Bananapants: A Bonkers Romantic Comedy

“Never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line!”

— The Princess Bride (1987)

Iawoke with a start, my whole body flinching as I tried to sit up and discovered I couldn’t. Sucking in air, I frantically looked around the room—cement walls like a cell, a large mirror on one wall, and a gray metal door on the other were barely visible in the darkness—and then at my hands. I lay on a hospital bed, my wrists bound to it with cushioned Velcro. My legs were not only bound together from ankle to knee but also connected to the bar at the foot of the bed. One of my feet had been wrapped with medical gauze. The foot with the glass in it.

Nothing hurt. I didn’t even have a headache. Even so, my heart beat frantically and I could hear nothing but my labored breathing. If I didn’t stop freaking out, I’d hyperventilate and pass out.

“Calm down,” I whispered to myself, squeezing my eyes shut against a sudden stinging. My chin wobbled. My body wanted me to cry. “Calm down,” I said again, louder, deeper, firmer, forcing my nose to breathe in, my mouth to breathe out. When I felt slightly calmer, I murmured, “Calm. Down. And. Think.”

My last memory was fuzzy, garbled, but I remembered enough. The guy in all black had asked if I was okay. But where was I now? Probably still at the Harding Building, my brain told me.

Even if the masked man had wanted me as a hostage, how would he have gotten both of us out of the building? We’d been on one of the top floors. If he’d tried the elevator, the black-suit guards definitely would’ve locked it down. They’d seemed incredibly motivated to stop him. I didn’t care how strong and big that dude was, no one was strong enough to carry my tall, curvy ass down one hundred plus flights of stairs. And why would he? No, I would’ve slowed his escape.

I’m still at the Harding Building. And that weirdo Henri Wickford has me bound to a hospital bed in this cement room after giving my foot medical attention because he’s a creepy rich asshole with a private bathroom off his office and nothing on his desk. Who has nothing on their desk?

At first, I didn’t know what to think about this conclusion regarding my whereabouts. More reasoning was necessary, but it calmed some of my fears that my boss knew where I was. She’d set up the meeting in the first place. Worst-case scenario, if I wasn’t home for a few days, my sister would notice.

My throat tightened with the possibility of being stuck here for days, and what Henri Wickford might do to me, when a sudden noise had my eyes flying open and my head lifting.

I searched the darkness and a chill shivered down my spine when I spotted the source of the sound. The man in black materialized from a darkened corner of the room. He must’ve been there the whole time, watching me. All my conclusions about where I was and who held me captive flew out the window.

Calm down. Calm down. Whatever happens, it’ll be over eventually. Eventually, it’ll all be over. Try to be funny. Endear yourself to him. Maybe he won’t go all serial killer if he sees you as a human.

Then again, had he unalived anyone at the Harding Building? All the bodies he’d left in his wake seemed to be moving and making sounds—mostly of pain—and I hadn’t seen him with a gun or any weapon. He hadn’t needed a weapon. His fists and ninja moves had been incredibly effective.

Clearing my throat, I forced myself to say, “Hello again.”

Silent, he stalked slowly forward, his hands lifted to chest level, his fingers spread as though approaching a skittish animal. Upon closer inspection, he seemed to be holding something with the index finger and thumb of his right hand. I couldn’t see his eyes as he still wore the dark sunglasses, but I knew they were on me.

Tensing as he drifted closer, I said breathlessly, “What a coincidence, seeing you here, and twice in one day. Is your Batcave in this neighborhood?” The corners of my vision blurred gray, my eyes not wanting to focus. Adrenaline was the culprit, and I seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.

The room was very dark, and I was panicking despite my best efforts to remain calm, but I noticed he wasn’t wearing his mask. I could barely make out his mouth, but I thought I detected a slight smile.

I decided to take that as a good sign. “So, uh, are you here to finish me off? Should I be saying prayers?”

He shook his head, passing directly below the only overhead light, dimmed to almost nothing, his small smile a bit more visible. It wasn’t at all sinister and struck me as oddly familiar. For some reason, that helped dispel my frantic thoughts and allowed me to breathe easier. As did the shake of his head.

Close enough, I heard his softly whispered, “I won’t hurt you.”

“Oh?” I gulped in a breath. “Well, that’s just what a girl likes to hear.”

“You’re safe here. But I’m going to place this in your ear.” Still speaking in a quiet whisper, he showed me what he’d been holding in his right hand. It was an earpiece.

Bracing myself, I bit my lower lip and squeezed my eyes shut as his giant gloved hand lowered toward my face. Gently, he tucked my hair behind my ear and then hooked the device around my earlobe.

As soon as I felt him withdraw, a woman’s voice emanated from it. “Hello? Ms. Archer?”

“Yes?” I asked weakly, my eyes still squeezed shut, my body strung tight.

“For Christ’s sake, please breathe. You don’t need to be afraid. No one is going to hurt you. Please, calm down or else you’re going to faint again. I got plans this evening, you know?” Her tone was dry as dust. Like she was frustrated. With me.

My eyes fluttered open. “What—again? How many times have I fainted?”

“Six.”

Despite the situation, a startled laugh escaped my lips. “Six?!”

“Yes. I’ve never seen someone faint as much as you. Do you have asthma?”

“No, I don’t have asthma.” I didn’t know what to think about her tone. She spoke to me like we knew each other, and I racked my brain to place her voice. It was deeper, raspy like a smoker’s. Her blunt manner of speaking didn’t help narrow down her age. She could’ve been twenty. She could’ve been sixty.

“Anyway. Try meditation. I don’t do it because those fuckers are too chill, you know? Like, nothing gets to them. Do they ever emote? I dunno. But they teach you how to breathe and focus. Fainting every hour can’t be good for your brain. Take it real easy tomorrow, ’kay?” She sounded entirely serious, even a little concerned, which made me laugh again.

“Oh? I’ll be sure to look into that as soon as I’m not bound to a hospital bed in a dark cell. Thanks for the tip.” My gaze pointed at the ceiling, I stared at nothing, and I realized my breathing had finally evened.

“You do that. Let’s get down to business so you can be on your way, mmm-kay?” Her voice held a smile, like maybe she thought I was funny or cute. “So here’s the deal. Call me Sue. I need you to answer my questions. Once you do, Raziel will send you on your way. Anywhere you want to go.”

Even though I breathed easier, my brain remained in chaos. They were going to let me go? That didn’t seem likely. It hadn’t occurred to me until right this minute, but I had to wonder if I was the reason the man in black—had she called him Raziel?—if I was the reason Raziel had broken into Henri’s office. Had he and this Sue person been after me? And was this the same man in black crouching behind the giant plant on the sidewalk this morning?

But that doesn’t make any sense. Why wait until I’m in an office surrounded by guards before⁠—

“Ms. Archer?” Sue said, interrupting my thoughts.

“Yes. I’m here.”

“Do you think you can answer my questions? Or do you need a minute?”

I cleared my throat, opening my eyes and searching the cell for this person she called Raziel. He’d removed himself to the wall with the mirror and leaned against it. He didn’t seem relaxed, but he didn’t seem anxious either. He seemed alert. No more, no less. I cataloged the size of him again, the span of his shoulders, the bulk of his biceps beneath his tight black shirt. The lines and curves of his muscles felt lethal after what I’d witnessed at the Harding Building.

“How do I know you’ll let me go if I answer your questions?” I asked. It seemed like the most important question.

“You’ll have to trust me.”

I laughed harshly. “That’s not going to happen. I’m tied to a bed in a cell.”

“What can I do to reassure you that we’ll let you go?”

“First, I want him to untie me. I don’t like this.”

“Fine,” she said, and no sooner had the words left her mouth than Raziel slowly stepped forward—with his hands out, like he didn’t want to make any sudden movements—closed the distance between us, and reached for the wrist closest to him.

I stared at the guy while he worked on the bindings. He’d put the black mask on again while I’d been talking to Sue, his nose and mouth were now covered. He was protecting his identity. For some strange reason, this didn’t make me feel better even though it gave credibility to Sue’s promise to let me go.

After he finished with my wrists, he disconnected my feet from the bar but didn’t touch the soft rope holding my legs together. Instead, he stepped back and reclaimed his spot by the mirror. Watching him, I sat up and reached for the tie at my knees.

“No, no. Leave that,” Sue said in my ear.

My hand stilled at the knot next to my knee. “Why?”

“Because you know jujitsu and Raziel doesn’t want to dodge another kick to the face. He’s had a big day.” She paused, and I heard something beeping in the background, like a microwave. “Also, your foot was all cut up. You shouldn’t walk. Leave your legs alone for now.”

“Okay. Fine.” It’s not like I could outrun or outfight this Raziel guy. “But I need more assurances that you’ll let me go. Something real, tangible. I can’t simply take your word for it.” I still had that thumb drive. It was time to make use of it.

“Like what?” She didn’t sound irritated or surprised. In fact, she sounded almost cheerful. And was that popcorn? Was she eating popcorn? “What can we do to reassure you?”

“I want to make a deal.” Eyes on Raziel, I scooched my butt until my back was against the wall and propped a pillow behind me. Might as well get comfortable.

“What kind of deal?” Munch, munch, munch.

Yep. She was eating popcorn.

“I think . . .” I licked my lips and hesitated, pausing to consider whether my hastily concocted plan was a good idea.

But hadn’t I picked up that thumb drive from the bathroom floor for exactly this reason? If I had something they wanted, or knew where to find it, they’d be more likely to let me go in order to obtain it.

“The thumb drive,” I croaked out. I cleared my throat, and started again. “The one he dropped in Henri’s office. I know where it is.”

Sue didn’t immediately respond. Meanwhile, Raziel straightened from the wall but didn’t approach. I got the sense I’d surprised them. I also got the sense that maybe they didn’t believe me.

“You dropped it in the bathroom when you pushed me inside,” I said, talking to the man in black. “I found it when I was looking for my phone.”

His gloved hands balled into fists but he leaned back against the wall. He crossed his arms. He nodded once.

“Okay,” Sue said around a bite of presumably popcorn. “Tell me about this deal.”

My stomach grumbled. I ignored it. “If you let me go, I’ll tell you where the thumb drive is. But you have to actually let me go. I need to be safe.”

“Where is safe? Where do you need to be?”

“The Fairbanks Building downtown. I need to be inside the building, then I’ll tell you.” It was where my mother worked and the headquarters of Uncle Quinn’s security firm. I’d be completely safe there. Unlike a police station where they may or may not believe my story, Uncle Quinn would. Then I could figure out what to do next about Sue, Raziel, and Henri Wickford.

“Fine,” Sue said after a short pause. “You got yourself a deal.”

The fact that she paused, as though to consider, also made me feel better. I didn’t trust them, I didn’t even know them, but I could trust that they wanted the thumb drive.

“Good. Then go ahead. Ask your questions.” I opened and closed my fingers. They’d started to tingle in the Velcro binding and were still a little numb.

“How long have you worked at your current job?” she asked, the question slightly garbled, obviously talking while eating.

“Uh, two and a half years.”

“And you joined the firm directly after law school?”

“Yes.” I frowned. This wasn’t top secret information. They could easily look this up.

“And how do you know the man you met today? What is your relationship with him?”

Rubbing my wrist, I told her the truth. “I don’t know him. My boss wanted me to meet with someone at the Harding Building named Mr. Quail. When I was escorted to the office, it turned out to be Henri Wickford.”

“Have you ever been to the Harding Building before today?”

“No.”

I heard a paper flip and a sound like she’d given a cup full of ice a good shake. “And have you ever met Mr. Wickford or his associate before today?”

“His associate? You mean the guy in the blue suit?”

“Yes. Do you know his name?” She slurped, like when someone is drinking the last bit of a drink through a straw.

I grimaced. “No. He didn’t introduce himself. And do you have to eat while we’re on the phone?” The sounds were distracting and loud.

She made a snorting sound. “You and Raziel have a lot in common. Fine. I’ll eat later. Happy, princess?”

I glanced at Raziel. His chin was lowered to his chest. Oddly, I got the sense he was trying not to laugh. “Ecstatic. And please call me Ava.”

She snorted again, but this time it was paired with a laugh. “Okay, Ava, what about the other man? Mr. Wickford? Have you met him before today?”

“Yes. Mr. Wickford, not his associate, just once. At a, uh—” Wait. My attention moved to Raziel. He stood as still as a statue but was obviously listening. Could this be about Chelsea? “Hold on. Is this about Chelsea? Chelsea Albrecht-Walton? I swear, if this turns out to be about me impersonating her at that stupid marriage meetup, I’m going to take a box cutter to her houndstooth poncho.”

“Depending on your answers, I may have some follow-up questions about Chelsea Albrecht-Walton. One thing at a time. So you’ve met Henri Wickford before today?”

“Yes. Once. At a secret society two weeks ago.”

“But not since? Have you had any contact with him before today, not counting the incident two weeks ago?” At first, I found it surprising Sue didn’t question me about the secret society and seemed to accept that I had in fact gone to a secret society. It still felt pretty unbelievable to me.

But then I reminded myself that I was currently in a concrete cell with no windows and a man all in black named Raziel. I’d been shot at during a new client onboarding. Raziel and Sue probably knew all about the secret society. Maybe they were members. Maybe they’d been there that night.

“None. I’ve had no contact with him until today,” I answered.

Raziel didn’t move, yet I got the strangest sense he was pleased with my response. He seemed to relax even while holding still. My eyes narrowed, an alarm in the back of my brain going off. But not a danger alarm. More like a you-know-something-you-don’t-know-that-you-know alarm. A hunch alarm.

“What was the name of this secret society?” Sue asked, her voice monotone, bored.

It was weird. Sometimes I got the sense she read from a script and was invested in my answers, and sometimes the questions felt like filler, superfluous, like she didn’t care what I said, but they were also entirely spontaneous. This latest question was the latter.

Testing this theory, I responded, “I think it’s called the Hawstep Society.”

“Mmm.” Sue shuffled some papers on her side of the call. “Do you know why Mr. Wickford would invite you to his office under the pretense of using a different name?” This question sounded like it was scripted.

“He said something about—about me ignoring him.” I rubbed my forehead, fighting a wave of dizziness. I didn’t know what time it was, but I’d skipped breakfast this morning. I was probably hungry. And, you know, tired of fainting.

“Could you clarify that?”

“He said that I’d been ignoring him, that he’d sent gifts and messages to me. Before you ask, I never received any gifts or messages from him, which is what I told him today. But he insisted that he’d sent me several items, like earrings and a bracelet. He was—I think—mad at me? I don’t know, it was very strange.”

Raziel’s aura seemed to change again, become darker, more ominous. Apparently, he didn’t like some part of what I’d said.

Sue continued asking me questions for a time. What method of travel did I take to work this morning and how did I get to the Harding Building? Did I know anyone who rented floor space at the Harding Building? Did I have any relationship with the construction company that had built the Harding Building? Did I know or have any relationship with Senator Crabtree? Did I know anyone on Senator Crabtree’s staff?

I answered each question but got the sense she really didn’t care what I said in response to them. My sluggish brain, now feeling heavy with a hunger headache, told me that Sue was interested in Henri Wickford and the rest of her questions were misdirection.

“What are your plans now?” Sue asked, sounding like she was reading from a script again. “Are you going to press charges against Mr. Wickford or the Harding Building?”

I sighed, rubbing my head again and stretching my ankles. My legs were starting to fall asleep. “I honestly have no idea. I haven’t thought that far ahead.”

A pause, then, “Are you okay, Ava? Do you want to lie down?”

“No.” I shook my head. “I want to leave.”

“Gotcha. Well. Thanks for your answers. Good job. You worked hard.”

I sat up straighter. “That’s it? That’s all you want to know?”

“Yep.”

“So you’re going to let me go now?” The hunch alarm rang louder.

Something wasn’t right. Something didn’t add up. But who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth?

Look the gift horse in the mouth, Ava! Maybe it’s a Trojan horse!

Giving my head a little shake, I glanced at Raziel. He hadn’t moved and I got the sense he’d been looking at me this entire time. I wondered what his story was. How does one become a goon? Did he pay taxes?

“Almost,” Sue said. “We’ve arranged a driver. They will take you wherever you want to go. But first, there’s just—uh—one more thing. And please, don’t be too upset with Raziel. He’s simply doing his job. No punches, no kicks, okay?”

A spike of anxiety sharpened my senses and my hunger headache was forgotten as Raziel straightened from the wall and sauntered over to me, his arms that had been crossed this whole time falling to his sides.

I started to push myself back on the bed but then remembered the rope around my legs. Frantically, I picked at the knot.

“Wait. Wait. What’s—what’s he doing? What are you doing?” I split my attention between the knot holding my ankles to the bedrail and the approaching bad guy. Hurriedly, I untied it, freeing myself from the bed. But there was still the matter of the second rope, binding my calves together.

He lifted his hands, fingers spread, his steps slowing.

Sue’s voice in my ear said, “My dude, I promise, he will not hurt you. But he does need to frisk you.”

“What?!” I screeched.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed even though they were still bound below my knees, I stood, and immediately regretted it. They must’ve removed the glass in my foot, but putting weight on my heel hurt like a motherclucker. Wincing, I reached back for the bed to balance myself. At the same time, Raziel darted forward, catching me and pulling me up.

“Be careful! Are you—are you okay?” he asked, making the mistake of using his actual voice and not a whisper.

I froze.

Everywhere.

All the molecules in my body halted.

Mitochondria stopped mitochondria-ing.

I knew that voice.

I’d know that voice anywhere.