Sorry for the lack of updates and my sudden disappearance over the past few weeks, I've been busy packing and moving. You may wonder why I left my cozy home, and like all good stories, this one begins with a girl.
You may know her from my previous blog posts, you may know her in real life. However you know her, you'd understand that she is a fairly ritualistic individual, following strong patterns of organisation. So I was out practicing my photography. As my field of expertise is in the range of floral and nature based photos, I was instantly in love with the garden of that she kept so perfectly. Like a slice of the Garden of Eden right in my neighbourhood. However, I noticed something strange one night, piquing my interests. It was largely out of character for her to not be gardening when I did my rounds for photos. She would always walk into frame for my shots, which always get me a laugh. I stayed at a distance because I agree with master photographers, who believe that staged photos where you get people to stand exactly where you want are never real, and they don't truly capture the experience, the moment, without justice. Now, I wouldn't go crazy because I didn't want to be that suspicious boyfriend type, who lacks trust. But this happened every day. She didn't show up. I was worried.
Then one night, I notice headlights pulling up to her driveway, followed by another car. She steps out of the first car, with a tall man exiting the second. They both entered the house. I stayed for a few hours, watching episodes of Breaking Bad on my phone (I absolutely LOVE that show), until they finally left. She shook hands with him, and he walked away. She looked emotional, as if she had been crying. I was angered. Was she seeing this man? Could she possibly have found a new boyfriend? And why was she crying? Was he abusing her? I had so many questions that couldn't possibly have been answered by asking her so I tried to be a good, trusting man by leaving her alone. I took a photo of the man's plates and went home to my laptop, where I could look him up on various websites.
Turns out he was the shady lawyer type. Drives a fancy car and did great in high school, all the way through university. Wears fancy suits and drinks strongly, manly martinis. He outclassed me in all ways. Maybe this girl was just as shallow as other women. I kept on searching, in hope that maybe I could find something that didn't just leave me depressed. His business dealings made him an expert in "witness relocation". I don't know what that means but it sounded unsafe. I've played enough Call of Duty to know that neutralise is military slang for kill, and relocation is imprisonment. Was he going to kidnap her? I knew now that I would need to take extreme measures. I messed around with security certificates on Facebook and tracked his address. Taking my roommates van down there again, I decided to use my lockpicking skills I learnt from many stealth games to let myself in. His house was immaculate. It was scary seeing someone so meticulous in organisation. It was as if he had so many skeletons to hide. I entered his study room and rifled through a cabinet full of files. Naturally I found her file and saw that she was getting her name changed. Was this part of her imprisonment? Was he going to force her into a new name to become assimilated in the process? I couldn't believe I was becoming entangled in a conspiracy this big, but I knew for sure that I loved her enough to have to save her, regardless of the cost.
Suddenly, lights headed into the driveway, beaming through the windows. I was frozen in fear as the psycho man was coming into the house. I flicked off the light, but not fast enough, as I heard his strong footsteps pounding towards me. I could hear his voice for the first time.
"Is anyone there?"
I stayed silent, trying to see an exit from the room. I slipped out one door, leading to a separate hallway, almost identical to the one I used to enter the room. I could hear him closing the cabinet drawer, as I stepped further into the labyrinthine maze that was his house. I stepped closer and closer to the backdoor that I entered, trying to retrace my steps as stealthily as possible. The door was locked shut and I didn't have time to pick them so I hid behind curtains in my panic. I couldn't really think of what to do, and all I could hear was his footsteps coming towards the room. I made a last ditch effort to run to the kitchen and grab a knife to defend myself from this psycho kidnapper. I take a few of my stress pills to calm down, giving me my signature grin that you may know and love. He steps into the room, and instantly notices me. Without asking a question, the psycho grabs a bottle from the bar and launches it at me. I duck instinctively, as part of my breakdancing routine I trained earlier (it's commonly known that breakdancing is the second most seductive form of dance, next to the robot). He continued to grab bottles from the bar and launch them at me in rapid succession, as I continuously dodged, ducked, dipped, dived and dodged the merciless barrage. He reached over to the top of one of his shelves, as we relocated to different sides of the room. Unsheathing a katana (seriously, who keeps deadly weapons in his house, what a creep), he angrily yelled at me, but I couldn't discern what he was actually saying. He sliced a rope holding up a chandelier, which promptly collapsed in a cinematic glass explosion. I had jumped out the way, but I couldn't establish my grip on the floor. I slipped on all the champagne and bourbon, tripping over, with my knife plunging deep into his chest. He dropped the katana and slumped onto the floor as I tried to stand back up, slipping on a mixture of alcohol and blood. I ran to the study, grabbed the file and ran as fast as I could, using his keys to open the backdoor and getting into my van.
I showered for about an hour and a half, trying to cleanse myself of the blood of this psycho I had just encountered. Overlooking her file, I quickly took notes and disposed of the papers. The girl who I loved was having her name changed to Jo C, and was being moved interstate. I couldn't believe my eyes, but I knew I had to save her. The next day, I drove around a block away from her place, walking closer. Looking on my phone, I saw the newsfeed showing that her boyfriend had been murdered. Removal trucks were outside, with some weird government guys outside. The had some weird names written on their jackets, something like SAWT or SWTA or something like that. These guys looked serious, they had machine guns and body armour and everything. I wouldn't be able to take them on by myself, so I decided to simply trail them from a distance, maybe find out where they were taking her.
I slipped my mix tape I was going to hand over to her into my CD player in the van and followed from a distance of at least 3 cars. The convoy was professional, and I had continuous thoughts that I was in over my head. But as anyone knows, love makes you do stupid things. They entered the airport and I used my savings to buy a ticket to get on the same plane. Another one of these suited guys with an earpiece was with her, with an awfully fake polite facade. I was increasing enraged, but I knew the airport was the last place I would want to make a stand. I sat on the plane a few seats back from her and simply waited. A man in a suit sat next to me. He was increasingly interested in me, staring at me when he thought I wasn't looking. I know my body looks great from bodybuilding and I was flattered he was taking an interest in me, but I don't really swing that way (sorry boys). He was messaged on his phone, and like any commuter on public transport, I took a sneak peek. A picture of me turned up on the phone. Oh god, he was stalking me. I've never had a gay guy stalk me like that but I was instantly creeped out. He flashed a quick facial expression to another guy in the suit a number of rows ahead before he turned to face me.
"Sir, could you please follow me to the emergency holding bay?"
Emergency holding bay? I questioned it in my mind. Was that slang for the toilets? Did he want to "hold" me? I instantly became nervous. I had never been talked to like that and I was very much flattered but I just didn't really see anything compelling me to really go for it. I was hardly curious or feeling experimental at all. I declined, naturally, but I was still really nervous cause this was such a new experience and he did seem really passionate about bringing me to the holding bay. He grabbed my wrist and insisted, asking firmly. I pulled my wrist away, recoiling in horror at the persistence of the guy. We then struggled, with him trying to pull me away from my seat and myself trying to hold my own from this guy's sexual assault. Suddenly, he stopped struggling, which I thought was him coming to his senses, but then he started shaking violently. My heart started racing and I knew something had to be done. Even if he was trying something weird on me, my Christian teachings have taught me to turn the other cheek and help others in need.
"... in my pocket"
I quickly disregarded the possibility that this was just a crafty gay ploy known in the community, but I quickly reached into his pocket. I felt a long hard object and assumed it was his medicine administering device. In his violent shaking, his pocket pressed against my hand and I accidentally grasped the trigger. I heard a spark and he tightened up before going limp. Perhaps he just needed to rest after that strenuous ordeal. I left his body alone, pulling a blanket over him to keep him comfy, as my parents always taught me the importance of good hospitality, which was shown in the Bible by the Good Samaritan, which has always been an inspiration for me. My skills in being a master of Where's Wally, trained through my professional experience in being a hawk expert, allowed me to spot the ID badge of my now sleeping companion. My first thought was that his parents must have been ridiculously drunk, cause seriously, who calls their son Air? Like the last name, Marshall, made sense but seriously, what a ridiculous name. As the plane landed, Jo C had moved rapidly out her seat and the suits followed her. They were all hearing some radio message and quickly moved her, grabbing her arm. She was visibly uncomfortable and I wouldn't stand for it. I followed but I knew I would have to keep my calm to stay safe from these government agents. This was a big deal and my zen like patience would have to come into play.
I grabbed a taxi to follow the convoy and called up my accountant to check my finances. Naturally I made sure my assets were able to be ready, as I pulled up to a free apartment in view of her place. I could see suits standing outside and I was ready to go all in. I bought the apartment, high up in the sky where I could learn the patterns of the kidnappers. I was going to be the Liam Neeson of my own movie, but I had to be smart. I had to be patient.
And so here I lay in waiting. Training, observing, learning their patterns. Here I await my dinner with destiny. Here I watch for the day when I will bring down the government to liberate my precious.