I realize very quickly that I'm not cut out to be a hostage, because once we enter the elevator it became clear that I'm out of my mind. Do I want to help him to live? At this point I feel like it's my job to keep him alive.
But I should want him dead. Then again, he hadn't hurt me, just threatened my life... yeah he should go die.
"Move it." The man roughly pushed me through the elevator doors and into the lobby.
People gaze at us in shock, not a single one moving. The man presses the gun to my head, and I struggle not to close my eyes.
Dammit, at this rate I'll be killed without a single clue why. How would a smart person get out of here alive?
To cut my overthinking short, police and a SWAT team barge in. Wasn't that too quick? I didn't see someone make a phone call.
"Put your hands up and release the woman." A man shouts furiously.
I glance up at my kidnapper, and he winks at me. Tears prick my eyes out of pure confusion.
"Alright, you can have her." I'm thrown to the floor at once, rubbing my knees and hands painfully on the red carpet.
Men rush behind me and cuff the lunatic. Someone lifts me up and carries me outside. The cold wind bites my exposed legs, and I shiver until I'm placed into a big vehicle.
Wait, this is the SWAT truck, right? This time I start shaking from fear and shattered nerves. An arm wraps around me, and I cry out in a hoarse voice.
The kidnapper from earlier leans closer as I start punching and kicking him. His hand slides into my coat pocket, revealing a folded over note.
When did that get there?
He opens it and plucks out a micro USB drive. I can't tell what he shouts to the man driving the truck, my mind numb and pulsating.
"That worked out perfectly! To think she kept her coat on this whole time." A man joyfully responds to whatever was said.
"Wait, was this a baton pass? Did you use me as a f***ing folder?!" I scream hysterically, absolutely losing it.
"Yeah, pretty much." He lightheartedly replied.
My eyes roll back.
~*~
"Hey, I think something's wrong." I talk to no one in particular as the woman in front of me collapses. Tremors shake her body spasmatically.
"Shit. George, pull over! I think she's having a seizure." I search frantically for a medical ID bracelet until I find one on her thin wrist.
Idia Chernyshevsky
Epilepsy
Sweat begins to soak her clothes. I begin a sternal rub, praying that my years as an EMT would amount to anything.
Idia's eyes open groggily. She tries to stand only to collapse in confusion.
"Where am I?"
I picked the worst hostage.