Escaping the Flint Hills: Prologue
An Annoying Abduction
I was annoyed more than anything, thinking I would once again be late for Spanish class. Or maybe I had already missed it. I wasn’t exactly sure how long I had been unconscious.
Based on the slivers of light coming through the blinds of a window that worked their way through the porous black linen cloth covering my head, I surmised that it was daytime. But what time of the day was unclear.
As my head began to clear, I sensed that I was seated in a chair with my hands restrained behind my back and attached to the backrest in some way. My feet were bound to the front legs of the chair in a comparable manner. I attempted to yell for help but realized my mouth was sealed with a wide strip of tape.
What annoyed me most was that I had dropped my guard and allowed this to happen. I knew people had been following me—observing me—for several days. I should have been more alert. This never would have happened during my street days. Back then I was always aware of my surroundings and wary of the potential threats lurking around every corner. I must have grown soft in my old age, if 19 can be considered old.
Granted, I was also a little annoyed with Kyle, my Lawler College roommate. Clearly, he was the primary reason I found myself in this predicament. Had he not vanished from campus a week earlier, prompting me to investigate his disappearance, I doubt I would have been kidnapped and bound to a chair with a bag over my head and tape over my mouth.
Yes, I was annoyed for a few minutes, but that emotion progressed to anxiety bordering on outright fear when I heard a door opening and feet shuffling into the room. When the bag was removed from my head, I saw two men of likely Hispanic heritage standing in front of me. The taller of the two, a guy in a flashy maroon suit and sporting a thick mustache, asked, in a strong Mexican accent, “Señor Mateo Ruiz, where is your amigo?”
It was the second time that week that someone had accused me of being Mateo Ruiz, which pissed me off almost as much as the abduction, the restraints, and my diminished prospects for a decent grade in Spanish class. Granted, I didn’t know my actual birth name, but I was almost certain it wasn’t Mateo Ruiz.
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