My eyes opened. The guy sitting across the rounded table from me was sweating profusely. His bald, middle-aged head gathered a shimmer of the cheap lights that hung from the ceiling. The two men occupying either side of him were in no mood for cheap words.
“I… I… don’t know anything.” Baldy pleaded.
Boom! The butt of the wine bottle came crashing down onto the bridge of his nose. Blood exploded onto the plastic table cover. The oppressors allowed their target time to regain what composure he could.
“Come on Ronald. I’m getting kinda bored.” The one to my right finally spoke. He looked a lot like Daniel Craig. But a lot bigger.
Boom! The wine bottle crashed down again. Boom! And again. Boom! And again. Boom! And again, until finally the bald guy’s eyes fell closed, his mouth open, and his face represented a Picasso.
I had remained completely still ever since the lights of the room first hit my eyes. I chose now to regard my surroundings. To my right was a double bed complete with cheap linen and various stains. The bed reflected the wallpaper which harboured similar qualities. I was in a Motel room. The last time I felt the presence of a Motel room was on holiday. It was definitely a lot more fun than this.
“Ah, I see sleeping beauty has awoken.” Daniel Craig had turned to face me. I said nothing. I had nothing to say. I had no idea why I was here.
The one on the left kept quiet. His features were less distinguishable. He didn’t look like a film star. In fact, if anything, he looked like the kind of middle-aged guy who would work in a Supermarket. A guy who just does as he’s told. A guy who lets his Daniel Craig doppleganger do all the talking.
“What’s your name then?”
I froze. I actually didn’t know my name. Confusion was reigning supreme.
It was not until I opened my mouth and engaged in conversation, did I realise that I was in a serious situation;
“What am I doing here?”
“I think you know why”
“No, I have no idea why,” my body still refused to move, “in fact, I have no idea about anything. How did I get here?”
Daniel Craig smirked and looked at his supermarket mate. It was the look that signalled that I was about to become party to a lot of pain.
“Guys? Seriously. I don’t care who you are, who the fuck that guy is, or what you’ve done. I’ll just be on my way….. somewhere.” But yet my body still did not move.
Daniel Craig’s face still had a smirk smeared across it. He looked across to his companion. The look told me that he didn’t believe me. That I was lying to him. That I was taking him for a fool. It was at that point that he removed items from a bag placed at the legs of his chair. My confusion got deeper.
Daniel Craig placed something on the table, “You see this? These are my trophies.” He regarded them favourably. “I don’t know why, I just love the spinal column. Or is it more the neck?” He then looked at me. “Who cares huh? They’re pretty all the same.”
The dried bone of neck confirmed that this man certainly was no James Bond. My own neck stiffened even more. Oh shit.
I ever so quickly scanned the immediate area for a weapon – Just in case he went for me. But he didn’t. He just sat there, smirking. Stroking his trophies. He was playing with me.
Maybe by now he knew I had nothing to do with whatever his business was, but instead of letting me go, he’d kill me anyway.
My heart sank. I was in serious trouble.
The prospect of me overpowering both of them was unlikely. And quite frankly the last resort. I decided upon getting them on my side. Make them like me or something. Concentrating my energies on Daniel Craig. He was in charge. Supermarket man might as well have been a statue.
Just then my trouser pocket buzzed. It was my phone that was unexpectedly in my pocket. My reaction was to pull it out and to see who was calling. Daniel Craig and his mate changed their stance. They suddenly became more defensive. I looked at the screen; Em – Work.
“It’s my boss. I suppose I’m meant to be at work.”
Daniel gave me the signal to answer it.
“Where the fuck are you?! This is the third time this month!” This Em character was not too happy.
“I…I…” My thoughts were empty. I looked at Daniel Craig for guidance. Upon which he revealed a gun in order to dissuade me from telling my boss to get help.
“I… I don’t know.”
“I don’t know where I am.”
“How the fuck does that help me?! You’re such a fuck up!” And then she clicked off. I had a vague idea of who she was, but no idea where I supposedly worked.
I raised my eyebrows and shrugged to my oppressor. By now he was convinced that my level of confusion was a ruse. To him, I had something big up my sleeve. I was a professional of the highest order. His eyes changed, his face straightened. He was no longer sitting and was now positioned much further away. Defensive and waiting for an attack.
By now I knew that this made the situation much, much worse. There was no chance of letting me go. My oppressors were ready for my attack. Whatever that attack was, I have no idea. I’m not the professional they think I am. They’re gonna bring their ‘A-Game’, whilst whatever I muster up is going to be on the side of pathetic.
They were going to kill me. I needed one last throw of the dice.
“I need to go to the toilet.” My calmness worried them. They checked the bathroom before allowing me to proceed. I kept my calm persona but inside my heart was pulsating and floods of tears were rushing around. This is it. Sink or swim. I was going to die, and I didn’t even know my name.
Suddenly my eyes opened. I was in my bed, with my quilt, surrounded by my mess. I looked around. There was no Motel room. There was no corpse. There were no henchmen.
Thank fuck. The dream cliché. Never in my life had I thought one of life’s great clichés would feel so good. I was alive. I could remember my name. I wasn’t late for work. But from now on, Daniel Craig will always be a cunt.