Tonight — Catherine Marshall (1)

They drag me out the car and I didn't have the power to resist. Not when a gun is a foot away from me.            They push me inside the small and simple wooden cabin.            The common area has an old, rundown couch, a smoke-stained fireplace, and a coffee table in the middle of the room.            One of the guys puts the table aside and places a chair instead.            I feel the gun poke against my back, the guy behind me saying: Sit down.            With shaking knees, I cross the short distance and obediently plop myself on the creaking chair. Immediately, they tie me with ropes on my waist and on my ankles.            I take a deep breath, willing myself not to cry.            The driver sits on the couch opposite me. He stretches his arms on the back of the couch. Emery Benson, 30 years old, senior journalist for Scribbler California, born and raised in Jackson, Wyoming, graduated Communications in UC Davis, and took your master's degree in University of Southern California. Is that correct?            Scribbler?             I gape at him, mortified. Y-yes.            He nods, a faint smile on his face. Great. Now, you're probably wondering why you're here—            I interrupt him. I just want to know, is it Scribbler?            I know that editorial company does some shady stuff, like bribing police officers, government officials, and even sometimes bugging places of interests. But have they ever kidnapped insubordinate employees? I need to know.            He chuckles. You mean the editorial company? Why would you think that?            I bite down my lip. I-I don't know. I just recently got fired.            He seems pleased with my answer. Then, I guess no one will be looking for you if you were missing from work in a long time.            My heart lodges up my throat. Why are you doing this?            Because we need something from your boyfriend.            My boyfriend?            Mason Bates.            Mason Bates!? Is he why I'm here?I didn't bother hiding my sour expression. This seems like a misunderstanding; Mason and I are not…dating. I hardly know the guy.So, you're saying us kidnapping you means nothing to Mason?I nod repeatedly.He leans forward, his elbows propped on his thighs. So, if we kill you right now, it won't matter to him?My eyes widen in delayed realization.My dumb self literally gave them the go signal to get rid of me, because I am useless to Mason. I mean, maybe not so much…but I did leave him after sleeping with him.