Page 89 of Resting Grump Face
Well, I got you now, Agent Snoozy, supposed master of secrecy and clandestine operations! Seems like your top-secret ATF training didn’t prepare you for this. You were no match for my decades of experience.
Now look at you, all sprawled out like a snoozing sloth. Yes, feel free to catch up on all that sleep you missed during all those undercover missions.
Oh, I do have to say, I love your fancy suit. Were you trying to blend in with the penguins at the zoo?
Agent Snoozy, I do believe you may think you were being stealthy, but I’ve seen raccoons make less noise rummaging through our garbage. Maybe you should trade that spy badge for a nice rocking chair.
There is nothing in your pockets, no weapons, no gadgets, you’re not even happy to see me?
Well, you are a lot heavier than I thought though. Probably from all those steak-outs. I guess I will have to get the trolley and some more hands.
Let’s get you inside before you wake up again. And then let’s find out what your secret mission is all about.
33
RYKER
When I regain consciousness, my head is ringing as if someone knocked me over the skull with something very hard and heavy. Twice.
I try to touch the pounding spot but my hands get stopped by the restraints around my wrists. The memory of an airport interrogation room shoots through my throbbing brain, giving me an even bigger headache.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Did I actually get kidnapped?
The blindfold covering my eyes makes it even harder to make sense of my predicament.
‘You should be careful, people who go so far as to maintain an entire journal dedicated to examining you and your entire life might eventually go even further than this.’
It would appear that she actually did. And she even warned me beforehand.
“Sienna?” I ask into the seemingly empty room. My voice echoes in what I assume to be some sort of abandoned basement. The air feels wet in here and from what I can tell, there’s not much light coming in.
“Robyn?” I try when there is no response.
It’s not entirely unheard of that rich people are abducted to get money out of them. Maybe I accidentally stumbled into my very own kidnapping?
In the darkness, my senses sharpen. I hear the faint drip of water accompanied by an uncomfortable coldness.
I hold in and listen for a sound, any sound. The rope that ties my hands is tight, but probably my best chance at an escape, so I loosen it by flexing against it as stealthily as possible. To my surprise, I get the rope off a minute later. It will probably leave a nice friction burn, but not more than that. I remove the blindfold and look around. No one is with me, just the gloominess of an old basement. An old couch sits against the wall, a few crates are stacked in one corner, a few casks in the other and in-between there is a table with what appears to be some kind of chemistry equipment.
Did I get myself abducted by drug dealers?
I loosen the ties around my feet when I hear a door opening up the stairs to my left. Someone is coming. Quickly, I put the blindfold over my eyes again, slip back into the restraints behind my back, and pretend to be out cold.
I peek under the blindfold but can’t see much in the dark. After a lot of scurrying, I feel someone gently poke against my chest with something solid.Might be a gun, it shoots through my head.Better not take any chances here.
I pretend to regain consciousness and grunt at the pain that I am feigning to still feel. “Listen,” I say and grumble some more, “this is all quite fun. I admire the attention to detail: the blindfold, the rope around my wrists, you even got the unmistakable aroma of damp basement for that extra bit of authenticity, and if it wasn’t for the blindfold, I’d probably admire the rustic décor too… but I’m afraid this has gone far enough.”
After a few seconds, and some rustling noises, I finally get a response. “Do you know why you are here?” A robotic voice asks.
I hesitate. This is weird. Whoever is speaking seems to be using some kind of voice alternator.
“Let me guess: you’re a big fan and wanted an autograph?”
There’s more rustling, more scurrying, but no answer. It seems like there is an entire group of people here with me.
I start again. “Listen, we don’t have to do it this way?—”
