Con Artist Legacy

Chapter Twenty-Two: The Kidnapping

Chapter Twenty-Two:  The Kidnapping

I'm not sure when it happened, but lately the days continuously blurred into my nights…proving it impossible for me to ‘turn off’ my brain (rest was slowly becoming a foreign notion in my world).

Maybe I’d always been an insomniac (and simply couldn’t recall it), or perhaps it’d been triggered by all the recent family stress. Of course, the reason didn’t matter to me anymore, especially since I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ‘slept’…the effects of which were already starting to show.  

So I spent the night as I typically did these days-- tossing and turning, obsessing over the past few weeks and all my rookie mistakes. My memory of the 'events' began when I first noticed someone following me around (and my lack of investigative skills at the time), and ended with my laughable level of caution concerning Matthews.

Naturally, the embarrassing rescue at the bar played a large role in my obsessive replay. Had I taken my 'mystery man' seriously when I’d first spotted someone on my tail, none of this would have happened.  I’d have known what the boy was up too even before he did, and I’d have stopped him in his tracks.  

I suppose that my grandfather's absence had subconsciously affected me, and that’s the only explanation I could find to my ‘less than stellar’ performances. He'd been my partner in all mischief and without his guiding words, I found myself bumbling around more often than I'd like to admit.

He wouldn’t be too happy with my current predicament (that much I knew), and I could just imagine him lecturing me from wherever he was. It was honestly a perpetual fear of mine to disappoint the man, and so I rehashed the last couple of weeks again, hoping I’d magically find some hidden clue in my memory.

Because ultimately, it was my paranoid mind that'd saved my arse on numerous occasions; the constant turning of ideas prepared me to be ready for any occasion. Typically, it took me mere seconds to asses a situation in order to know what to do, or what to say.

But nothing could explain the growing fear that I’d missed something crucial, something that would force someone to pay the price for my negligence.

Restless and unable stop imagining all the horrible scenarios plausible, I calmly walked to Elena's bedroom thinking she’d surely be back by now…but it looked exactly the same, and I had to suppress my panic.

Breathing slowly and oddly conscious of my every move, I traveled around the house to check on all of her known hiding places. I’d half expected to find her huddled asleep in one of the many nooks built into the house, but I ended my search disappointed.

And calling her cell for the millionth time did nothing to ease my concern either, especially since it went straight to voicemail; her phone was dead.

For someone permanently attached to social media and texting, this sign did not bode well. I couldn’t remember a time when Elena was completely unavailable or not easily stalked through all her sites.

But everything had been silent since yesterday morning, and that was why I couldn’t be pacified by my family’s patronizing words. 

Unsure of what to do next, I did the only thing I could do; I called Nate.

“Ollie, do you know what time it is?”

“Six, and don’t pretend you were asleep…you’re up by five every day.”

“I know that, but you’re rarely up before 10--”

“Is Elena there?” I interrupted.

“Uh no, is she coming over?” He asked. I could hear rustling in the background, his movements quicker at the thought of his girlfriend visiting…interrupting only by the soft and fragile voice of his mother asking who’d called so early.