“Follow me closely,” he said as he moved his car to the front of mine. “Just trust me, we need to move quickly.”

He revved his BMW to indicate it was time to go, and as he took off, I began to follow. I didn’t have time to think or second-guess the move. He meandered through some very daring angles, hopping from rooftop to rooftop. I followed closely, doing exactly what he was doing. Soon enough, I became aware of people giving us chase, hotly on our heels. I saw them in my peripheral rearview, but I focused intently on following the guy in front of me.

Suddenly, he said to me, “Make the jump now,” and he drove right off the ledge.

I had only about a split second to think about it or feel the fear, but I did it anyway. As I went into a free fall, I saw him standing beside his car below and people rolling out a flatbed in preparation for my car to land safely. And land safely it did.

He reached inside the car and helped me out. “Are you okay?”

I nodded.

“Let’s go.” He pulled me down the road. We half-ran, half-walked the rest of the way. I don’t remember when or where we turned, but soon we were entering what seemed like a bunker. It seemed the underground resistance had really built out the place into a dwelling buzzing with activity. We made our way into what looked like a briefing room. I sat down, finally catching my breath and collecting my thoughts for the first time that night.

“Why did you help me?” I asked him. There were a million questions milling around in my head, but that was the first one I managed to squeeze out.

“Because I knew you needed help,” he replied quizzically.

“How did you know?” I countered.

“I know a lot of things.” He smiled whimsically. “I know you were waiting for her and she didn’t show up, so you thought she had betrayed you. But she didn’t. She didn’t show up because your place had become encircled with hidden spies. And if she had shown up, it would have endangered both of you.”

I looked at him incredulously. Seeing the unspoken question in my searching eyes, he continued, “I know that because she is my sister.”

I sat in stunned silence. The events of the night had so far been one mystery after another. I was practically dumbfounded at this point as I reflected on the happenings leading up to the present moment.

His sister was my friend, a truly phenomenal woman who had warmed her way into my heart in the last few months. She, unlike many others, didn’t seem to judge me for dating one of the most feared—perhaps even hated—men in the city. She looked past all the trappings of wealth and luxury that I had and saw me as a human being. I really enjoyed her company and always looked forward to spending time with her. Although some of our many conversations sometimes veered toward the topic of freedom and emancipation of the people, I never knew she was a part of the resistance movement, let alone a high-ranking one powerful enough to orchestrate a daring intervention to get me out.

“Did she plan this?” I asked him.

He smiled, getting up from the table slowly and walking toward the door. “Try to eat and get some rest,” he said as he went. “You will need it.”

“Where is she?” I countered. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“She’ll be here soon,” he said, smiling. And with that, he walked out.

I looked around the room. Not bad for an underground resistance movement, I thought to myself. These people must be well-funded. I saw a food tray in the corner, laden with a full spread. How on earth did they get such good food down here? I thought as I walked over. I looked longingly at the food, remembering the dinner that my chef had made in my house the previous night. I picked up a croissant and smelled it, then decided not to eat it.

As I placed it back, a familiar voice spoke softly behind me. “Surely you don’t think we’d poison you, do you?”

I spun around in surprise and, sure enough, there stood my friend. She laughed, walking toward me with her arms outstretched for a hug. I pulled back sharply. A look of concern crossed her face as she stopped in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” I retorted. “What’s wrong in kidnapping me?”

“Well, technically, you drove yourself here,” she replied, smiling.

“All I know is yesterday I was sitting pretty in my mansion, and today I’m… I’m in God knows where,” I fired back.

“Yesterday you were in a gilded prison; today you are free,” she replied softly.

“And who are you to make that decision for me?” I said in annoyance, suddenly feeling the weight of the night’s events hitting me.

“Well, I am sorry I didn’t inform you before saving you from being killed,” she retorted. “I didn’t quite have the luxury of time.”

As I stared at her in stunned silence, still annoyed and thinking of an appropriate response, her face softened and she held out her hands again. I pulled back again, and this time I could see an actual pained look flicker across her face.

“I’m not your enemy,” she said, dropping her hands to her side.

“Then what am I doing here?” I replied as I sat on the bunk bed at the opposite end of the room.

“Your dear Stanko found out about your friendship with me, and he didn’t quite like the idea of his girlfriend being friends with a leader of the resistance,” she explained. “In fact, he felt it was a slap in his face and had instructed his men to handle it. They would have tortured you to find out what you knew about me and the movement, then they would have killed you. I couldn’t let that happen.”

I stared at her in shock. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said quietly, almost to myself.

She came to sit beside me on the bunk bed and, seeing as I didn’t pull away this time, gently took my hands in hers.

“I know,” she said. “Neither did I. To be honest, I didn’t know who you were when I met you in the library. What is a girl like you doing with a man like him?”

———–

Author: Modupe Ogunyemi

Email: moshortstories@gmail.com

Modupe Ogunyemi is a fiction writer dedicated to exploring the complex architecture of human agency and the breaking of toxic cycles. Through sharp dialogue and high-stakes narratives, their work examines the precise moment an individual chooses freedom over comfort. They currently reside in Ontario, Canada, where they are developing a series of short stories.