Walter
January 23rd,2023
2 am
I yawn over the sink, trying to work up the will to brush my teeth. I've been dealing with reporters since yesterday morning- two even found me on my walk home. I understood the strain that comes with being in the political world from the time I was born because of my mother. Everything she did- from forgetting reusable to go containers when going out to eat one time- to wearing a real silk jacket from an unethical brand( one she'd had since she was twenty), was viewed as a political statement. They called her an enemy to the environment, a climate anti-activist despite her advocacy for veganism and legislative actions towards lowering carbon emissions.
I was nine years old the first time I was cornered at school by a reporter from some irrelevant local station- desperate enough to go after me since they couldn't get to her. The memory is fuzzy,but it went something like this:
"Walter! Walter Hi- do you have any comments to give on the allegations your mother is mistreating and overworking her staff?" The reporter shoved a mic in my face before I could protest, but oh boy did she have another thing coming.
My mother'd foreseen this happening eventually, as it does to all politician's children at one point or another. She told me what my exact response should be to each question- especially when they asked for comments directly.
Little nine year old me grinned, looked her right in the eye, and replied: "I'm not her fucking press secretary."
Then I walked off, my mother gave me a high five when she came home- and her actual press secretary put out a statement justifying my words.
How ironic that I now am a press secretary, I laugh.
On my way home, before said reporters found me, I watched two reaction videos to Tanya's speech. It isn't uncommon for people who have nothing better to do to sit there and record each one so they can be a part of news segments who'll play them over and over again if the speech has enough shock value. This one'll definitely be a part of a longer news cycle- unless something bigger somehow comes along. In the first, an older woman's face went from bored to what the fuck in less than a second and she put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The second was a group of older teenagers, and at the end one of them said "Honestly? I ship it." The cringy giggles that followed made me want to rip my eardrums out.
With my hand- eye coordination starting to fail, I reach for the cold water knob. I slap my hand on the marble countertop a good ten times before I find my toothbrush. Somehow- I manage to stand upright for two whole minutes while I drag it back and forth across my teeth. I don't pay attention to where I set it down.
I find the doorframe and stumble from my bathroom to the bed, it barely registering that my housekeeper must have been here earlier today. I groan in frustration, unable to get comfortable until I realize all of my decorative pillows are stacked. With one arm I rake them in the floor and shove my face into the fluffy two that were hiding.
For a moment- everything is fine.
My house is silent other than the low hum of the air conditioning and the single car on the road. Then before I can stop it- my mind starts wandering again.
Sure- Darrel being Katie's biological father will dominate this news cycle, but with my position it's only natural to think about what'll come next that pushes the top story out of the way to take it's place. Another cop kills another unarmed black man? Another eleven year old dies somewhere after being forced to give birth because of abortion bans from pro life state government officials? While we and Congress are working to try and prevent both of those things from happening, it'll be a while before we can threaten the republicans into voting yes on those bills without repercussions.
Something completely unheard of is rare- I doubt there'll be a devastating tornado over New York City or an 8.5 earthquake in South Carolina- or an unarmed white man killed by a black cop twice in the same week any time soon.
Subconsciously, I start preparing my remarks for the most likely.
The White House is saddened and disgusted to learn about the fatal shooting of _- our hearts go out to his family during this time but they've asked us and the media to respect their privacy while grieving-
What the hell am I doing?
I'm supposed to be asleep so I can go back to thinking about these scenarios in the morning- well rested. I squeeze my eyes tight, blocking out the light coming from the window facing my backyard.
Window facing my backyard....
Light.....
My eyes fly back open. For being so close to the White House, I live in a relatively remote neighborhood. My closest neighbor is a quarter mile away.... So the light's not coming from them. Fuck.
I lay completely still, hoping it's a hallucination. Yes- that must be it! It wouldn't be too unlikely with how tired I am- I read somewhere that hallucinations can start after three days of no sleep or a week of really poor sleep.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the light gets closer- It must be going away soon.
My back doorknob jiggles.
I sit up.
What if... what if somebody'a actually breaking in?
What if I'm not losing my fucking mind?
I hold my breathe, trying to shake the hallucinations away. The jiggling just continues.
I hear the door open- and then in a split second I realize I'm not crazy. I wrack my mind trying to remember what secret service told us to do in these situations.
"Never, EVER voluntarily tell an intruder you work at the White House. There could be mixed reactions- and while some of them might go 'oh shit' and run away, the risk just isn't worth it. If they already know or they recognize you, and whatever they're asking for doesn't compromise national security- comply with their demands. Losing your life wouldn't be worth it."
Fuck that.
As silently as is possible I reach behind my bed- where my loaded Kel-Tec PMR-30 rests, never having been used outside of when I tested it at the shop. After what feels like ten seconds of making strange facial expressions and screaming at the creaky wall to shut the fuck up, my finger close around the barrel.
I quickly pull it out, duck and roll under my bed.
Think. Think. Fucking THINK!!
You can still see my legs from just about every angle- damnit I should have hid in the luggage compartment in my closet!!
Think. THINK!
As the footsteps start sounding closer it hits me. This is going to hurt. This is going to hurt like hell- but at least I'll be alive.
I look straight up and to the side. With the way my bed frame's situated, there's an almost human sized space between the mattress and bottom of said frame- which has about an inch gap between the sides that hold it up and then another inch high "wall" on the inside for whatever fucking reason.
I lift myself up by said "wall", the gun now resting on my stomach- until my body's no longer touching the floor and the covers from my bed obscure my view of anything else but the books I shoved under here when I first moved in.
The metal digs into my fingers like I'm holding onto the edge of a counter really hard. It takes everything in me to stay silent as it presses against my bones- I feel like it wouldn't be as bad if it broke skin.
The footsteps enter my bedroom.
"Он явно был здесь, босс, просто я не могу его найти./ He was obviously here boss- I just can't find him." The thickly accented voice says.
Oh no.
Right now, I'm really wishing I'd taken Russian instead of Latin in college.
Latin. Who takes fucking Latin when you have so many other options that are actually useful in the real-
My gun slides to the floor with a loud thunk. My eyes widen. I see my life flash before my eyes.
Okay- maybe they didn't hear me, I try to reason with myself. Maybe they were too absorbed in their conversation to notice- though the total silence now emanating from the room says otherwise.
Welp. This is unfortunate. I guess I only have one option now- Tanya'll understand.
I drop down and pick my weapon back up, finger on the trigger a millisecond later. When I turn to slide out from under the bed and shoot anybody I see, I nearly come out of my skin.
Two inches from my face- there's another, smiling like he's amused.
My fight response goes into hibernation and I freeze.
"Hello, Mr. Adkins." The person continues smiling. "I've come to collect you. Now we can do this the easy way- or the extremely unpleasant way. It's one hundred percent up to you."
I back away from him, gun still pointed, and slide out from under my bed. He calmly stands with me.
"Oh sweetie-" he chuckles. "You won't shoot me. You're too nice."
"You don't know shit-" My arms shake.
"We know everything, Mr.Adkins." He interrupts. "We know you enjoy the company of men. We know your mother enrolled you in self defense classes when you were eleven. We know your father did not commit suicide- that she killed him- and we also know he deserved it for what he did to you. See- there are certain boundaries even we won't cross. You have our words."
"How do... HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ANY OF THAT?!" I scream. "We... she.... None of us have ever told anybody where... did... why the hell would I trust anything you're saying?!"
He chuckles.
"Careful. I think you've forgotten you have a decision to make. Do you wanna do this the easy way or the unpleasant way?"
"Go fuck yourself."
"I am not really in the mood at the moment. Very well then."
I don't have a chance to react. He pulls something out of his pocket that looks like a variation of a gun- and pulls the trigger.
The thing that hits my arm isn't a bullet- it's so tiny I can't tell what the fuck it is, but it hurts just as much. I drop my gun and fall over. The sensation that spreads outwards and through my whole body is a strange one- Numbness and tingling at the same time.
I try to move my legs and fail.
Fuck. Fuck no he didn't-
"Temporary paralysis is quite the handy tool, don't you think?" He bends down in front of me as the sensation starts spreading to my facial muscles. "You'll be able to breathe just fine, don't worry- you just won't be able to move for a good ten hours. You may find speaking to be difficult as it kicks in."
"Fffffffff....fuuck....y ...youuu."
"I have a spouse, Mr.Adkins. We should really get going now- right? Oh forgive me, I forgot what I injected into your body for a second there." He grips onto my ankles and drags me across the hardwood. I'm unable to kick him in the face or balls.
"Fuuuuuuuuuuu....."
"I'd give up if I were you. You're wasting your energy and I'd highly recommend not falling asleep while it's still in your system- or it could last longer and that wouldn't be good for either of us."
I try to open my mouth again to fight him, but when I do- I find I am incapable of doing so. He laughs.
"Odd- that doesn't normally happen. You must have a low tolerance." He shrugs. "Most just curse us out like they're having a stroke."
Most.
My heart leaves my body.
If he's telling me all this.... They don't intend on me ever coming back from where he's taking me.
THINK!
Why me of all people? It's not like I have access to the most confidential information. As fucked as this sounds, he'd be better off kidnapping Carlos or the defense secretary if getting information is his intention.
I try to think logically through the haze clouding my mind as he drags me through my house.
He is very obviously Russian and I'd assume he works for the government just from the way he's talked and the paralysis he injected me with- which an average citizen wouldn't have access to.
I finally understand.
They're using me as some sort of leverage to get her to do their bidding- but for what?
In my head, I scream at the top of my lungs. No sound comes out of my mouth.
The cool breeze that comes with nighttime in Virginia hits me, and through what I'm able to see in my peripheral while facing straight up- there's some sort of van parked on the side of my house. He drags me to it. I pray for a miracle. None comes. Nothing saves me as he grunts and shoves me in the back.
I am one hundred percent defenseless as he ties me up.
"Just in case. Wouldn't want you escaping, now would we?"
Does it look like I can fucking move?- I want to say.
Something still sticks with me: Secret service telling us to pay attention to every detail we can at all times. Normally, I do my best to block out my surroundings- but now seems like a good time to start listening.
In the front seat, the man dials another number.
"Упаковка безопасна/ Package is secure." He says as soon as someone on the other end picks up, and then hangs up immediately after. God I REALLY fucking wish I understood Russian. That stupid fucking guidance counselor-
I want to ask where we're going- scream profanities at him and punch him over and over again, maybe even get his name- and it's like he's reading my mind.
"Just so you know- nosiness is frowned upon in Russia."
Like I give a shit right now.
"When you are able to speak again-" he says. "You really shouldn't ask too many questions and only speak when spoken to or asked something. Some of my colleagues will not be as forgiving as I am."
Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you-
As we pull off of my road, we hit a pothole.
"Forgive me-" he says. "I am not used to driving on American roads."
So he hasn't been here very many times- got it.
My colleagues won't be as forgiving as I am....
Oh no.
Then I want to smile and scream from relief at the same time- Reagan national airport is the closest one and the security there is insane. There's no way he'll be able to get me in the air without them suspecting something- even this early in the morning- Is there?
I start panicking and trying to force myself up- getting less than a quarter of an inch off the floor of the van before whats-his-name shakes his head.
"Were you not listening? You're not doing yourself any favors."
And as much as I hate to say it- he's right. I feel the fatigue kicking in now.
I give up.
This ends with somebody rescuing me- or it doesn't.
The rest of the ride is silent- until about ten minutes in when there's the distinct sound of an airplane not too far up. He makes a sharp turn down a road that's weirdly smooth. After two more turns he goes straight for seventy three seconds and stops.
I strain my eyes as far to the side as they'll go trying to catch a glimpse of the front van window. In my peripheral, all I notice is a bright blue, lit up sign.
I've been here before.
We're at the private jet section of Reagan national airport.
Fuck me.
He exits the van, opens the back- suddenly throws me over his right shoulder like a rag doll, and I hang upside down.
He approaches two pilots- and two people who clearly aren't pilots, standing in a group near the bottom of some air stairs for a smaller jet.
"деньги в кармане моей куртки. Купите себе что-нибудь красивое./ The money's in my jacket pocket. Buy yourselves something pretty."
I think I heard something about a donkey?
One of the pilots chuckles, reaching his hand into the pocket that's apparently right next to my face- close enough to bite if I could move my jaw.
He pulls out a large wad of 100's, splits it (what looks like) perfectly in half, and presses it into his copilots' hands. Satisfied, he says:
" Добро пожаловать на борт, друг мой./ Welcome aboard, my friend."
The pilot gestures up, and I figure I'd be losing it right about now if I could.
My un-named kidnapper takes the first step, ascending the rest quickly.
I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack when I see the inside. No no no no- This is nothing like Air Force one. This thing is just a hollow shell with a few handles here and there- bolted to the sides and floor.
My kidnapper sets me down and disappears to the front with the pilots.
Two sets of footsteps follow.
A woman in her early thirties crouches down in front of me while her partner adjusts my restraints to tie me to one of said handles.
"I heard you were afraid of flying-" The woman says in an even thicker accent. "Do not worry. It should only take about ten hours."