"You think the world is just black or white. Good or bad. You polarized your mind," He said as he tapped the side of his head with his finger. "You are incredibly intelligent, but you can't see to grasp that I can be both good and bad. Both black and white."  He gracefully landed in the seat across from his captive, pouring a cup of coffee. The aroma filled the air. He took a sip and scrunched his face.

"Far too bitter," He explained as he mixed other ingredients. His captive was still yet to speak. He wondered if he had scared her into being mute for her ... stay. He sipped the coffee and sighed.  "Just right." He smiled as he set the cup down.

"You see, I am like this coffee. Without sugar, it is far too bitter, but alone it is far too sweet. I am the same. Unlike you, I don't see the world as two contrasting sides, I see it as a scale.  Some people are far on one, and others stay on the opposite. I and a few others prefer to shift around the middle.  I chose my position. I fight beside who I want to, not who I am forced to." The captor looked to the captive for a response. An argument, agreement, or even an 'oh', but none came.

They continued. "I would never stand by as someone was mugged or,"  they cast a shadowy look to the floor, "worse. But I would have no trouble killing the petty crooks responsible for such crime, unlike a 'hero' would." They put quotation marks around 'hero' as if to degrade it.

The captive shook her head. "You think that by stopping a few low-rank criminals from stealing forty bucks it makes you a better person?" She wanted to scream, but it came out as more of a rasp.

"I was just giving one example," He justified. 

After a stomach-churning silence, the captive finally piped up. "Why am I here?" She asked. The man stayed quiet, drinking his coffee and avoiding eye contact. She realized that a reply wasn't coming.  

"Why are you here?" He muttered. "To be honest, I don't know. Someone told me to retrieve you, but that is the extent of my knowledge." The captive's mind buzzed.  A million questions ran through her head.

"Who is it?" She asked, struggling to remain calm. The man shook his head.

"Sorry, I don't give out customer information," He replied. She trembled.

"So someone is paying you to kidnap people? To kidnap me?" She sputtered. The captor nodded. Her stomach dropped cold at the thought of what was going to happen to her. A long silence rested heavy on the two.

For the sake of lightening the situation, the captor decided to speak. "Would you like some coffee?" He asked. She shook her head. He nodded awkwardly. 

"Good, I was wondering how you would drink it, being tied up and all."  He realized right after he said that it may not have been the most comforting thing to say, but he wasn't wrong. She was sitting on a moving dolly, one of the things you used to move heavy items or packages, with one hand tied to each pole and one ankle tied to each leg.  As if to add to the oddity, she was bound by shoelaces, some even tied ribbon style.

She shrugged, trying to contain her freight. "Is there anything you can tell me?" She asked. He shook his head.

"You know about as much as I do." He admitted. The silence engulfed them again.

"What's your name?" She asked half-heartedly, just another futile attempt at keeping the silence at bay.

"Jamie," He responded. "And you?" She tensed.

"Kathleen." She dipped her head slightly out of habitual mannerism. She could tell Jamie was distraught. Maybe it is because it's his first situation like this, though it is unlikely. Maybe he was expecting more than a young girl, just about his age. She dismissed the thought, scolding herself for worrying about her captor.

Another bought of silence was brought to an end with a loud bang. "Where is she?" A man roared. Jamie shot up from his seat. Kathleen shuddered and closed her eyes.

"Ah, Jamie. Is this her?" The man's voice boomed across the room. Kathleen kept her eyes tightly closed. 

"Yes, but she is no longer for sale." There was a rustle of fabrics.

"Jamie, why?" The man's voice filled with sorrow.  Kathleen dared to peek at what was happening. Jamie was pointing a gun at a well-dressed man. Kathleen's heart kippen a beat.

"She is a person, not leverage," Jamie replied. There was a gunshot. The man was on the ground. Blood pooled around his waist. Jamie pocketed the gun and ran to Kathleen.

"Okay. I lied. He was planning to use you as leverage in some sort of transaction. I don't know why he asked for you specifically but he did." He rushed. She tried to ignore her nerves as he pulled a knife out of his pocket, and tried harder to ignore how his hand resting on her arm made her have another kind of nerves.

"We have to move quickly though. His lackeys will be here soon and we best be gone by then." He cut the bunch of strings on one of her wrist and ankle and shifted to the other side. Kathleen flexed her wrist.

As soon as he finished cutting her out he stood. "Can you run?" He asked as he offered his hand. She nodded and tried to stand. The ground shifted, or rather she started to fall. Jamie grabbed her arm.

"What did you use on me?" She asked, remembering the flowery scented rag.

"Chloroform and diazepam." He slowly trailed his hand down her arm. "Can you run?" She nodded slowly. He grabbed her wrist. "Let's go."

With that, the two shot out the door, past the car waiting for the dead man to come out passed the stores and pushing past onlookers, and back into the crazy world, into the awaiting arms of goes knows a what.