“Oh… my god…” he moaned, as if finally absolving himself of the day’s events.
“Are you alright?” Lena asked.
“Fine. Just not really a people person, that’s all.”
“You? You aren’t a people person?”
“Does that really surprise you?”
“I suppose it does, yes.”
“I figured people would say the same about you… you’re an amazing performer, Lena. You really know how to throw yourself around a crowd. But you’re a person who likes to be by yourself. Same as me… same as most of us. It’s a part of us, sure, but that’s only a part of us.”
Just then, Lena felt somewhat stupid. She had never even conceived that Matt York was an introvert like her. Perhaps even more so like her. To be able to put on the airs of a performer, and then to just switch it off once the need was no longer there…
“I’m sorry, I would have never guessed.”
“There’s a lot about people like us that others will never know.”
“People like us” she thought… “Like Matt and I… It is true, they will never know.”
A few more minutes passed as Lena and Matt made conversation. It was still awkward, but now it was an even nicer type of awkward—an ‘us-against-them’ variety. Soon, Mr. Collins finished making her some coffee after taking great care in doing so. Placing the steaming mug in front of her, he sat down on Matt’s side of the table, taking care to allow Lena an escape out of the bus if she needed a breather. She felt grateful for the gesture.
“Well, as I said before,” Mr. Collins smiled, “it’s wonderful to finally meet you. Do you prefer Madeline, or…?”
“Most people just call me The Mad Bunny,” Lena sighed.
“Is that what you would prefer?”
“It works, but my name is Lena.”
Mr. Collins smiled at this, before adding, “You and Matt are so very much alike, it’s almost scary.”
“Pick a name, dumbass,” Matt laughed, “or he’ll call you Mad Bunny.’”
“Fine, fine. You can call me Lena.” she laughed awkwardly.
“Alright,” Mr. Collins smiled. “How was your show? I’m sorry that I missed most of it, but I’d love to hear how it went.”
For nearly two hours… two hours!!!… the three of them talked. Lena was nervous at first, but she was surprised how quickly she warmed up to the both of them. Somehow, she managed to bring up topics that they were all well-versed in. They laughed at all of her jokes, and added to her stories. They seemed really interested in everything she had to say, and seemed to know precisely when to tell stories themselves, to give her a breather. Soon, she began to feel like these people were two of her best friends. She didn’t feel awkward in the least anymore.
They had laughed, cried, and bonded profusely over Mr. Collin’s never-ending supply of caffeine and band stories. My god, the man had enjoyed some wacky adventures all over the world. And Lena was not only able to keep up with all of the stories, they left her wanting more. She wanted the life that he had—crawling all over the world to play shows for fantastic cultures, getting to know folks of every hue, and even finding herself in dangerous situations every now and again. She was jealous of them, of course. Yet Mr. Collins had a gift for making it all seem like a possibility for her.
“You never know what the future holds,” he had said. “A bright young lady like you? Meet the right people, shake the right hands, and say the right words… soon enough, you’ll be playing shows with Journey.”
“Where would I even meet those people?” she had exclaimed.
“Well, you’re doing a pretty good job now, by my reckoning.”
The premise of the conversation had eventually changed from simply trading stories to nearly talking business. Of course, she would never think to impose herself on them… far from. These were her new friends. She would never assume or use them, but nothing said that she couldn’t choose relevant topics. Maybe if she said the right things, smiled at the right moments, and kept up with their end of the conversation, they would get the idea that she was more than available for any adventure they could provide. Of course, the premise of spending more time with Matt didn’t hurt either.
After two hours, they had nearly exhausted every conversation topic that she could think of. Yet even after the night she’d had, she didn’t feel the least bit tired. She still wanted more. She retained some small hope that if she said the right things, she might make it back on this side of the Wall to meet with them again. As serendipity would have it, though, the conversation took an exceptionally fortuitous direction. It seemed she had finally said the right things.
“Well, the truth is, Lena,” Mr. Collins said, “you’re a pretty special woman. We’re big fans of your music, and we’re big fans of your stage performance. But more importantly, we’re big fans of your mind. You have an exceptional intelligence, and a gift for conversation.”
“Really?” she blushed, not believing the last part.
“Oh, believe it! You’re an artist, and you come across like an artist. Sure, you don’t like small talk, but I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
“What’s that?” she asked leaning in closer.
“No one likes small talk… it only serves one purpose—convincing strangers that you aren’t an axe-murderer. After that, people could only hope to have the thoughts you have, and the ability to discuss them openly.”
Lena smiled at that; she had never considered things that way.
“Actually,” he continued, “that’s the reason why we want to work with you. You have the mind of an artist—free-thinking—and the ability to think on your feet, and in different directions. That’s something we would very much like to utilize in the future.”
“How would you want to do that?” she asked. At this, Matt, without really looking at her, lifted up his wrist and tapped on it with the other hand, as if testing to make sure his nonexistent watch worked. “Wait…” she thought, “What the hell…”
“Well, let me ask you this…” Mr. Collins started, leaning in, “what do the words ‘counter-intelligence’ mean to you?”
Vortecx found it hard to breathe through the bag tied tightly around his head and neck. He didn’t remember how he had gotten here. There was an entire blank space of time leading up to this moment that he couldn’t account for. It wasn’t like it was all a blur; it literally wasn’t there. All he knew for sure was that he was unable to move or see. His wrists and ankles hurt like he was bound tightly. The light pressure around his neck, and the near suffocating lack of air informed him about the bag. This was all that he knew for certain. As he started to come to, however, he intuitively understood that he was in some type of vehicle. The rumble of the motor; the speeding and stopping; the sound of other cars whizzing by in the opposite direction; all of this—combined with the fact that his head hurt very badly—and the signs very clearly pointed to the fact that he was now being kidnapped.
“Hello?” he said, woozily, “Is anyone there?”
It was a dumb question to ask. He was in a moving vehicle. Of course, he knew someone was there. Yet he asked it anyway. It seemed like a good place to start, after all.
“Just relax. We’ll be there shortly.”
“Wh-where are w-we going, Mister?”