From Me to You (SkippyTheMudkip's 400 Followers Contest Entry)

One - Damon

Goddammit.

I read the bill for my apartment, and that's all I could think. God fricking dammit.

What's wrong, Atticus?

I scowled as I heard the Narrator sound in my head, his voice just as annoying and condescending as usual. Oh, nothing. Just that I'm about to run out of money, starve and end up on the streets.

Sounds irritating. What are you going to do?

Ugh, I don't know. I have to get a job, and fast. Got any ideas, dumbass?

Why are you asking me? I'm you.

No you're not, idiot. Seriously. If I don't get some quick cash, we're both going to die.

Well, when you word it like that, Atticus, I get worried.

I repeat: Dumbass.

Rude.

Honestly, though, I need a quick way out.

I might remember a little something from before...

What? Dammit, Narrator, now is not the time to withhold this information.

The Narrator told me.

I was not pleased.

Are you serious!? I can't do that!

Yes you can, Atticus. It's the only way we can get money fast enough. Besides, once you and the rest are done, you never have to see them or be associated with them ever again. It's a one-off opportunity.

No. Allying myself with a criminal gang was not my idea of a quick job!!

It's the only way, Atticus. You know it is.

I'll sleep on it, and tell you in the morning.

No, we have to-

Shut up, Narrator!

And I took a shower and went to bed.

But did I sleep? No. My mind was fully awake, and i stared into the darkness of my bedroom, seeing nothing. In my head, I ran through equations backwards and forwards, with the Narrator (damn him) adding helpful little comments from time to time.

No matter how hard I thought, I could only reach one conclusion.

The Narrator was right.

I had to do it.

I sighed and swung my legs out of bed, going towards the closet and pulling out a black button-down.

Where are we going, Atticus?

I sighed as I pulled the shirt over my bare chest, feeling the slightly fuzzy material run over my skin, and I shut the closet door.

As much as I hate to admit it, Narrator, you were right.

I usually am, said the Narrator smugly.

And I grabbed my car keys from the bowl and we were off.

*****

"Who the hell are you?"

The first gang member was a tall African-American man, relatively skinny and holding a gun near my face. He looked almost nervous, as if he had never done this before. He was probably just an ordinary guy who had fallen on tough times and had turned to an easy way out.

Just like me, I thought angrily as I explained my intentions.

They put a blindfold over my face (such theatrics) and I was led into the building.

"Sit down, Mister Damon." came a calm, cool female voice from in front of me.

"I can't sit down if I can't see," I replied.

"Ah ha ha. You've got some wit, Mister Damon. But I am sorry. Please, remove the blindfold."

One of the goons pulled off the opaque strip of cloth, and what I saw surprised me.

I was standing in a clean, furnished room, with orange-painted walls and some rather threadbare furniture. In front of me was a middle-aged woman, maybe in her thirties, with short brown hair, a tank top and jeans, and a bandanna around her head. Her skin was pale, and her face was slightly Asian in its construction.

I sat down in the plastic chair behind me, shifting to get fairly comfortable, and faced the woman, my green eyes meeting her deep brown. She stared back easily, her face stern yet pleased.

"Well, Mister Damon. I assume you came here to get some easy money." she said, leaning back in her armchair. She crossed her arms, looking slightly off at ease in the ordinary room. "We can oblige, of course. A hundred thousand sound good to you?"

"What?!" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "A hundred thousand dollars?"

"Yes. One hundred thousand. There are fairly few of us, the mission will pay well, and we start tomorrow."

"What is the mission, exactly?"

At this, the woman leaned forwards, her eyes twinkling with a dull excitement.

"It's simple. We're breaking into a house and kidnapping a girl, then holding her to ransom. Easy peasy."

"Who?"

She pulled her phone out of her pocket, and showed me a slightly blurry picture. A young woman, about my age, with short chocolate-colored hair, dusky skin, and bright blue eyes. She was standing in a garden, wearing a bright orange dress that worked very well with her Arabic complexion.

"Asvoria Diane Emerton, the twenty-year-old daughter of the billionaire scientist, Mattheian Samir Emerton. Mr. Emerton dotes on his daughter, and he will do anything to get her back."

"She looks like a spoiled brat."

"Probably is. She doesn't have a mother anymore, and she gets whatever she wants. One of those people who have everything in life. Don't you just hate them?"

"Yeah." I said, but I was distracted. I was staring at the photo, inspecting the girl. I had noticed two things that were out of place, two things that gave me pause.

The first was a jagged butterfly tattoo on her left shoulder. Was that really appropriate for a spoiled, rich young lady?

The second thing was her face.

She was scowling.

I looked back at the leader.

"What time do we start?"