2. Cassie
2
CASSIE
I can’t breathe. Tears stream down my face as I desperately do what I can to suck in air, but it isn’t really working. With the itchy, thick bag rubbing over my face, I can’t breathe. This is going to fucking kill me.
I don’t know where I am. My memories of what brought me to this terrible moment are all a little fuzzy, but I know that I’m fucked. I met a guy… a guy who was supposed to give me a job. My dream job, actually, one that I feared I wouldn’t get because it was too good to be true. But I thought I was going to fuck up the interview. I didn’t think I would end up in a van. A van driving to God knows where, being driven by who the fuck knows? Oh, my God, I seriously need to remember everything.
What happened? I feel sick. Something has made me feel ill. Who did this to me?
“He… hello…?” I call out anxiously, needing someone to at least answer me. “What’s going on here? Anyone?”
My head aches like hell. I feel like I’ve been hit on the left side of my head—it hurts more than anything else—but why? Why is all this happening? I can’t work it out. Am I going to die? Is my dream job interview about to kill me?
I try to touch my face, to pull the bag off, but my hands are pinned together. I’m firmly trapped, and my legs are too. This really is some kind of fucked up nightmare. The more I try to struggle to free myself, the more twisted up I seem to get and the less air I can get into my lungs. I’m heating up, burning. The panic is really starting to kill me. I can’t stand this.
“Stop it,” a deep voice growls from somewhere in front of me. “Holy shit, this was easier when you were knocked out.”
So, I was knocked out. What the fuck? Why? I need to remember. I have to go back to what I remember. I was emailing. I was talking to my interviewer. I was planning to meet him. I was excited about it, looking forward to it, thinking that everything was about to finally begin for me after a few false starts, and I couldn’t wait for it. I thought that finally , I was going to come out from underneath my family’s shadow to live my own life. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I saw the guy as well. I remember that. I sat with him, and we had a conversation. I could probably pick out his face in a crowd which means… well, I could identify him to the cops. He was tall and had dark, bushy eyebrows. Brown eyes as well. There was a scar down his left cheek… oh, God, why am I bothered about that? If I know him, he’s going to kill me for sure.
I start to choke on the helplessness of my tears. I’ve never been in a position where I’m stuck before, not like this. I can’t even see where the hell I am, never mind anything else. I have no idea what has me tied up. I really am screwed here…
Dad. Now everything is starting to make sense. Dad has been acting so weird recently, so paranoid. He’s always been a bit weird about security and stuff, but he’s been a whole lot worse. Luckily, not with me because I’m not a part of Brand Jones anymore. As soon as I could move away from the fame that I'd never asked for, I did. It’s never been for me, and Dad knows that.
But just because I haven’t been the focus of his paranoia that’s been the burden of my other siblings, I’ve still been a part of it. I’ve seen it from afar and wondered where it came from. But I had a bubble of security around me. I existed in the middle of the theory that no one even knows my name… but here I am. I’m the one who has been targeted because of my surname.
I told him, I think sadly to myself as I choke hard on the thick ball of emotion lodged in my throat. I told Dad not to do this…
I hated fame because of the world seeing into our private lives. I hated everyone knowing that the Joneses are a wealthy family because it makes us a target for this sort of shit. Why couldn’t he just listen? But my walking away was all I could do. I couldn’t convince everyone else to follow. I seem to be the only one who wants to live quietly.
And yet, quietness was never going to come for me. It doesn’t matter how hard I tried. I’m always going to be stuck. At twenty-two years of age, I’m having my life ripped away from underneath me, and it’s leaving me breathless.
Oh, God, Dad. But now I’m never going to be out of the spotlight again. After this, everyone will want a piece of me. And if I die… oh, God, if they kill me, then it will just be my picture. If they ever find my body, that is. I don’t know how my father will take any of this. He’s a family man, but also a smart businessman, and he will struggle to work out that balance with this.
Although, honestly, I don’t know why I’m worrying about my father and his opinion when I’m the one who could lose my life. I don’t even know how I might lose my life. I have no idea what’s going to come my way. It could be quick and sharp, or it could be slow and painful. I literally have no control over my life right now, or my death. That’s horrible…
Ring, ring… My heart stops beating as I hear a cellphone blasting out. Ring, ring… Oh, my God, is this good? Ring, ring…
“Yes?” the gruff voice barks, making me feel sick. “Yes, I have her. I told her that I would. She’s with me now.”
There’s a silence. It goes on for much too long. I can barely handle it. I strain my ears as hard as I can to try and work out what’s being said, but I don’t really stand a chance of hearing a damn thing. There’s too much noise from everywhere else.
“The transaction will happen, you don’t need to worry about that. Then you can sort out your ransom. That’s on you.”
There’s a moment when the talking becomes too muffled for me to hear anything, which only makes my blood run colder. This is definitely a kidnapping thing, the sort of shit that only happens in movies, not real life. But even in the movies, no one pays the ransom. People don’t negotiate with criminals. What if my father does the same? What if he refuses to pay up even if my life is on the line and there’s a gun to my head? What if he turns it into some sort of moment for television? It might be against my wishes, but if I’m about to die, then what the fuck does it matter what I want?
No . I can’t think like that. I have to stop myself. This isn’t a movie. Of course, my father will save me because I’m his child. It doesn’t even matter if I’m not the favorite because I went my own way in life. He still loves me. He has to. Oh, God, he will know this is because I wanted to do something for myself and it’ll be an ‘I told you so’ moment. I don’t have the same security as everyone else because I don’t want it, because I want to be free, but that’s what led me to this. If I'd just followed my father’s footsteps, if I'd continued on with the show, then maybe I wouldn’t have been targeted like this.
And the worst part is I don’t even have the freedom that I really want. I’m still kinda trapped in a bubble because of my name. I don’t get to wander the streets freely because my dad doesn’t like me to, so I certainly can’t travel the world. There’s so much that I want to see, that I want to do, so many cultures and places I want to explore, and I can’t. Now I probably never will.
“I won’t let her die before you get your hands on her,” the voice growls once more, almost as a reminder that he’s still got me. Not that I’m in any way able to forget. “You can do whatever the fuck you want then. You know my deal.”
Who am I being handed to? Or traded to? I don’t suppose there’s any way of knowing because the whole world could want what my father has. The big fucking house, the pool, the cash… I can see how it all looks from an insider perspective, but it isn’t all roses when you really have it. Personally, I would much rather have nothing but my freedom to just exist. I would happily not have the mansion and the clothing, the stuff everywhere which is all worth everything but doesn’t mean anything…
“I know the time, I know the place. You can trust me. You don’t need to keep asking me these questions…”
He sounds angry. The man who’s in control of me is pissed off. I can’t be the one who’s upset him, but I may well be the one who gets the bad receiving end of it. I try to curl around myself to protect my body as much as I can, but I can’t even do that.
Keep breathing. I didn’t even realize that I was holding my breath until this moment. Don’t kill yourself for him.
I think of my dad, who even if we aren’t the closest, isn’t a bad person, and my mom as well. She might be cold and a little standoffish, focused more on money than her kids, even if she seems to spend the majority of her life being pregnant, including right now, but again, she’s lovely. This will really upset her a lot. But my siblings, my younger brothers and sisters, they will be the ones who miss me the most. As soon as the cameras aren’t around anymore, they are always with me, enjoying my company, depending on me. They will suffer most when I’m gone. They are going to be the ones who mourn me the most. It will be their tears which wet their pillows at night, which sucks. I never want to make my siblings cry.
Sixteen-year-old Nick, who my father tries to keep away from me so I don’t influence him to leave as well, will miss our late-night chats about anything and everything. Alena, who’s twelve, bordering on a struggling thirteen-year-old, will find it hard because I’m the one she goes to advice about anything and everything. I do my best to help her, but I think life comes a little easier to her than it does me anyway, especially when I was that young. But without me, who will she turn to? Then there’s Kevin, the sulky ten-year-old who only smiles at anyone when he’s about to play video games… we have a bond as well. The twins might only be four years of age, but I play with them a lot and I think they will notice my absence.
I cry some more, even harder this time around, but I’m crying for them. If I die, then they are the ones who need to work out life without me, and it won’t be a lot of fun for any of them. I don’t know how they will go on.