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Matsumoto said Faberge-style egg, so I naturally expected something made out of metal or ceramic… a decorative piece. Not food. And maybe it’s a coincidence. I mean it is almost Easter, after all. A fancy decorated egg cake in a bakery right before Easter isn’t exactly an unlikely event.
“Is that egg cake for sale?” I ask.
“It’s $19.99.”
I’m so glad I brought a bunch of money with me. Between filling up the gas tank, breakfast, the clothes, and this… I’m already punching close to $600. And I still have plenty if the opportunity for bribery comes up.
“Great, can I get that and a coffee to go, please?”
The girl boxes up the egg inside a small white cake box, fixes me a coffee in a to-go cup, and gives me a wrapped up fork and knife like she thinks I plan to just dig in now. I pay, thank her, and carry the package back out to the car.
I take a quick, furtive glance around the parking lot… looking for obvious government-looking black cars. The last time Matsumoto took me, that’s the kind of thing they were driving. Brian’s totally right about this. If kidnappers really want to blend, they should drive rusted-out Honda Civics. Nobody ever suspects the rusted-out Honda Civic. But it’s like they want you to know they’re bringing your doom with them. So non-descript black sedans are the favored stalker car. At least for the active, powerful criminal element, like Matsumoto.
Even if he doesn’t plan to pull me off the street in broad daylight, he could have someone watching me and my progress. But, I don’t see anything suspicious, so I settle into the driver’s side of Brian’s car and lock the door.
I take a sip of the coffee, as though caffeine could settle my jangled nerves, and carefully open the white box. I have a moment of self-doubt as I wonder if I’m about to feel really stupid, smashing and destroying a cake for a non-existent secret message. I decide against smashing into it with my hand like a lunatic and instead use the knife to cut down the center.
About half an inch in, I meet resistance and use the fork to dig into the cake like I’m digging up a dinosaur, brushing the moist part of the cake away as though it’s so much dirt.
I’m surprised when I find there actually is something baked inside—a long aluminum foil wrapped tube. It’s almost the entire length of the cake. I pull it out and remove the foil wrapping to find a glass tube, like a test tube. There’s a long scroll of paper containing a message far longer than I would have believed could have so compactly fit inside this cake.
I’m tempted to eat the cake. It was so beautiful, and it smells divine, but I’ve had breakfast. I won’t starve, and the idea has suddenly popped into my head that the cake could be drugged.
I don’t think Matsumoto would murder me with poison. That’s a woman’s method of choice. He wants me alive and punished for daring to be freed from him. But there could be a sedative in the cake which only makes me easier prey. And I’m still worried the entire Easter Hunt may be a distraction from something else.
Since I don’t trust my self-control on this, even in the face of possible sedative, I take the cake back across the street and dump it in an outdoor trash can, really hoping that move was smart and not paranoid.
To console myself for my loss, I go back inside the bakery, order a little bunny cupcake with pink buttercream frosting and chocolate cake.
“Back for more already?” the girl says.
I wonder if she knows what was hidden inside the cake. I doubt she was the one who baked it in, and even if the egg cake was drugged, the rest of the bakery’s offerings should be safe.
“It’s for a special event but it just smelled so good, I wanted something for myself now.”
“I’ve been there,” she says. She puts the cupcake into a small white cupcake box, I pay her, and go back to the car.
I fortify myself with sugar and caffeine before carefully removing the rolled up paper from the glass tube.
Mina, it is good of you to join my Easter Hunt. The prize for successful completion is Brian’s life. But unfortunately, the price is your freedom. You must care a great deal for him to make such a sacrifice.
The restof Matsumoto’s long winded note just gives me directions to a lingerie shop, what to say to the person and that there will be a package for me there.
It’s not that I wanted to go on a scavenger hunt for this psycho, but it seems clear to me that he really doesn’t know how they work. There are supposed to be clever clues, not boring directions to each location. I feel like an executive assistant running errands.
Though I shouldn’t complain about this. After all, the last thing I need is a set of complicated clues I might not figure out while the clock ticks on Brian’s life. There could be any number of cultural differences that could make riddles not translate from his brain to mine, and it’s the last thing I need.
At the lingerie store, I give the stated code phrase, “Someone is holding a package for bunny.”
No, I’m not kidding. That’s the lame code phrase. If I didn’t already want revenge, if this man hadn’t already destroyed me, I’d be tempted to kill him just for sending me all over the city collecting these stupid eggs.
The girl behind the counter smiles and bends down to collect a shopping bag from the ground. It’s white-and-black striped with the stores’ logo across the front and black tissue paper popping out.
I thank her and take it back to the car. Inside the bag I find a black leather corset with pale blue ribbons criss-crossing at the back. And a pink Faberge-style egg. This one looks to be painted ceramic and has a hinge that can be opened.
Inside is another short note, leading me to the next location. This asshole sends me to a separate department store or lingerie store, making me ask for a package for bunny. Each package has a piece of an outfit and another egg.
They are all high end stores, and I can’t help but be disgusted by how Matsumoto flaunts his wealth while gloating about what he thinks will be his triumphant recapture of me. I’ve given up on the idea that he has henchmen waiting around to take me.
Over the course of the day I collect a garter belt and a light green egg, stockings with seams and a pale yellow egg, black lace panties with a purple egg, and finally black high-heels with an orange egg. Aside from the luxury lingerie and that first bakery egg—which set my expectations for this fiasco way too high—this has been the most boring Easter egg hunt of my life.
Inside the final egg with the shoes, I’m instructed to meet him at his temporary home, in the basement, wearing only the contents I picked up on the hunt. I make a pit stop at a craft and fabric store for some supplies.
I park in an empty parking lot on my way outside of the city proper to make some alterations and change clothes. It occurs to me that maybe he didn’t give me real clues or a real hunt beyond that first egg because he thinks I’m super afraid. Maybe he didn’t think I’d come on the hunt at all and he’d have to extract me.
I think he must get some satisfaction out of the possibility that I might wring my hands and cry and pace and have a panic attack or three before finally deciding to spare the house and offering myself as tribute.
He obviously doesn’t believe I have the constitution to handle all the lady-brain taxing riddles and clues he could have given me. Or maybe this is just the extent of his cleverness. Either way, I don’t think Matsumoto is prepared to deal with the new and improved me. But I’m excited to introduce myself.
