There is nothing quite like the vast expanse of 8-bit landscapes. The backdrop is a pixelated gradient sky. The trees rough at the edges and globular. Buildings tall and boxy. The Hero marches along on block legs.

Before the toxicity of screen-time was discovered, I spent hour upon hour in these imaginary worlds. Until I would dream about them. And now, years later, I dream of them still.

When I see the world in 8-bit, it gives me comfort.

He has opportunity at every turn but lacks the physical and mental ability to move forward. He can see the exit and has the key to leave, but instead continues to bang his head against the wall.

And then I think of myself. I too am trapped in a room with an open door, the key in my hand. It is the key to walk away from him. But I don't walk.

Just as much as I can’t leave him, he can’t leave his problems. Both of us are stuck in a zone of inertia, although both of us see a way to leave it. Maybe this is why we are drawn to each other. We are on the same stagnant path with the same brand of insanity.

I would prefer to get the job done before the sky turned black. The desert surrounding us had just swallowed the sun and the road ahead was pavement kissing red-stained sky. With the sun gone, the air would soon turn frigid.

My knuckles were white as I gripped the wheel. Ungluing one hand, I reached over to my passenger and rubbed his thigh. He twitched.

“Frank.”

I said his name without taking my eyes off the road. I said it deeply and softly, just above a whisper.

It was finally just us two.

I glanced over at Frank. The fading light of day deepened the lines on his face. I noticed he was twirling his wedding band around his finger. I would put an end to that soon when I would take it off his finger and throw it in the grave.

Frank was shifting around and tugging at his seatbelt. He had turned his head away from me to look out the passenger window. I’m not sure what he was hoping to see or find. There was only the endless stream of dusty, desert hills.

I kept driving. I don’t know how long we were driving but there was still some light up in the sky when I decided this was far enough. I spun the wheel to the right and the car skidded a little as it went off the road. I heard Frank gasp as the car lurched. But he still said nothing.

I pressed the brake down and jammed the vehicle into park. Turning over to Frank, I leaned toward him.

“Here. Get out.”

He unclicked his seatbelt and stiffly exited the vehicle.

I lingered for a moment and looked through the window at him standing there in the brush. That thin nose, the wrinkled brow, his shirt and tie hanging on his stick frame – all so charmingly hideous in the dusky light. Wind started to ruffle his greying hair and he wrapped his arms around his hunched self.

With a sigh, I released the lock for the trunk and emerged.

“You have to carry it, Frank.”

He didn’t turn to look at me as I opened the trunk. Looking down, there was the big, black bag. It was Frank’s check-in luggage still with red string tied at the handle. That string was for identification purposes. In a sea of luggage coming from the belly of a plane, that blood-red string would surely set this black bag apart. That string was as bloody red as the dismembered body inside.

Frank wasn’t approaching me. He was staring into the distance. So I walked up to him and touched his arm lightly. He didn’t twitch this time. Instead, he turned his head slowly to look at me. Finally, he was looking me in the eyes. But his watery green eyes were empty, unblinking.

Slowly, he reached his arms around me. It began like all of our other embraces. But his body was stiff. He ran his hand slowly up my back. I didn’t feel warmth like I had the other times he would touch me. His touch was too firm. And his hand was moving up to my neck. I could feel it coming. He was going to kill me too.

When you enter the room, I feel your presence. I wonder if you can feel me feeling you like this. You walk toward me after catching my gaze and I look away. But I know you saw me looking into you. You sit across from me at the table. It is like there is no one else at the table but you. When I talk, I talk to you, for you. What I do is for you because I like you. I would do anything for you. And you know it.

The doorbell rang, then rapid knocking, then the doorbell again. Five times. I knew she was coming, but this early? I opened the door.

“Helloooo Holly!”

Auntee Arlene smothered me in a hug with all her three-hundred fifty pounds. Very strong floral perfume mixed with oniony sweat filled my nose. Her short curly hair, wet with summer-time sweat, slopped against my cheek. I managed to wiggle free from this onslaught of an embrace.

“I brought you those cookies you like! How are you!? How long has it been since I have visited!? It is so hot out there, don't you think!? Why so thin!? Don’t you eat out here in The Big Apple!? Or all you eat is apples!?”

Everything was so loud coming out of her mouth. The words were being thrown at me too quickly for me to catch and reply.

Auntee Arlene grabbed the skin of my upper arm in a painful pinch then hurried into the kitchen to unpack her bag of food. She was talking loudly the whole time and waving her bag-laden arms around in a frenzy, her bright floral muumuu swishing everywhere.

My favorite succulent that was perched on top of my hall table toppled over as she passed. How did my inspirational-quote-print, hanging on the wall, already get crooked? She must have swiped that too, unknowingly. Not her fault, as she would say later, that my apartment was far too small. It never ever occurred to my dear Auntee that she was far too big.

With a sigh, I walked slowly toward the kitchen.

Half a banana, still in its peel,

Lay at the edge of the sidewalk.

Today was the ninth day it lay forgotten.

Every day it looked darker and more rotten.

But no one had picked it up or taken it away.

It just lay there, dying slowly in decay.

Of The Girls, Sally was always first. She was the first to move into the neighborhood, the first to marry, the first to know the best gossip, and now she was the first to regain consciousness. A pounding in her head engulfed her as she opened her heavy eyelids. Half expecting to see her pink duvet cover and silk pillow, Sally gasped as she realized that she was somewhere else.

There were dark grey pillows all around her and she looked up at a brown cloth canopy above a tall, king sized bed. The room was dim but she could make out her surroundings from daylight streaming through partially closed, dusty curtains. It was a medium sized room filled with antique relics. There was a large blue and white pot from China, a six foot tall wooden carving of an indigenous gentlemen carrying a spear, and many tables and cupboards with ornate carvings. The walls were covered in tacky oil-paintings such that she could barely discern the brown floral wallpaper pattern. In the corner of the room, she saw a rather out of place looking bunk bed and two sleeping forms under blankets there – maybe Betsy and Joanne?

Sally rubbed her head then looked down at herself. What clothes were these? She was now in a pink, silk nightgown and lacy white undergarments that were not her own. What had she been wearing before anyway? Where had she last been? It had not been since her college days that Sally experienced such confusion upon waking, and then it was only after binge-drinking. Had she been drinking?

Slowly, scenes from before in the shabby kitchen started to return to her mind. Betsy, Joanne, a strong cup of coffee. Then the image of John Smith flickered through her mind. That tall, strong, handsome man with those deep eyes and so few words.

Had he brought her here? And had he removed her clothes and put this lovely ensemble on her naked body? Sally reached down and felt the stubble on her legs in dismay as she remembered that she had not yet shaved that day – or whatever day it had been. Then she giggled out loud as she realized the ridiculousness of her predicament – away somewhere in a strange room in strange clothes, abducted by a strange man, yet not having shaved her legs being her worry.

Suddenly, the big wooden door of the room swung open and a tall shadowy form stood there. Sally gasped and realized that it was not anyone she had ever seen before. He had a thick crop of white hair, tiny black colored eyes, wrinkly skin, pinched mouth, and big seemingly oversized hands hanging down by his sides, almost ape-like.

With swift, silent steps, this strange man quickly stepped toward the bed and gently scooped Sally up in his arms, placing one of his ape hands carefully over her mouth to silence any noise she would make. Still feeling slightly sluggish, Sally did not make a sound, nor did she attempt to flee. It was all so bizarre she let whatever would happen next happen to her as the large old man carried her out of the room.

He walked quickly down a hallway that was also lined with many paintings as well as old wooden furniture, then down a set of thick wooden steps that opened up into a living room filled with old floral chairs and a large, floral sofa. On one end of the sofa, Sally saw John Smith sitting, hunched over, his hands covering his face.

“John!”

The voice of the old man carrying her startled Sally, and she gasped as he placed her down on the sofa next to John Smith.

John then uncovered his face and Sally thought she could see a flicker of a smile in his still grey eyes, but it was so very brief. His face was quickly back to that slightly chilling, expressionless glass that she remembered from before her abduction.

The old man then walked away and Sally, still lying on the sofa, her arms and legs a bit of a tangled mess, continued to look up at John.

“Sally. I have some explaining to do.”

The deep voice came from John and although Sally was not sure of how to interpret anything really that was happening so far, hearing his voice made her feel more comfortable. Sally smoothed her little night gown and sat up on the sofa, facing John.

When she opened her mouth to say something – anything – nothing came out and she felt her cheeks flush slightly. It was then that Sally decided that John Smith was the most handsome man she had ever seen in all her thirty years of living.

John reached out and placed his strong hand on Sally’s arm and his touch brought a little smile to her lips. Sally slowly leaned in toward him, and could smell his deep musky scent. John opened his mouth to speak again, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she saw his deep eyes begin to focus on her lips, then back into her own eyes and he began to lean in. Her heart started racing and her arms would have been trembling too, if John had not placed both of his hands now on her arms as if to steady her.

“SALLY!”

Suddenly, the screech of Betsy’s voice filled the air and Sally and John both startled, looking up to see Betsy standing at the bottom of the stairs, Joanne close behind her. Both of them had disheveled hair and were in similar little pink silk nighties.

“What is HAPPENING!? I saw that man take you from the room and pretended I was still sleeping and I woke up Betsey and we followed you guys and you’re here? With that… John? Where are we?”

The words tumbled from Joanne’s mouth as she threw her arms up in the air. Both of them quickly rushed to Sally and John and stood by the sofa. John released his hands from Sally and stood up, motioning for the girls to be quiet.

“I have some explaining to do to all of you girls.”

John motioned for Joanne and Betsy to take a seat. John sat down again, but this time on one of the floral chairs across from The Girls. Like live flowers on the dull floral cushions, The Girls sat in a row on the large sofa.

“I can understand how confused you must be,” John began, his grey eyes looking around the large room, then at The Girls.

The Girls looked at each other, dressed in their silk nighties, and now in this strange home in an overly-floral living room. John continued speaking in his deep, calm voice.

“I thought it would be soothing to have all of you wear some nice sleeping clothes as you were resting from the medicine I put in your coffee. So you could be more comfortable after the little procedure.”

“What procedure?” Both Betsy and Joanne spoke at the same time as they sometimes did.

“Well, we had to install tracking devices in you girls. Dr. Karnar did it, actually," John then looked into Sally's blue eyes as he continued, "Dr. Karnar is the older man you met a few minutes ago, Sally. He is the one who carried you to me.”

Sally felt a chill run through her. As she felt her arms and legs, she whispered, leaning forward toward John,

“Tracking? For what?”

As Sally ran her fingers down her stubbly legs, she noticed clear suture ends over an almost invisible incision at the inner part of her right ankle. Touching her skin around the area gingerly, she did not really feel anything else. Betsy and Joanne also looked down and saw similar stiches at their ankles.

“You girls are now under surveillance. I can’t tell you by whom exactly. I don’t even really know the full details. But what I do know and what I can tell you is that you three will be completely safe. It is just that we have to know where you are at all times so you don’t run away. And you have to start to work with me – work with us – to find out what is happening.”

John continued and The Girls looked at each other with confusion.

“What do you mean? What are you even talking about?” asked Betsey, her hands beginning to fidget and twirl her messy hair.

“It’s what your husbands do, I’m afraid, that has come to the attention of the FBI,” John continued, his brow wrinkling slightly, his eyes seeming to deepen in expression.

“My husband sells toasters!” exclaimed Joanne, rolling her eyes.

“And mine researches plants in some lab for way too much time every day,” sighed Betsy.

“Mine’s an attorney who is always busy,” Sally said, her voice trailing off.

“But, girls, that is not what they really do. That is what you think they do. I need you to look a little deeper into their lives. You can do it together and help each other. But you must report back to me and tell me everything. Absolutely everything. Your husbands have been lying to you, so you girls better get to the bottom of it. Go to work with them, find an excuse. Or follow them in secret. Find out where they are always away from you,” John continued.

“And if we don’t? I would rather just continue doing homemaking and trying to have a baby or something.” said Betsy, staring John squarely in the face.

“You don’t have a choice, Betsey. If you don’t comply, you will be killed.”

John said the words without blinking, looking straight back at Betsey. The monotone of John's voice and the lack of emotion in his eyes as they met Betsey caused her to gasp sharply as she placed one of her hands at her throat.

“But, John, why don’t you kidnap our husbands and put tracking devices in THEM?!” exclaimed Joanne throwing her hands up in the air.

“It would be a lot harder to pin those guys down. They have a lot of skills and are often one step ahead of us. The decision was made to target you girls for many reasons, the foremost reason being that it would be easier for us. And easier for you to help us. After all, your husbands know that you three have no idea what they are up to at all.”

“What are they up to, then? Can we at least have some direction for this task?” asked Betsey, still staring John down.

Sally wasn’t really listening to the conversation at this point. Rather, she was looking at John sitting there on the floral chair, his large frame leaning toward them, his muscles rippling now and then under his thin t-shirt. A smile spread across her lips as she realized that with whatever was going on now, she had him to report to, him to see regularly with updates on whatever. Sally brushed her lips with her fingers, imagining the possible kiss-interrupted, then looked back at John. She found that he was staring at her instead of Betsey and Sally’s lips curled into a smile.

Just then, a short gentlemen dressed in a suit appeared in the doorway with a plate of cookies and some glasses of water. He scuttled over to the coffee table at the sofa, placed them down quietly, then darted away.

“Have some water and a snack,” John gestured toward the plate of cookies and water.

Betsey and Joanne took each others hands and backed away from the offering. Sally, however, took a cookie in her thin fingers, looked John in the eye, and took a huge bite, smiling. If she were to pass out again, she did not mind one bit if it were in front of John Smith. Betsey and Joanne gingerly grabbed cookies too, so as not to be left out.

“So, girls, I have to take you back to my place now. We can all talk more later once we are back. You won’t know where this is,” John said gesturing to the room, “and you cannot know. But you have to get back and get to work. I’ll help. I will be watching you girls and will protect you.”

John’s voice had a certain deepness to it as he said these words. Although his expression did not waiver, The Girls knew that there was some degree of caring under there, somewhere.

They drank the water and ate more cookies, and nothing happened to The Girls.

It was only after the last bite of cookie and last drop of water was gone that John came to the sofa to sit with them. John sat next to Sally. Then Dr. Karnan came into the room and sat between Betsey and Joanne. In a swift motion, John and Dr. Karnan covered the girls’ faces with ether soaked cloths and The Girls were once again returned to unconsciousness. With a sigh, John collected The Girls once again over his shoulders and took them out of the house to his truck.