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I feel my heart plummet when I see the image of Izzie—my Izzie— tied to a chair in a dark basement room. She is blindfolded, and the sight of her helpless like that cuts through me like a knife. What is going on?
This person wants money--a ransom for Izzie's safe release. I have no idea where he wants me to meet him or what kind of danger she could be in.
All I know is that I have to act fast if I am going to stand a chance of saving her. The room feels like it’s spinning around me, my mind racing with questions that have no answers. Had I done something to deserve this? What if I’m not able to find this place and get her out in time? A wave of fear washes over me, and I force myself to stay focused. I need to find out as much information as I can and fast. And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to protect Izzie and bring her back home.
The moment I open that video of Izzie—the image of her blindfolded and bound in that dark basement room, fear gripping my heart—I know something is terribly wrong. Everything within me screams out in panic, and it feels like the world has just shifted beneath my feet. I have to do something to help her, no matter the cost or risk. I watch as Izzie mutters something, though I can't make out what it was. I continue to stare at the video, desperate for some clue, some sign that would give me a chance to find her. Who has kept her? Who wants me?
I move around in a daze, heart racing and fists clenched in rage. Who had done this to her? I have to find out. I push my fear into the back of my mind and try to focus.
The email states that they want triple the money now. And they want it half to them and half in a bank transfer. An odd sentence catches my attention; it says, "You'll give me what you took from me." My mind is too fuzzy to make sense of that sentence.
I have no idea what kind of danger Izzie is in, and I can't let anything happen to her.
Storming into the bathroom, I throw cold water onto my face, hoping to dampen the rising panic. I need to rein in my feelings to think with a clear head. But it seems impossible. The scent of something burning snaps me back from my daze. Damn! The grilled cheese had been forgotten on the stovetop. I dash into the kitchen, switching off the heat and staring dismally at the charred sandwich in the pan.
Pushing thoughts away, I click on an email draft, attach the video, and send it to JJ. I hastily redial his number, my pulse beating faster than usual.
"Zak – I told you I just need a little more—" His words are cut short by my iron, firm voice.
"JJ, you need to stop and listen," I press on, "This isn't about that anymore. The situation has escalated. Check your email and watch that video. The bastards have Izzie. She's shackled somewhere, crying out for me. I can't bear to see her suffering and... and I have to get her out! I have to—"
His voice filters through the phone, calm as ever. "Okay, Zak. Calm down." I can hear him opening the video, listening to Izzie's heart-wrenching cries. The sound sends a chill down my spine. Her pleas will forever be ingrained in my memory, haunting my dreams.
I hear the video play on a loop as he analyzes it. Pacing back and forth, I a hopeless feeling of despair builds up as I meet each silence.
"JJ, I have to take this to the police. This is serious. It's downright kidnapping, and she could be in real danger."
"Hold on," he says, his voice distant. Again, the video plays in the background. I can't bear to listen any longer. Turning away from the phone for a moment, I compose myself, swallowing down the lump in my throat.
I catch JJ still speaking when I put the phone back to my ear.
"Sorry, I missed the first bit. Repeat it," I say, my impatience growing.
"I said, I'm not entirely convinced that this video is legitimate. Without getting too technical, there have been advancements in technology to 'deep fake' people into certain situations, leveraging artificial intelligence. These counterfeit recordings can be quite convincing, but this one isn't perfect. Her face isn't moving right." His theory sends my mind reeling. It is unthinkable, but it could be a possibility.
"Wait, so you're saying she might be safe?" Hope flutters in my chest.
“Well, I can’t guarantee anything," he hesitates, "But, Zak, this video could be a very well-crafted lie. It may be a good idea to lay low and not report this to the authorities.”
I begin to protest, but he interrupts me.
“I'm an expert private investigator, Zak; I know who she is, and I think that you're both better off if this doesn’t spread around town.” So, JJ knows.
He moves on quickly, not commenting on my unorthodox relationship with Izzie.
“Let's stick to the plan; head over to her place while I dig deeper and unmask whoever's behind this." He then delves into complex technicalities I barely understand.
"I'm heading over now," I reply, cutting the call short. Already in motion, I’m ready to break every last traffic law if it means finding her. My focus has shifted – finding Izzie is my priority now. I have to see if she is okay. I have to know.
Izzie
A sharp knock jolts me from a restless sleep. I awaken with a start; panic rises through me. The sound is filled with a strange urgency that my ears haven't been tuned to since I moved for the summer away from the busy city. My brain weaves it into an unending dream until it reverberates yet again, pulling me abruptly into consciousness. Everything feels hazy, and my soft sheets trap my thoughts in a sleep-woven cocoon.
"Is Izzie okay?" Zak's voice pierces through the groggy silence of the house. A wave of shock washes over me. What is Zak doing here, in the middle of the night, asking about me?
I stumble out of my room wearing nothing but my underwear and make my way down the stairs, my mind clouded with confusion the entire time. Realizing that I am not dressed, I quickly rush back to grab my robe and wrap it around me, enjoying the warmth it provides. Still barefoot, I pad down the stairs to find the two men in deep conversation.
I look over at Zak and my father, who are both standing in the hallway, and I notice that both their faces are etched with concern in addition to shades of something else that I can't quite put my finger on.
