There’s a dress on the floor in the living room where I’d been too lazy to take it to the wash. There’s an empty carton of Chinese takeout on the counter starting to smell rancid after sitting out for so long. Keanu Leaves, my plant baby I’d managed to keep alive before now wilts in the corner, crunchy to the touch.

“Oh, Keanu,” I rasp. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kill you.”

Besides that, there’s no blood, no knives, no guns. There are no corpses or death. It’s just my apartment. Simple, inviting, and somehow slightly suffocating after spending so long in a jungle.

I wait a day to call work and see if I can still come in. When I do, I’m met with hysterics and worry. Apparently, they knew I’d been taken from the room but not by who or how it happened. I don’t elaborate on my story. I don’t dare to, but Sam urges me to go file a police report in case anything comes up or debt collectors try to take fees for paying anything late. When I refuse to go, Holly shows up at my doorstep and drags me there herself.

That’s how I find myself awkwardly standing in the police station, silent and trying to think of a good story, while Holly explains the situation.

“Were you a victim of assault?” the police officer asks, checking off boxes on a report.

Depends, I think. Is someone trying to kill you assault? Or is he asking if I was raped?

“No,” I answer.

Holly narrows her eyes on me.

“Can you tell us what happened?” the officer asks, looking up at me over the rim of glasses.

Every detail.

Biting my lip, I say, “I can’t remember.”

Another officer sitting behind the one at the desk is watching me carefully, too carefully.

“And you don’t know who took you?” the one at the desk asks, his eyes focused on me. It’s clear he isn’t taking it seriously and I don’t blame him. I’m not giving any answers. But at his question, I hesitate. I know exactly who took me. I’d killed him for the slight, but I can’t say that. I can’t blame a Society that’s essentially an urban legend made up of the richest people in the world.

But what if I did? What if I pointed out exactly who it was and fought against them that way? Would the justice system work?

The officer sitting in the back raises his brows and shakes his head just slightly, taking my hesitation as me about to name and shame. When he makes a gun with his hand where Holly can’t see and fakes pulling the trigger, I clamp my lips shut before focusing on the desk officer again.