This is a nightmare. This is a stupid nightmare, and all I have to do is just pinch myself awake.

Ow.

Oookay, then. How about running myself into wall? No, seriously. Take as many step as I can from the pleasantly wallpapered wall, aim for the blank section, then run headlong into it for maximum force of impact. Run repeatedly.

Oh, greaaat. Now I'm seeing stars and in the mirror I catch a glimpse of my Dream-self –looking good there- with the beginnings of an almighty bruise on her forehead. God damn it, why am I not waking up!

Thunder and lightning. Rain, lots of rain. The sounds mean nothing to me. My window's open. Because I can hear it. The car. I can hear them. I can hear them. Because my window's open. I needed to know the minute they'd arrive, although I haven't the least idea why I needed to know that…as if it would help me out of this mess. Cue hysterics. Oh God.

…

Oh God.

I inch closer to the window, bit by bit, all the while just praying that this is just a nightmare but my head aches; that doesn't happen in any semi-conscious reality. Not this physical pain. It increases tenfold when I spot the unfamiliar car and the men...hell, the men. I shudder in revulsion, and the shudders evolve into an uncontrollable shaking that makes my breath come in and go out in great big gasps. Then I stumble to the door and attempt to bolt the door that's already been bolted.

I'm safe. For now but, hell, those thugs are inside our house now; I can hear them demanding Appa to hand me over. Omma's crying. Wailing. She's going to wreck her health just after recovering. Reality comes back with a bang at that. My parents –although one is responsible for this- are downstairs trying to stop the men from taking me. They could get hurt.

I may not be the bravest person, but I'm going to do this to protect them.

It's like there's two of me. Real-me and Clone-me. Strangely enough, Clone-me seems to have drifted to the ceiling, a nervous gibbering wreck. Real-me looks determined and calm. Real-me looks calm, but Real-me's hands are clenched in fists and shaking. Clone-me realizes what's happening and throws options at Real-me like fastballs, curveballs and no-balls: Shimmy down the drainpipe and run for the hills, call the police, just put an end to it. Right. Here. They've got men stationed outside, I don't have a phone- powers out in this thunderstorm anyway. No. Real-me is having none of it. Real-me unbolts the door and strides out with Clone-me cursing after her, walks down the stairs-

It's a convention. A ridicolous sunglasses convention and should I fetch my one designer pair from Prada to complete the party? The absurdity, the sheer hilarity –why do people wear sunglasses on indoors anyway?

I want to laugh, really I want to laugh, but Omma's still crying and suddenly, Clone-me and Real-me merge back into Ga Eul who is failing abysmally at holding back her tears as she hugs her mother goodbye.

The sunglasses convention converges around me, and as I finally let go, two of them each take an arm and lead me to the door. I'm being led to the slaughterhouse.

I feel sick to my stomach.

We're passing a man at the door. He is pale, trembling with tears streaming down his cheeks. I can tell his voice is going to be hoarse. "Ga Eul-ah...," Appa says brokenheartedly. The men release me as Appa steps in to hug me remorsefully. All thoughts of being vindictive and hurtful go flying out the window. I cling to him.

"I know you didn't mean it," I say, struggling to keep the hitch out of my voice, "but I-I can't forgive you for this..."

"I-I know...If I had a choice...I'm so...so sorry Ga Eul! It's my fault!" he cries.

I can't stand this. I pull back, miraculously dry eyed, and look him straight in the eye. "Look after Omma, allright? "

He lets go. Nodding, looking older than I've ever seen him, he stumbles away, reaching out to Omma.

Now comes the hard part. Leaving. We're barely out the door but an escape plan is already forming in my mind. It seems Clone-me is still hovering around. They're not holding me tightly. I could twist out of their grip, hit some groins, kick of my shoes and run like hell to the police station –I could do it, I'm fast. I'm really fast. I've been taking self-defence classes. At the station I could lodge a report, rescue Omma and Appa-

No.

StupidStupidStupid! Think girl, think! What would be the first thing they'd do if I manage to escape and get help?

Get rid of the evidence.

Immediately, I'm assaulted by a newspaper headline: Another Home Destroyed. I see visions of a wrecked hose and dead bodies...dead bodies, oh God, I'm sick. I'm really, really sick. I can't breathe. I stumble and slump forward as the world decides to go ballerina on me and spin pirouettes. I can hear muffled cursing. Pain under my arms as the car-blurry-suddenly comes ten feet closer. The back door is opened, I can tell even in my state because I'm helped onto plush leather-seat, my brain tries to tell me- and some shapes on either side keep me from falling. My vision is fading, the roaring of the engine seems too far away. I have one, last, earth-shattering thought.

I have been taken by the Mafia.

...

...

Darkened alleyways aren't for billionaires. But then, he really isn't. He's just an heir. Honest.

He doesn't look out of place. Comfortable looking clothes. The designer labels have been torn off. He made sure of that when he bought them, then ran them through several cycles of washing. After that, he took a walk in a garden. He came in through the rosebush.

The person who wants to see him isn't here yet. Oh, wait. He keeps up the casual facade, and when the shadow behind him tries to pull the trigger, he crouches down and a leg snakes out to knock the shadow of his feet. It's actually really fast. Like a knee jerk reaction. Like he was trained to do this.

The shadow is still groaning on his back when Woo Bin pockets his gun. He hauls the guy up, gives him a once over (Caucasian. Mid-40s. Smelly) and frisks him, muttering under his breath. Just the gun.

"Are you kidding me? Trying to take me on with this?" Just for good measure, he checks for bullets. None. Pfft. "What, you bought this at Toys-R-Us?"

The guy suddenly breaks free and lunges at Woo Bin. He nimbly steps out of the way and slugs him in the jaw. The guy topples, whimpering.

"So, what's the deal? Hired assassin? Struck by recession with a wife and kids to feed? No, let me guess, you saw me walking into Gucci and decided to tail me. Then you left the note on my doorstep-I'm not going to even bother thinking about how you got into the hotel-crapping on about a matter of life and death, and now you want to mug me."

Woo Bin frowns. "God, if you wanted money you should have just asked the Welfare Department," rambling on, he doesn't seem to realize the guy is slowly getting to his feet, "you'd think a country like the U.S would have this problem covered, being all developed and stuff –HEY!"

That's the guy trying a second punch, aaaand that's him toppling to the ground again. Woo Bin dusts off his coat, muttering to himself, "Just because I rich. Meh, its always like this." He says in falsetto: "Hey it's a rich guy, lets steal his wallet or strip him down to his undies and pawn of the shit! Maybe if we're imaginative we'll kidnap him and get rich with the ransom!"

The guy moans when he sees Woo Bin's hand going out of his line of sight and closes his eyes to await the impact. He doesn't expect the rustling sound of dollar notes being pressed into his hand. He stares at the rich kid.

Woo Bin sighs and opens his wallet wide. "See, I just emptied it for you. Now don't spend it all on candy. Use it wisely, like," he sniffs delicately, "a shower, for instance." He checks his watch and curses. "Look, I gotta go, alright? I've got a room service dinner at a five-star hotel!"

He jogs off and the would-be mugger stares after the rich guy-nice guy. He starts to count the money. His eyes widen. He stuffs it into his pockets, his jacket and hightails it outta there. Woo Bin is talking to to himself. "And I thought it was going to be fun," he mutters just as his phone rings. He picks up after the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Annyeonghaseyo, sajangnim."

"Oh, right," says Woo Bin and switches to Korean, "Sorry about that. I just had a run in with a local."

"Male or Female?"

"Male."

"Did he try to rob you or kill me"

"He tried to rob me. Then he tried to punch me."

"Ouch", said his aide.

"Why are you calling?"

"Other than the fact that you ran away and I was sick with worry? The Big Man's man called. Said it was important."

"Important, how?"

"Dirt."

"Ah." Then, "Go."

"Money-lending."

"I thought we don't do money-lending."

"Apparently we do. Family of three. Mother ill. Father recently out of work. He took the money to keep them afloat but the payment is too much for him to handle."

"I'll take care of it."

"Sajangnim-

"I'll take care of it."

"There...there's a problem."

"Jeez, what problem! The Big Man's man didn't call about that. The collateral is...human."

"Human? You sound like a B-rate horror flick!"

"The daughter, sir. The father put his daughter down as collateral."

"And?"

"It's someone you know."

"Who?"

"I don't-"

"Who."

"A girl named Ga Eul."

"..."

"Sir?"

"Send someone over."

"Where are you sir?

"Me? Uh, somewhere...but you already know where, don't you? Did you retape the note or track my GPS?"

"I am my money's worth sir."

"Right."

"You're dinner's getting cold."

"Put it in a doggy bag. I'll have it on the plane."

"Sir?"

"Pack the bags, my good man. We're going home."

His aide hangs up without a goodbye. Woo Bin picks up his pace, and this time, he runs.