The lightbulb flickers above my head.  I sit at the table across from him in the bare cement basement. 
“Take the blame.”  His demanding words echo in the dim room.  The drumming moan of the heater surrounds me, but the machine is completely useless – nothing will ever be able to cover the cold damp deceit and mendacity of this man.  His mind is a distraction of twisted thoughts.  The sirens wail out front.  I know the police are out there.  Waiting.  Searching.  I still sit here, across from him, hesitation and fear of rebelling holding me in their cold hands.  I refuse to give him what he wants.  The light bulb flickers again.
“You are the one who stole that money, and you are the one who’s going to admit to it,” I object boldly, my words echo in the emptiness of the room.  Despite my showing of courage, I am scared, very scared.  His eyes have a certain flame to them, the kind that fills you with a deep fear.  Reaching forward, he slaps me across the face.  A burning sensation rages through me, a single tear rolls down.
“Why are you crying?!” he bellows.  My head spins.  I flinch and cover my eyes as he leans forward again.  I scream in agony as he slaps me once more.  Harder than ever.  I cannot take it. 
“Stop!” I cry out in pain.  A chuckle emerges from deep down inside him.  His mouth curves into a smirk.  Slowly, he pulls out his gun.
I wake in the hospital, and the pain hits me.  It hits me harder than the man ever did or could.  I can only think of one explanation for a pain this great: I am dying.  Then the syringe spits the medicine into my body, and it all becomes hazy. 
One afternoon in the late winter of last year, my school let out early due to a snowstorm warning.  What was a great delight to the other students ended up being a living horror story for me.  I got a call from the office that day saying that my uncle was going to pick me up.  I’d never met my uncle before because of a family issue (at least that’s what my parents had called it), so I considered it unusual.  I just assumed that they had resolved whatever problems they had with each other.
“Be safe, Taylor,” my homeroom teacher told me.  They were the same words she would tell all the other students, but I was different.  They were easy instructions, but I didn’t follow them.  And it wasn’t my fault.  In fact, I didn’t have a choice.
From the second I set my wet Ugg boots into his car, I knew something wasn’t right.  I could feel it.  I buckled my seat belt and placed my purple JanSport backpack at my feet. 
“Hi, Taylor!  I’m your Uncle Andrew,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot.  Would you mind letting me call your mother from your phone?  I forgot mine at home,” he explained.
I unzipped my North Face pocket and handed him the device that was inside.  Faster than the blink of an eye, he rolled down his window and threw my phone out.
“What are you doing?!” I exclaimed, alarmed. 
“Unless you want to be thrown out too, don’t say another word.  Now put this on,” he snarled, handing me a blindfold.  I obeyed his orders not because I thought I should, but because of raw fear.
My vision was dark, but the scent of gasoline was strong.  I wanted to cry.  What was going on? 
The car swerved, and I flew to the left, slamming my head into what must have been a window.  The glass pounded my skull and disturbed my thoughts.
After about a 25-minute drive, the man ripped off my blindfold, pulled me out of the car into a dirty parking garage, and motioned for me to follow him. 
“Don’t make any sudden moves or last-minute decisions.  I will kill you,” he threatened me as he pulled the gun out of his pocket as a reminder, the black trigger gleaming in the faint sunlight.  He led me down a flight of stairs, and into a busy city sidewalk.
After walking a few blocks, we arrived at a basement apartment.  I followed him down to the door and he pushed me inside the apartment.  The first things I saw were five tall stacks of $100 bills, which I figured added up to at least $50,000 total.  I stood in awe, until the slamming of a door and a key locking startled me.  Before I could turn a full 180 degrees, the man grabbed me and handcuffed me.  He shoved me over to a table, sat me down, and managed to tie me to a chair, all despite my struggling to escape.
“Listen up.  I’m sure it’s quite obvious that I’m not your uncle, Taylor.  Well, I think you should know a few things.  These stacks of money, all of them, are stolen.  I was tired of living in this crappy dump of an apartment, so I thought of the perfect solution.  Robbing a bank couldn’t be too difficult, right?  So I did.  And it was almost as easy as capturing you.” He snarled, an eerie grin creeping across his face. 
“I know you have questions, Taylor.  And I have answers.  But let me tell you right now that the only way you’re going to get answers from me and get out of here is if you admit that you robbed that bank.”
This couldn’t be happening.  Did this man really capture me, and think that I was going to take the blame for a felony that I didn’t commit?
“And what if I don’t?” I ask, defying his orders.
“That decision is up to you.  I just didn’t think that you would want to spend the rest of your life here.  But then again, you’re obviously an idiot for getting in the car with a stranger, so it doesn’t surprise me.”
That was it.  “I’m an idiot?  I’m not the one who thought that capturing a girl and forcing her to confess to a crime will solve my problems.  I don’t know who you are or why you chose me for this, but I do know one thing.  I hate you.  I’m smarter than you think, and I will find a way to ruin your life once I get out of here.  That’s a promise.” 
A fire is burning inside of him.  I can see the anger forming.  I immediately regret what I said, and I’m scared to know what the consequences of rebelling are.  Very scared.
“Make wise decisions, Taylor.  After all, I am the one with the gun.”  How could I forget?
“Can I just ask you one thing?  Who are you?” I ask.
“Well, wouldn’t you just love to know.  For your information, I’m your mother’s ex-boyfriend from high school.”  Confusion stirred inside of me.  Was he telling the truth?
“The last time I talked to your mother was the day before high school graduation, when she broke my heart and ended our relationship.  We’d been dating for 2 years.  She said it that it just wouldn’t work out anymore, since we were attending different colleges.  I objected, and said that we could have a long-distance relationship.  But she said no.  From that moment on, I’ve hated her, and her entire family.  So, I decided that I had to get revenge.  And the best way to do that was to capture you, the most important person in her life right now, and force you to confess to my bank robbery.  The next time you’ll see your mother, there will be bars in between you and her.”  He grinned.
This has to be a joke.  All of this over a stupid relationship that was ended more than 20 years ago?  I thought to myself.  This guy is insane.
“You have to be joking.  Just so you know, my mother is happily married, and our family is doing just fine.  She probably forgot about your entire existence years ago.  Just give up already.  She doesn’t care about you anymore.  You have no chance.  Let me go now, and I’ll act as if this never happened.  Hold me hostage, and I swear that you’ll never have a moment of freedom again.”  Anger boiled through my veins.
“Keep your mouth shut, and don’t try anything.  Or else,” he ordered, slipping the gun out of his pocket.  He put it directly against my head.  “How does it feel knowing that your entire life is in my control?” he laughed at my fear.  He made a lot of effort to remind me of his gun.  “You’re lucky.  Killing you now won’t do any good for me.” He dragged my chair to the corner, and began to count his money.
I knew I’d be here for a while, but the exact amount of time was a mystery to me.  Were my parents looking for me?  They had to be searching.  The police must be trying to locate me.
Weeks full of threats passed.  Maybe even a month.  I wasn’t sure, I lost count after about two weeks.  My back ached from the hard metal chair, and hunger was taunting me.  The only food the man gave me was bread and soup with a glass of water, twice a day.  At this point, I’d lost almost all of my hope that I would be found.  I woke to his words and his hot breath in my ear. 
“Are you still as stupid as before?  Or have you gotten wiser?”
“If you’re asking if I’m going to confess, the answer is still no.”
The man reached over to slap me.  He pulled back his hand and…
I jerk awake.  It was just a nightmare.  It had previously been reality, but now it’s just another bad dream, a flashback.  It will be okay.  I’m in the hospital recovering from the bullet that was in my chest; the bullet that was shot by the man, and heard by the police who found and rescued me.  The man, Christopher, is behind bars where he belongs.  Police are still questioning him, and discovering details about how he knew where I was, why he captured me, etc.  I will be home soon enough.  Home is a barricade from the danger.  It is a place tucked away, and hidden under the staircase of all bad things.  I glance over at the clock in my hospital room.  2:47 A.M. is displayed.  I sigh, take a deep breath, and shut my eyes once more.
As I sleep, a blanket of safety and security covers me, keeping me safe through the night.