Everyone knew the old man. He lived alone in a great big house, a house almost big enough to be considered a mansion in those days. Looking as old and decrepit as the man who lived there, it glared menacingly at any passerby, as if devising a way to stamp out anyone who dared approach. Anyone with sense passed by the house quickly, and children were forbidden from approaching.
     There were many rumors surrounding the man himself, from what he did all day, to who he was in kinder years. There were claims of black magic, that the old man consorted with angels and demons. Other rumors say he used to be a murderer, that he locked people in his basement and tortured them to death, and that at night, one could hear the ghostly wails of his past victims. More grounded ideas say the old man served in the army during the Great War, and suffered from psychological trauma due to the horrors of the battlefield. Or that he lost a loved one in days long gone, and still grieves their loss to this day.
     Whatever the case, one thing was for certain: The old man kept to himself. He never had guests, hardly left his house, and never interacted with anyone save the milkman: and this was limited at best, dropping a coin into the milkman’s hand before swiping a carton and shutting the heavy, oak door in the man’s face.
     Under these circumstances, it was a while before anyone realized the old man had not been seen for some time. The less superstitious folks went up to his house and knocked on the door. When there was no answer, they feared the worst, and called the police.
     The police searched the entire house, but there was no sign of the old man. All they found was a note, marked with the initials “L.H.” and the day’s date. Upon reading the note, the officers requested for a search party. Despite their best efforts, the old man was never found.
     What follows is a word-for-word transcript of the note.

     I would like to start off by saying no one drove me towards this end; all blame is on myself. I imagine no one will miss me; I question if anybody will even realize I am gone for some time. But before I go, I feel the need to get something off my chest.
     I always had a certain zest for life. I went out to parties, met people, made new friends, and the like. I had pretty much everything I could ever want. But I was never really, happy. It’s not that I wanted more than I had, or that I didn’t appreciate what I had, I simply could not derive any enjoyment out of it. Everything seemed so meaningless: my family, friends, reading, even soccer.
     That is not what has driven me over the edge though; I could have lived with it. No, what has hounded me day-after-day for all these years happened in Autumn, around thirty years ago. I do not remember the date or the exact year, but I do remember the season, as the leaves were falling all around me on that fateful day.
     I remember waking with a pounding headache, my mind feeling like it was trapped in a large fog. The slow rumble and the bouncing were not helping matters either. I could not see much of anything through some sort of fabric covering my head, only a little bit of light. I tried to move my hands, but couldn’t, feeling something like rope wrapped around them.
     I started to panic. My breathing quickened as I tried desperately to move my hands. Failing that, I tried to move my feet, but found they were tied as well. I tried to move my whole body, but then I heard a feminine voice shout, “Stop your squirming! You’re not getting out!”
     I froze. I hadn’t realized anyone was driving, which in hindsight was not particularly bright of me.
     “W-who are you? What’s going on?” I stammered. I suppose a better question to ask would have been, “Why is a woman driving a car,” but under the circumstances it did not even occur to me to question it.
     “Isn’t it obvious? You’re being kidnapped,” the voice said.
     “Why?” I inquired with confusion.
     The voice just sighed. “Why do you think? Money of course!”
     I almost blurted out that neither me nor my family had money, but stopped myself. I had forgotten I was wearing a suit I borrowed from a friend, so I could go out with him and some other friends to a fancy restaurant. She had likely assumed I was wealthy. If my captor knew I was practically penniless, she would probably kill me and dump me at the side of the road. As long as this person believed I was some rich guy, she would keep me alive until getting a ransom. Or until she realized the truth. I just hoped my friends would get worried and contact the police department before then. My best bet was Frank, as he was the kind of person to call the police over even a small disturbance. I think he had also witnessed at least part of my abduction, though I could not be positive on that.
     Not betting on their rescue, I started working at the bindings on my wrists, twisting my hands every which way. I knew I had to come up with some way to distract her, so she would not notice what I was doing. Thinking frantically, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
     “Apples!”
     The vehicle ground to a halt. I heard movement, like she was turning in her seat. That is not what I wanted at all.
     “What?” She stated, sounding a little confused.
     “Um, a-apples are good! Apples are very tasty!”
     There was a moment of silence.
     “Great, you must be one of the crazy ones,” I heard the woman say with a sigh, as the car started moving again.
     “I’m not crazy,” I responded indignantly, before I could stop myself. “I was simply stating a fact.”
     The woman gave a short laugh. “Really? That is an odd thing to simply state.”
     I had her distracted. Now I only had to continue the conversation.
     “It is, but do you not agree it is true?”
     “Yes, yes I suppose they are tasty,” The woman responded with a hint of amusement.
     I had no idea how to continue the conversation in a way that would not sound out-of-place: I imagined this person would get suspicious if I did so again. I was forced to stop working on the bindings or run the risk of getting caught.
     A few minutes passed. To my surprise, it was my captor that finally broke the silence.
     “What do you like to do for fun?”
     Needless to say, I was taken aback. “What?”
     “What do you do for fun? I imagine you’re going to be captive for a while, and you’ll need things to do.”
     Flustered, I actually told her. “Uh, well um, I read books, go out with friends, and play soccer.”
     “Soccer? Why soccer?” she inquired.
     Grabbing hold of my composure, I replied warily. “I used to play it all the time with my siblings.”
     “What, did you think I am some sort of psycho that’s going to lock you up in a bare room?” The woman said smugly, as if proud to be more humane than other kidnappers.
     I seized my chance once again and worked on my wrists. “All right, so what do you do for fun? I told you mine; I think it only fair you say yours.”
     There was a pause, and to my surprise, she actually responded. “No harm in it I suppose. I enjoy reading as well, and also swimming. I have not competed yet, but I am hoping to do so some day.”
     I twisted and turned my hands. With a rush I felt something slip. I pulled up and inwards, pressing into my back. I felt the bonds definitely slipping.
     “You know, I don’t usually do this.”
     “Don’t do what?”
     “This. I don’t, like, abduct people on a regular basis.”
     I stopped working on my bonds. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.
     “I, just thought I should let you know.” I heard her shifting, as if suddenly uncomfortable.
     That was, honestly something I had never expected to hear in my lifetime. Of course, I had never expected to be abducted either.
     I remembered my bonds, but there was no opportunity to take them off then. She surely would have heard it.
     There was silence for quite some time.
     There was something that had been bothering me the whole drive. I figured there would be no point in asking, and even if I did I would probably get no answer. But my captor seemed awfully chatty, and, if I am being honest, I was kind of enjoying talking to her.
     So, finally I broke the silence.
     “If you don’t mind me asking, what will you do with the money?”
     For the fourth time that day, the woman surprised me. She slowed down the vehicle, coming to a complete stop. I heard her shift, facing towards me. There was a long pause. She took a deep breath.
     “I need it for my little sister. She is sick. I mean, very sick. I need the money to pay for her to get treatment.”
     A pause. Her voice got more emotional as she finished, “Otherwise, I don’t think she will make it.”
     That hit me hard.
     “I had a little sister as well, who also got sick. She’s gone now.” I could not help the crack in my voice as I said that.
     A series of memories flashed before my eyes. My sister, falling down in the kitchen. My sister, unable to move. My sister, the local doctor leaning over her. My sister, permanently confined to bed. My sister, looking at me with nothing but trust and love as she died in front of my eyes. The doctor said it was polio, some disease that can cause paralysis and even death in rare cases. It did not make it any easier. When she died, I felt as if something broke within me, something essential. I simply could not enjoy life anymore. I could not enjoy a world so cruel. A world that would cause someone so much suffering for so very long, and not even bat an eye. Since then, I have felt like I am being swallowed by a thick, inky blackness, dragging me further and further into its clutches, refusing to let me go. But, talking to this woman, someone who was experiencing the same, I felt as if it relaxed its grip: if only a little.
     There was a long moment of silence. I heard the woman give a deep exhale through her nose, and she turned back to the wheel.
     I felt the purr of the engine as it started up again. Heard the crunch of dirt, as the tires began rolling. Saw shifting light through the mask, as we slowly began inching forward. It was then I heard the sirens.
     The woman gasped. The gentle purr turned into a wild roar as we sped up.
     “What’s going on?!” I freaked.
     “It’s the police!”
     The police?
     I expected to be overjoyed. I expected to cheer. I expected to take off my bindings and sabotage my captor’s attempts to escape. However, there was nothing; if anything, I felt sick at the prospect of rescue.
     “Did you do this?!” The woman accused. She sounded betrayed.
     “What? No! How could I?!”
     I have no idea why I felt the need to defend myself to her: There was no reason to do so. But for some reason, I cared what she thought of me.
     The noise was deafening. The sound of mechanical sirens were all around, engines roaring, wheels squealing. The smell of burning fumes was overwhelming as I felt us speeding through the streets, twisting every which way in our attempt to escape. I really wished I could have seen what was going on.
     I heard the woman give a frustrated grunt, and we turned hard, the vehicle giving a squeal of complaint in response. At that, we stopped moving.
     The sirens began shutting off one-by-one. Something clunked, like the sound a vehicle makes when a door opens.
     “Please step out of the vehicle,” I heard a voice demand.
     The woman’s breathing was panicked, apparent from her short, rapid breaths. There was a rattling, and a moment later I heard something pop open.
     The voice spoke up again. “Step out of the vehicle, now.”
     The woman scrambled into the back, sitting beside me. I felt something cold and hard pressed against my head as an arm was wrapped around my neck. Next thing I knew, I was being forced out into the open air.
     “Ma’am, calm down. Nobody needs to get hurt.” There was definite alarm in the voice this time.
     I heard footsteps approaching, and I felt the woman’s panicked breath against my ear, as she tightened her hold. The footsteps stopped.
     “Just tell them what you want.” The new voice was soft, not at all like the one from before.
     There was silence for what felt like an agonizingly long time before the woman responded.
     Her voice shook as she spoke, “A hundred thousand.”
     “Okay, I can arrange for them to do that. Just let the man go.”
     The woman’s grip loosed for a moment. This was short lived, and she gripped harder than before.
     “How do I know you won’t betray me?”
     The voice took another cautious step forward. “They won’t, you have my word.”
     There was a long silence. I could hardly breathe, but it seemed like she might actually let me go. But, did I really want to be?
     I heard a noise, as of something being slowly drawn out of its holster. The woman gave a gasp. The man with the soft voice kicked up dirt as he spun around.
     “No, stop!” he shouted. It came too late.
     The cold metal was removed from my head, and I heard a loud bang right beside my ear. There was a lot of shouting, followed by a loud crack. The woman gave a sigh, as her grip relaxed. A moment later, I heard something thud against the asphalt.

     They say I was screaming when I saw the body, now with a brand-new hole in the side of the head. They say I was still screaming as they dragged me away.
     I don’t blame the cops for shooting her; They were only doing their job. I don’t blame Frank for freaking out when he saw me disappear into an alley, only for an automobile to come out a moment later; he was only being a good friend. I blame myself for causing it. If I had not spoken, perhaps she would not have stopped, allowing ample time to escape the police, and would still be alive. Perhaps a little girl somewhere would still have a big sister, if this girl even survived at all.
     Over the following months, I got more aggressive and confrontational. I started fights with several of my co-workers. My boss said to take some time off, to settle down after my experience. He might as well have fired me.
     I cut myself off from the world. It began slowly, with not responding to letters and avoiding family dinners. It quickly picked up speed, and I cut all ties with my friends and family. They tried to help me, but no one could. No one can. The blackness has fully enveloped me.
     I cannot deal with any of this anymore, and I have decided it is time for me to go. Goodbye world, and good riddance.