Mike’s place was a complete mess, but I really didn’t give a shit. My adrenaline was still on high and I was determined not to let it crash, because I knew if that happened, in my weakness, there would the opportunity for something to go wrong. I was holding on by a thread, drinking as much coffee as I could handle but I knew eventually sleep would consume me.

The phone rang again, and Mike’s outgoing message recounted in a nasal tone, “Hey, it’s me and I got the flu. Leave me a message and I’ll call you back when I’m alive.” It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you tell someone to do something with a knife to their throat. Fortunately for Mike, he cooperated nicely to keep the rest of the world away.

BEEP went the answering machine and another hang up.

“Who was that?”

Mike shifted in his chair, his hands bound with electrical tape in the dark living room. “How the hell should I know?”

“Don’t get testy,” I threatened. “It’s a bitch being the caged instead of the captor, isn’t it?

“I was never your captor.”

“Oh, sure.”

“It’s only a matter of time you know before-”

“Believe me, I know my window of opportunity is closing, but that’s where you come in. Once you get me my money, I’ll be on my way.” I sounded desperate as hell, but I was. Now I knew how Andrew Cunanan felt, running across the country in a variety of disguises, committing unspeakable crimes--- all in a quest to keep free.

Mike was no Gianni Versace, but he was my window of opportunity. The rage I had towards him was consuming me, filling myself with blame for what he had made me become.

“Steve,” pleaded Mike. “There is time to stop this. You know better.”

“SHUT UP!” Suddenly, I understood what he was trying to do. “You want me to scream, is that it?”

“No.”

“You want me to yell. Let your neighbors know something is wrong. Have someone call the police.”

“No, Steve, I swear.”

“Liar!”

I saw the kitchen knife near me.

I quickly picked it up, bringing it towards him. His eyes flashed with fear as the blade moved closer to his bound hands.

“Please,” whispered Mike.

The fear in his eyes was real and it made me feel sorry for him. He did care about me, he did do a lot for my mother/father, and here I was threatening his life.

I dropped the knife to the floor, my hands trembling, the tears welling in my eyes.

What was wrong with me? What was I doing?