Hostage

“Help…” a frail whisper trails through the phone, “I’ve been taken hostage.”

The Connecticut police department ignites with frenzy. Phone operator to detective to lieutenant passing information along like small fires lighting each corner of the department.

“5437 Marmion Lane.”

“Shit that neighborhood, must be for money”

“1 to 4 potential hostages.”

“When is the last time this happened?”

“Hostage name: Melanie Aktoro.”

The Chief of Police stops in his tracks. “Melanie Aktoro?” His deep, resonating voice cuts the frenzy.

His Lieutenant nods, “We have one identified hostage, Melanie Aktoro, and she is being used as the primary lead in communication between us and the hostage takers, Sir.”

The Chief’s hands clench, “Have they communicated what they want?”

His Lieutenant takes a small, stuttered breath, “They want to talk to you, Sir.”

His Lieutenant notices the vein cutting through the side of the Chief’s temples, prominent and pumping with blood.

“Sir, what should we do? Do you have a connection to the hostage?”

The Chief turns and grabs his jacket, “Melanie was my daughter’s best friend. Let’s go.”

The rest of the department suits up, grabbing keys, equipment, making calls, all the while, sliding furtive looks at one another.

—

Sirens vandalize the room’s silence. Melanie crawls to the edge of the window, shaking.

“They’re here,” she whispers, “I need t—”

Her home phone rings.

She looks beside her and nods. She picks up the phone.

“H-hi, this is Melanie”

“Hi Melanie, this is Arash, I’ll be taking care of you today.”

Melanie glances quickly to her side, “Ok.”

“Melanie, talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“No, not yet.”

“Am I able to speak with the hostage takers myself?”

A pause.

“They said no.”

“Ok, can everyone hear me then?”

Melanie sets the phone down. Her fingers shake so hard they almost press the wrong button. She hits “Speaker”.

Melanie whimpers, “Yes, they can now.”

—

The Negotiator, Arash, stands between the police cars and the weathered white farmhouse typical of this Connecticut neighborhood. His small frame stands like a tenuous gate between the wood house and the roaring hoard of police, guns, radio chatter, and dark uniforms in the snow.

His eyes focus in on the small bedroom window in the upper left corner.

“We need to know if there are other hostages and their location in the house,” the Lieutenant instructs Arash.

Arash nods and speaks into the phone, “Melanie, are there other hostages besides you?”

A short silence.

Arash looks at the Lieutenant, eyebrow raised. They know the hostage takers have to feed Melanie every response.

“H-hi, I will answer when Chief Braxton is on the phone.”

The Chief walks over. He nods as Arash hands the phone over.

“Hi Melanie, it’s Mr. Braxton here. You know you’re like a daughter to me, I will make sure you are safe.”

The Chief frowns at the silence on the other line.

Suddenly Melanie’s voice breaks through, “Chief Braxton, they want $20,000. From you, personally.”

In the brisk air, the almost one hundred police personnel freeze at those words. The Chief opens his mouth to say something but Arash steps in. He mouths words to the Chief.

“Melanie, I know you and the people in the room must be scared,” the Chief says slowly, focusing on Arash’s mouth as he dictates the response, “It seems like a helpless situation they’ve started, capturing multiple hostages and now being surrounded by poli—”

“There’s only one hostage. It’s me.”

The Negotiator nods to the rest of the team and they instantly start scrambling to pull out cameras, tools, and radios.

The Chief continues, “Ok Melanie, everyone can hear me right? How can I get them the $20,000 if I’m here speaking to you?”

A pause on the other line.

Melanie’s wavering voice stutters, “H-how can they let me go if y-you don’t get them the $20,000?”

The Chief’s response barely crosses his lips before Melanie cries, “Please Mr. Braxton, I don’t want to die like Carly and Mrs. Braxton, I don’t want to die…”

The Chief’s jaws set hard.

The Lieutenant whispers to the chief, “We can prepare $20,000 but we need to try to negotiate them down. The—”

Melanie’s small voice crackles over the phone, “They want you to get the $20,000 from the floorboard of your car. In the green bag, in all cash.”

The Chief whips around to face the house, his face burning steam into the winter air, “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“Chief,” Arash cautions, “Please, we need to remain calm.”

The Chief bats Arash out of the way, blaring into the phone, “Who are you? What do you want?”

His blasted words hit silence. Then quietly, Melanie’s voice slinks through the phone, “Chief, they want to know where you were on the night of November 12th , from 11:16 pm to 1:34 am.”

The Lieutenant and officers step back from the Chief while Arash lunges forward, swiping for the phone in the Chief’s hand. The Chief, two heads taller, clutches the phone with white knuckles blaring, “WHO ARE YOU? YOU ARE FUCKING WITH THE WRONG PERSON—”

“Chief Braxton,” Melanie’s voice pierces through his shouting, “they want to see your lieutenant go to the car, open the floorboard, and take out the $20,000 you stole from Mrs. Braxton. They want him to put it in front of the oak tree on the side of the house in the next 5 minutes or…” Melanie sobs, “they will shoot me.”

The Chief throws the phone as Arash intercepts, “Chief, hostage takers often use personal information to throw off the negotiation. They will have searched the news about the fire and your daughter and wife passing…”

But the Chief plows through Arash as he eyes the Lieutenant making way towards the Chief’s car.

“If you want your job do NOT touch my car. It is a waste of time. We need to get in there and take out those fuckers and get Melanie out of there.”

The Chief signals to his team to move in. The Lieutenant’s pleads for him to wait for FBI, to wait for them to get better visuals into the house, to— “we’re moving in,” the Chief responds.

Like marching ants, squad after squad run to surround the house. The thumping of their guns to their vests to their boots to the yellowed grass become drumbeats to the Chief’s entrance.

The Chief knocks down the door and the squads infiltrate into the hallway, up the stairs, and into the small bedroom in the left corner.

“HANDS UP!” They yell as the white room becomes black with uniforms and guns.

Melanie raises her hands, her arms trembling.

Her dark hair is matted to her forehead in sweat. Sweat and tears cling like dew to her cheeks.

The Chief looks around. “Where are the hostage takers?” he shouts.

Like echoes in the house, his various squads call out, “Clear here, clear here, clear here.”

The Chief kneels down to Melanie’s position, his voice low with anger, “Where are the hostage takers?”

Melanie points to a little black leather book next to her.

“She made me to do it,” Melanie whispers.

The Chief picks up the book, finger and thumb clutching the edge like it’s a bomb. He slowly opens it to see pages filled to the brim, line after line, their entire conversation over the phone played out.

How would I get you the $20,000?

How would they let me go without the $20,000?

The Chief’s fingers trail each letter, written in rounded cursive shapes and swirling ends. “Did you do this?” he asks Melanie.

Melanie spits back, her voice sharper than before, “You don’t recognize the handwriting?”

The Chief breathes in sharply. He reaches the last written page with three lines penned in neat, bubbling cursive:

Everyone will know you killed mom.

Everyone will know you killed me.

Your title can’t protect you now.

- Carly

Melanie’s voice shakes, tittering between a laugh and a sob, “Carly planned this, she knew you were going to kill them, she saw you prep your car, she saw—”

The Chief swings around, his fist an inch from Melanie’s face when the Lieutenant steps in.

“Chief, I’m sorry to do this, but word from the top, we’re detaining you.”

—

Melanie steps out the front door, eyeing the old oak tree. In its age, the tree leans on the house for support.

It’s greener now than it was those few weeks ago. That day, Melanie stared at the oak tree for comfort, afraid to catch the eyes of the police below. She had imagined her and Carly crawling up and down the tree like they used to. That memory gave her the strength to read the words in the little black book, to make the first call, to follow through.

She approaches the tree now and smiles, “Carly.”

Carly pops her head around, her smile matching Melanie’s.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t say this before, but, thank you Mel,” Carly clutches Melanie’s hands.

Melanie laughs, “You know they detained me right? I basically went to jail for you.”

Carly nods.

“Where have you been hiding? You know you can come out now, your dad is—”

“I’m going to leave, I can’t be here anymore. But I want you to have this.”

Carly hands Melanie a green bag— the $20,000.

“How did you get this?” Melanie asks.

“Some help from the inside,” Carly smiles.

Melanie shakes her head, “Take it back. I don’t need it. You spent everything to make this plan work. Take this damn money and go start your life over.”

Melanie shoves the bag into Carly’s arms before she can protest.

“We did justice, now move on.”

Carly nods.