Mistaken Identity

This is a photo story I wrote for creative writing. My photo was a couple walking down the street, with the man's arm around the girl's shoulders. Here's the story. Minor humor. Entertaining at best.
It might look like a nice romantic stroll, with a date. That’s what he wants. People don’t glance twice at us, and why would they? Of course, my hair is a little disheveled and my dress is slightly wrinkled, but nothing too noticeable. Besides, people don’t usually think that girl spent last night locked in a van, just because she has some dark circles under her eyes and her hair is messy. Nothing about shows what I really am: a hostage.
I thought of running. Just pushing him away from me and running away, screaming. As if in answer to my thought the knife against my side pressed a little harder into my hip. I knew that I would never get away. This man would kill me before I got anywhere. My best chance for survival was to be good and try to escape later.
There was a rundown hotel at the end of the street. I could tell by the way he walked purposefully towards it that it was our destination. It seemed like the longest walk of my life. I glanced at the decrepit shops on either side of me, wondering if I could use any of them to make my getaway.
He opened the hotel door for me. The civility of the gesture was spoiled by the knife he had pressed to my back as he gently pushed me inside He kept his arm around me as he walked to the desk.
“I have a reservation, under Benet,” he said. The worn-out-looking concierge handed him a card key.
“Third floor on the right, enjoy your stay,” The concierge said in a bored tone, as the phone on his desk rang. “Oh what now?” He muttered as he picked up the phone.
My captor led me to the elevator, and my hopes plummeted with my stomach as we started to ascend. I could escape from a room on the first floor through the window, but the third floor would be so much harder. I listened to the boring elevator music, depressed. I want to go home.
The elevator opened on the third floor, and he guided me into the hotel room. I flopped face first onto the bed, not even checking the room for escape routes. I felt hopeless. Even if I got away, what was I going back to? A messy apartment and three jobs to pay the bills while I go to college, that’s all. No friends or family to speak of.
“What do you want?” I said to the pillow. “I don’t have any money,” I said, my voice increasing in hysteria. “I have no friends, no family, and I can’t even pass college biology!” I finished in a wail.
“Your leverage. And don’t lie, you have family. If your daddy is a good boy and pays up what he owes my boss you’ll be fine, Melanie,” He said, taking off his suit coat and rolling up his shirt sleeves. Melanie? What is he- then I understood, and the wave of hysteria broke the floodgates. I burst out laughing, and then I was laughing and sobbing all at once. All things considered, he handled my break down fairly well. He must be used to this reaction. Eventually the laughter faded, leaving me sobbing breathlessly. I hate my life, I hate my bad luck, and I hate you Melanie, I thought.
“Are you quite finished?” He asked, his eyes still calm and cold. I hiccupped.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not Melanie,” I said. “I’m Katherine. You abducted the wrong girl. Melanie is my sister.”
“What… no. If she had a twin I would have known,” he said. “But nice try, Melanie.”
“You wouldn’t have heard of me. There was a big scandal a few years ago, involving a party and stolen yacht, and my dad hasn’t spoken of me since,” I said. “Melanie is my identical sister, and the ideal child, and then there was me, the black lamb, something you would understand, unless you come from a criminal family,” I said, snorting. He chuckled and grimaced slightly.
“I believe you, because your story does ring a bell,” He sighed. “I seem to recall a story about the yacht… I’m curious, how did you end up stealing a yacht and then knocking over a building?” I winced. Even he knew the story.
“I’m a bad driver,” I said. “So you know my name. What’s yours?” I said.
“Why would I tell you that?” He said, scowling.
“So I can call you something,”
“We’re not friends, Katherine, and definitely not on first name terms. Do you think your father would pay a ransom for you?
“You’re right, my friends don’t call me Katherine, Bob. And no, he wouldn’t pay the ransom for me, though he might send you flowers for taking me off his hands,” I said.
“Bob?” He said.
“Well I’ve got to call you something,”
“You could be far more creative than that,” he muttered. “Bob is the name everyone uses,”
“Well how about Jack?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
“I can live with Jack,” Jack said. “What about your sister?”
“If you need help capturing her, I recommend baiting her with a mirror. She’s a narcissist, I think the mirror trap was suffice,” I said.
“Could you pose as her in a video chat with your father?” he asked. “You’ll get a decent reward,”
“Unfortunately, Dad can tell us apart, ever since the boating accident.” I said, flicking my bangs out of my eyes to show a faint scar through my eyebrow. “It wouldn’t work, trust me.” He sighed.
“Then you’ll have to help us capture Melanie then,” he said.
“What’s in it for me?” I asked.
“Hmm. Maybe the police won’t find your body washed up downriver six months from now. Sound like motivation?” he asked.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, my voice squeaking a little.
“Can you contact Melanie?” He asked, sitting down.
“Unless she changed her cell phone number,” I said nervously. My palms were sweating and my mouth felt dry. Could I really sell out my sister? Easy, I thought. What do I owe her? Why should I die for her? She wouldn’t do it for me. “If you’ll let me have my cell phone I’ll text her.
“I can text her,”
“She would know. You can’t act like me, even just on text,” I said. He shrugged and handed me my cell phone, watching everything I typed carefully.
Hey sis, what’s up? I sent. A few minutes later my phone buzzed.
What do u want? Jack chuckled behind me. I rolled my eyes muttering, “Some sister,” and typed a reply.
I was cleaning my apartment and I found some old photo albums. I thought you would want them, because you’re closer to the fam. than me. I typed, and then handed my phone to Jack, so he could approve it. Jack nodded and sent the message. I waited for a minute and then the reply came, faster this time. I had caught her interest.
Send them.
I don’t have the money. Meet at the café on Main Street tomorrow, I’ll give them to you, . At noon. I said, typing the address that Jack told me. I haven’t seen you in forever, it’s done wonders for my health. But I would like to show you some of these pics. We actually look happy together.
That was a long time ago, Katherine. Leave the past where it belongs. I’ll be there. She said. I sighed and handed him my cell phone.
“There you go,” I said. “Hook, line, and sinker,”
“Go to bed.” Jack said.
“Not tired.” I said, flicking through the channels on TV, brooding.
“I don’t care.” He took the remote and turned off the TV. I scowled and lay down, staring at the alarm clock on my dresser. I stared at the alarm clock the whole night, wrestling my conscience. I was a tough cookie. I could handle this kind of thing. Melanie was a baby, she’d never been exposed to anything like this. She would drown, but I knew how to swim in this mess.
I must’ve fallen asleep eventually, because suddenly Jack was shaking my shoulder to wake me up. He held up a pair of plain jeans and a white t-shirt too me, and then pointed to the bathroom door.
“Go shower. We’re going to meet your sister in two hours,” he said. I took the clothes blearily, my eyelids heavy. I was never awake until after a shower in the morning. The hot water woke me up, and I finished my plans. I came out of the shower in the jeans, with my hair pulled into a ponytail. He sat at the small table reading the newspaper and sipping a coffee.
“I was wondering when you would get done,” he said.
“I usually am on shampooing my hair by the second act,” I said.
“So you like Phantom of the Opera?” He said. I shrugged. “You sing well. Does Melanie sing?”
“No. Not in the shower, not ever.” I said. He offered me a coffee, to which I pulled a face, taking cocoa puffs instead. We left the hotel at eleven thirty. When I arrived at the café, I waited in the car a block away from the café with him until I was about ten minutes late, and then I picked up my book bag.
“Katherine. I have friends in the café, and I’ll be there right after you. Don’t try anything.” Jack said.
“I won’t. Trust me,” I said. “I’m going to run to the café, make it look like I’m running late. She’ll know something’s up if I’m early.” I messed up my hair a little, and then ran down the street to the café. Jack’s car followed me the whole way.
Melanie was sitting in her seat primly, in a knee length dress and high heels. She was wearing her curly dark hair loose over her shoulders. I ran in breathless and red faced. Jack walked into the café not long after me.
“There you are,” she looked over me in distaste. “Do you have the scrapbooks?” she said.
“In my book bag,” I said. “But I have to go to the little girl’s room first. Come with me.” I dragged my protesting sister to the bathroom.
“Katherine! You are so-” she searched for the word, red faced. “Odd!”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s not important right now though,” I explained the situation, watching as Melanie got paler and paler with every word.
“What are we going to do?” she said.
“You believe me?” I asked, surprised.
“Kit, you’re a lot of things, but you’re not a liar. You are brutally honest sometimes, actually.” Melanie said. I blinked. My sister actually had made a good impression of me. Where had I gone wrong?
“We’re switching places,” I said. “I got you into this mess. I’ll get you out. Give me your clothes and purse.” I said. We switched clothes, and I helped Melanie pull her hair back, while brushing mine down. She helped me put on makeup to conceal my scar. Not once did she question the switch. All she cared about was herself, of course. But I was different from Melanie.
We walked out of the bathroom. Melanie sat at the spot opposite of where she had been before, scowling in a very convincing Kit impression. She bent and unzipped my back pack, and leaned forward, acting interested. Then I felt the familiar blade at my side.
“Ms. Greenwood, if you would please quietly stand up now. Take your sisters backpack and thank her,” I stood, taking my back pack.
“Thank you Katherine,” I said, trying to look wide-eyed and afraid.
“Anytime, Melanie,” Melanie said, smirking. Just like I would have. “Bye Jack,” she said. Jack nodded.
“Nice doing business with you, Kit,” he said. What?! He finally uses my nickname and he’s not even talking to me?! Not fair! I raged internally. I tried to look scared and confused instead of pissed off. Melanie just nodded and ordered a hot chocolate. I walked out with Jack’s arm around me, knife blade pressed against my back. We started our trip down the cobblestone street, Jack’s arm around me, and my heels clicking on the rock. I glanced back at Melanie.
Love you, sis I mouthed. Melanie’s eyes widened fractionally. I turned and walked forward, facing the music. I knew Jack would find out I had switched soon, but by that time Melanie would warn Dad and the police. I didn’t think about what would happen to me. It might look like a romantic stroll with a date. It’s not.