grey ones. "Follow me," he says, leading me back behind the building to our right. Away from all the people. Away from the witnesses. I try to keep my calm. "I know you, Lindsay. I know who you are."

Slowly, he draws his hand back from his mouth, only to grab on to both my shoulders and pin me against the wall. But now I can talk. "I don't know what you're talking about! Are you insane? I'm Lindsay Reeves. I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know! You have the wrong person!" I'm desperate.

He scowls at me as tears roll down my face. I don't know what I can do at this point. "I'm absolutely sure you're the right person. Don't question me, just follow. And stay absolutely silent." He puts his arm around me as if he were my boyfriend, his right hand free and tucked under his coat. Pressing something cold against my side, then taking it away. A gun.

"Need I say anything more?" he asks.

"N--" I begin. He pushes the gun against me again.

"I told you. Stay quiet." I nod and walk next to him, obeying without any struggle, or even a sign of it. But I can't help the tears from rolling down my cheeks, dropping down onto my scarf, and soaking gently in. I don't look up; I watch the tears disappear. Because there's nothing I can do.

We keep walking, past real couples, holding hands and talking and laughing, past small children running to catch up with their parents, weaving between benches and streetlamps, and it's hard to imagine we don't look out of place. Don't look as if someone should help me. I don't see any way out of this.

In my mind I ask the man where we were going, over and over again, but I don't dare speak it. Not with an order to remain silent and a gun in my side. I wonder so many things. Why this had to happen to me. Where we're going. What his name is. But it's already happened. So I'd better just accept it.

Finally, we reach an empty parking lot; the parking lot of a restaurant that burned down a few months, maybe half a year ago. It's completely empty except for one black and yellow taxi. "Get in the car or I'll shoot you," he says. I nod. I approach the car.

I climb in the passenger seat; he gets in the driver seat and puts his keys in the ignition. Now that we're off the street, and there are no people around, I have more confidence that he won't shoot me if I ask him a question. I'll probably end up getting shot anyway, so why not take a risk?

"Who are you?"

He doesn't answer, and instead takes out a long rope, almost like a jumprope. He pulls it tightly around me and the seat, then winds it around multiple times so I can't move my arms above my elbows. It does hurt, but I don't tell him. I ask again.

"Who are you?"

He scowls, but still doesn't answer, finishing by tying a rope around my neck and the headrest, not tight enough to choke me, but tight enough that I'd be stupid to try to get free. For fear of more ropes, I stop asking who he is. As he climbs back into the driver seat, his face looks almost guilty. But not quite. It's a different emotion; one I can't seem to put my finger on, but it's right on the tip of my tongue.

"My name's Ike," he finally says, as he puts his foot slowly on the gas and we take off. The cab has the same jerky feeling as it did last night, when Ike took me home in it. And I wonder even more where he's taking me now, as we speed away in broad daylight, and I know I could try and do something about it, but before I could scream the word 'help', I'd have a bullet in my head.

Then there wouldn't be much anyone could do to help.

In a flash, we're off, driving first down empty streets that look as if no-one has travelled them in years, then miraculously, we reach the highway. I guess he /is/ a cab driver, so he knows where he's going. I watch the trees fly by on the side of the road, patches of forest interrupted by buildings, a small town here and there. I have no idea where we are anymore.

But I stay silent and watch the scenery. We drive and drive and drive, and I don't know how long it's been since we were in New York but we probably aren't anymore. The sun gets lower in the sky, setting in front of us. It would have been beautiful had I not been tied up with the threat of a gun.

Finally, as the sky goes from orange and pink to a dark blue and purple, I watch the moon rise. I lean my head back against the head rest and decide to sleep. Only then do I realize it's practically impossible, so I lean my head back and /pretend/ to sleep. I try to tell myself it looks convincing, but my breath comes heavy and forced, my fear taking over me. I try to forget about it and actually rest. To daydream.

Apparently, I succeed, because I lose my surroundings in the peaceful blackness of sleep. The only way I see of escaping.