I Guess I'll Never Get To Call You Mine
LAURENCE
“Screaming for help won’t work?” I said. The fact that we’re both tied up and apparently stowed away in some sort of boat has been a surreal experience. I keep expecting that I’ll wake up any minute and find it all to be a dream. “That’ll be kind of futile,” Aline agreed. “Besides, I’m rather attached to my vocal chords.” “So now what are we going to do?” “Wait it out, I guess. I think your boyfriend would’ve figured out we’re kidnapped by now.” “He could just think we’re lost and our phones died, you know. I don’t always text him if I’m coming home late so he wouldn’t have suspected.” “No,” she sighed. “But he knows me quite well, actually. We, uh, used to be kind of close. He’ll figure out something’s wrong.”
Before I can answer we heard the sound of thudding footsteps as someone approached us. “Here comes the evil villains,” Aline murmured beside me. “Oh joy.” A buff-looking guy with a shaved head and a face not unlike a bulldog crouched down in front of us. “You know they could’ve at least made our kidnappers hotter,” Aline remarked. “Watch your mouth girlie if you don’t want your tongue cut off,” the man growled.
In other circumstances, I would’ve felt threatened. But if it’s one thing I hate, it’s bullies, and this guy reminded me of every bully I’ve ever met since Travis who stole my Pop Rocks in third grade and Jacques in high school, who enjoyed pitching people’s heads inside toilet bowls. “Listen, buster,” I said. “You don’t talk to people that way.”
“She’s right you know.” I grimaced as another voice came within earshot, silken and formal. A well-dressed man probably in his mid 30s came into view. He is tall and lean and muscular, and with his long-sleeved shirt and slacks he looked like a businessman who’d wandered in by mistake. A pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.
“First of all I must apologize on Leonard’s behavior. He doesn’t do well with smart-talking people like this young lady here.” He gave Aline an appreciative nod. “But I’m afraid Leonard rarely jokes about anything, so if you want to keep your tongue I rather advise you do what he says for the time being.” “He doesn’t tell me to shut up, so I can talk, can I?” I said defensively. The man sighed. “Ah, yes. I’ve almost forgotten. You’re a rather irrelevant subject to our cause. We’d been expecting this young lady…” He jerked his thumb to Aline. “To be quite alone when he pursued her.” “Pursued? What are you? Some kind of hitman?” Aline shot out.
“Gag her,” the man said smoothly, and I saw Leonard obediently take out a rag from his pocket. “To answer Ms. Young’s question, I am not a hitman. Hitmen are assassins. We don’t go around killing people. We use the term professional captors.” “Kidnappers.” “Oh dear no, don’t compare us to those vulgar people. They handle their people carelessly,” he said looking disgusted. “We, on the other hand, treat our guests with respect.” He dragged a cardboard box in front of us, carefully dusted off its top and perched on it precariously as if he’s about to have tea with the Queen of England. “Let us all introduce ourselves with properly, shall we?” he said cheerfully. “I know Ms. Young of course. She’s been quite a star with that band of hers. You’ve both met Leonard. He took care of you superbly when we, ah, transported you to this facility.” “If you can call drugging people chloroform and dragging them off superb treatment then yes, I am so grateful for his care,” I rolled my eyes. “Laurence Monet, nice to meet you.”
The man took off his sunglasses, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes, a shiver running down my spine. Despite the friendly casualness of his tone and his banker appearance, his eyes were cold, dark and deadly, like a cobra’s about to strike. “Butch,” he said simply.
Before I can answer we heard the sound of thudding footsteps as someone approached us. “Here comes the evil villains,” Aline murmured beside me. “Oh joy.” A buff-looking guy with a shaved head and a face not unlike a bulldog crouched down in front of us. “You know they could’ve at least made our kidnappers hotter,” Aline remarked. “Watch your mouth girlie if you don’t want your tongue cut off,” the man growled.
In other circumstances, I would’ve felt threatened. But if it’s one thing I hate, it’s bullies, and this guy reminded me of every bully I’ve ever met since Travis who stole my Pop Rocks in third grade and Jacques in high school, who enjoyed pitching people’s heads inside toilet bowls. “Listen, buster,” I said. “You don’t talk to people that way.”
“She’s right you know.” I grimaced as another voice came within earshot, silken and formal. A well-dressed man probably in his mid 30s came into view. He is tall and lean and muscular, and with his long-sleeved shirt and slacks he looked like a businessman who’d wandered in by mistake. A pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes.
“First of all I must apologize on Leonard’s behavior. He doesn’t do well with smart-talking people like this young lady here.” He gave Aline an appreciative nod. “But I’m afraid Leonard rarely jokes about anything, so if you want to keep your tongue I rather advise you do what he says for the time being.” “He doesn’t tell me to shut up, so I can talk, can I?” I said defensively. The man sighed. “Ah, yes. I’ve almost forgotten. You’re a rather irrelevant subject to our cause. We’d been expecting this young lady…” He jerked his thumb to Aline. “To be quite alone when he pursued her.” “Pursued? What are you? Some kind of hitman?” Aline shot out.
“Gag her,” the man said smoothly, and I saw Leonard obediently take out a rag from his pocket. “To answer Ms. Young’s question, I am not a hitman. Hitmen are assassins. We don’t go around killing people. We use the term professional captors.” “Kidnappers.” “Oh dear no, don’t compare us to those vulgar people. They handle their people carelessly,” he said looking disgusted. “We, on the other hand, treat our guests with respect.” He dragged a cardboard box in front of us, carefully dusted off its top and perched on it precariously as if he’s about to have tea with the Queen of England. “Let us all introduce ourselves with properly, shall we?” he said cheerfully. “I know Ms. Young of course. She’s been quite a star with that band of hers. You’ve both met Leonard. He took care of you superbly when we, ah, transported you to this facility.” “If you can call drugging people chloroform and dragging them off superb treatment then yes, I am so grateful for his care,” I rolled my eyes. “Laurence Monet, nice to meet you.”
The man took off his sunglasses, and I caught a glimpse of his eyes, a shiver running down my spine. Despite the friendly casualness of his tone and his banker appearance, his eyes were cold, dark and deadly, like a cobra’s about to strike. “Butch,” he said simply.
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Laurence Monet is a real person. From the best of my knowledge, she is now currently Sébastien's wife.