Ransom

“Alright class,” Madam Goodemen, the instructor, prowled the classroom as she searched for anyone daring to break the rules. “Let’s review yesterday’s history lesson. Amelia,” a girl of 16 rose from her seat, adjusted her pristine uniform, and long braided hair, before snapping her arms to her sides to keenly await her question. Satisfied with her etiquette, Madam Goodemen asked her first question, “In the year 2035, the government enacted a new policy called, ‘The Child Education Reclamation Project.’ This policy required all children to be taken, 2 weeks after birth, to be raised in government funded facilities.  Why was this policy enacted?”

Amelia taking a deep breath began her answer, making sure to enunciate each word as she spoke, “Madam Goodemen, in response to your question, ‘The Child Education Reclamation Project’ was enacted to ensure equal and quality education, for all children, from the earliest age possible. This policy replaced the public and private school systems, as well as daycares, which were found to be inefficient and discrepant among districts.” Without stumbling or hesitating in her answer, she found Madam Goodemen before continuing, “Madam Goodemen, was I sufficient in answering your question?” It was a wonder she hadn’t fainted from lack of oxygen, but even the idea of the perfect Amelia fainting, was impossible.

“Yes Amelia, you may be seated.” Madam Goodmen, showing even more pride than her student, began to walk around the classroom again. Amelia, dripping in demure and grace, sat on her seat while placing her hands on the desk, and finding her balance on the stool.

---

​Ransom watched the exchange from his own stool, mentally groaning, while doing his best not to let the ultra-mobile seat lure him into fidgeting or rocking. Why anyone would provide chairs designed to allow so much movement and expect everyone to sit stock-still, baffled him. Recalling all the times his teachers yelled at him for spinning in circles or rocking side to side on his stool, when he was much younger, made him want to fidget even more.

“Ransom Banefellow,” Ransom’s thoughts came to a halt with the instructor’s sharp voice. Judging by her stern look and use of his last name, she had been calling him for a while. He stood from his seat and made sure to erase any annoyance from his expression. Without further to-do Ransom looked at the teacher to let her know he was listening. Madam Goodemen continued to look up at him with narrowed eyes and after a merciless exhalation, turned to walk to the head of the class, “Mr. Banefellow, ‘The Child Education Reclamation Project’ underwent many amendments. What was the last amendment, when was it enacted, and for what purpose?”

He hated talking about this policy, the history of it, the lies they insisted on teaching in school. He wondered if Madam G knew the truth. “Madam, to answer your question,” Madam Goodemen spun around fiercely to glare at him, Ransom knew she hated his informal way of speaking, “the project was last amended in 2052 in order to smooth out the transition from the Education Center back to the child’s birth family. The amendment approved the use of Cerebral Emendation, which is now used on every child before transition. It’s why no one has memories before the age of 10 and how we are programmed to recognize our families.” At the word “programmed” the already still room became inert. Only the terrorist group, Beautiful Minds, referred to Cerebral Emendation as “programming.” Ransom rolled his eyes, mentally of course. He was already going to be punished for disparaging the Cerebral Emendation Ceremony, if not for promoting terrorist ideals, no need to make things worse.

“Mr. Banefellow,” Madam Goodemen spoke with an ominous baritone note and proceeded to punctuate each directive sharply, “you will stand in the hallway until class is dismissed. Afterwards, you will be tasked with completing all cleaning duties for the day. Tomorrow, you will submit a six thousand-word essay explaining the benefits of the Cerebral Emendation Ceremony. You will include a detailed accounting, in your own words, of one of the transition tragedies of 2047. Do you understand?” She had turned a deep shade of red by the time she had finished allotting Ransom’s punishment.

“Yes, Madam Goodemen,” Ransom gathered his things and sauntered out of the classroom. Once in the hallway, he considered taking his punishment for a moment, but seeing as the coast was clear, he made his way out of the school instead. Thinking over his options, he first nixed the idea of going home. His “parents” would be upset about his behavior, making him feel guilty about it. Ransom refused to feel bad about it; after all, none of this was his fault.

Cerebral Emendation. It was a fancy way of saying the government wiped everyone’s memories before sending them home to Mom and Dad. Ransom had one problem. The people they sent him to, aren’t his parents. Okay, two problems, he remembers everything from before and during the brain wipe and programming. After spending the last six years pretending to be like everyone else while desperately searching for someone else like him, he was allowed to act out from time to time. He wished he could walk up to people and ask if they remembered their Education Center, that would make things easier. A couple years ago he broached the subject with the people who are supposed to be his parents. He figured they would be fine since they were decent people. They ended up sending him to a therapist. Now granted, they were concerned, but he decided to pretend like he was pretending.

Once again lost in his own thoughts, Ransom almost missed the Enforcement Droid turning the corner towards him. He managed to duck into a narrow alley between buildings before the droid saw him. It passed by the small space as he made himself as small, and invisible, as humanly possible. Positive the droid would pick up his life signs, he was more than surprised when it passed by his hiding spot. Skeptical of his luck he continued to hide sure it would come back, yet knowing it wouldn’t.

“What the hell?” Ransom breathed, not risking more than a whisper of sound. He stared at the opening of the alley before him, as he debated his next move, and almost choked on a gasp when a small hand reached out to him. Realizing the hand belonged to a child he couldn’t stop a louder, more irritated, “What the hell!” The whole thing scared him enough that he made a mental check to ensure he hadn’t wet himself.

“There’s a shield blocking this alleyway, the Enforcement Droid’s sensors can’t penetrate it. My name is Chloe. What’s yours?”  The child acted older than the five or six years she looked; she had to be older than she looked. Kids younger than 10 were kept in the Education Centers.

“Ransom,” he managed to reply after some hesitation. “How old are you?”

“Six,” the child replied matter-of-factly. It belied the impossibility of her statement. “Follow me.  I’ll answer all your questions.”

Ransom was trying to sort out his bewilderment, and decided that alone was to blame for following the unknown child to an abandoned building. It wasn’t until they reached the old rickety stairs that lead down into a thick darkness that he gave pause for common sense.

“You know kid this has been fun but I need to head out. My parents are waiting for me.”

“Those aren’t your parents,” Ransom hadn’t even managed a full step when Chloe’s words stopped him.

After a silent and intense staring contest, he gave in, “Fine, lead the way.”

The basement was dark and dank, more so than he expected, except for some strange light shining on the dirt floor. Ransom walked towards it to find its source; and, instead, he found an odd ring of mushrooms.  

“Do you use these to get high?” He asked jokingly, doubtful the kid had any idea what he was talking about.

“No, traveling,” Chloe said.

Ransom squatted down to get a closer look at the mushrooms and, recognizing the Pluteus mushroom, said, “So, getting high.” These were the so-called “magic mushrooms” people used, to get high, back in the day. They were supposed to be extinct, so seeing them in this abandoned basement was strange and unexpected. Though, no more unexpected than finding himself in a forest when he looked up, instead of a basement. After blinking several times he realized it was actually an ancient forest. The trees were colossal.

“What just,” losing his train of thought, Ransom saw a glittery pink thing fly by him before hovering in front of his face. After a disbelieving pause he asked, “Tinkerbell? Is that yo-,” he felt a sudden and sharp pain shoot up from the bottom of his nose, strong enough it caused his head to snap back and his eyes to tear. “Ahh shit! The fuck!” He was pretty sure Tinkerbell just round-house-kicked his nose.

“That name you used is derogatory. That was a Pixie by the way; they can have a violent temper when you disrespect them.”  Chloe said as she handed the now crying Ransom a handkerchief.  

“Is my nose bleeding?” Ransom asked while trying not to look like a baby; however, his tear ducts weren’t cooperating.

“No, it’s for the tears, and snot,” she said before turning to walk into the forest. Or maybe it was out of the forest; it’s hard to tell when starting somewhere in the middle.

Once Ransom adjusted to the fact he was kicked in the face by a Pixie and when his eyes stopped watering, he ran to catch up with the little girl. When his legs didn’t seem to move right, Ransom realized Chloe was now taller than him. “Okay hold on!  Did I eat one of those mushrooms? What kind of Alice in Wonderland shit is this?” The worst part was, Chloe hadn’t grown, Ransom shrank. He figured he hadn’t been this small since he was three.

“You cuss a lot for a baby,” Chloe said looking at him with mild disapproval. “Kids these days. Though, considering the current state of the human world and your upbringing, that’s not surprising. Usually, we retrieve our changelings sooner, but the government has been doing it’s best to hinder our movement.”

Ransom’s brain stopped on the word "changeling," and ended up having to stop altogether. He hadn't mastered the art of mindless movement in his new baby body. There were legends of changelings and fairies and such, but they weren’t real.  Who was he kidding; having experienced travel through a magic mushroom circle, Ransom couldn't deny the truth. “Wait you,” He couldn’t believe the words he was about to say and had to start over. “Are you saying I’m a changeling?”

Chloe stopped and looked at Ransom, “Of course, why do you think that,” closing her eyes, she began snapping her fingers and waving her hands, “What do they call it?” She looked at him gesturing incoherently. Ransom looked back at her, not understanding the flailing hand gestures she made. “The mind wiping thing!” said Chloe, frustrated by his lack of understanding.

Ransom ignored the implication and clarified her statement, “Cerebral Emendation?”

“Yes,” said Chloe, while pointing excitedly at Ransom and smiling at some joke he was not privy to. “That doesn’t work on our kind. Our sense of self and willpower are too strong for such feeble methods of memory manipulation.”

“There is so much there. I don’t know where to start,” Ransom’s mind was processing everything she said as they continued walking down what seemed to be a marked path. “Umm, if I’m a changeling then where is the one you traded me with, the human kid? And, what does that make me? Obviously not a pixie,” he rubbed his nose remembering the little devil’s powerful kick. This reminded him of the most pressing issue, “And why the hell did I shrink?  It’s like I’m three all over again!”

“One,” she said.

Ransom tripped over an invisible root, “Excuse me?” He said barely above a whisper as he fought the urge to look down at his little baby limbs. Is this what Chloe meant when she called him a “baby?”

“You’re one. Well, one and a half,” Chloe said, reconciling his age as if doing him a favor. Ransom heard a buzzing sound and wondered if his brain was melting or more Pixies were flying by. He didn't see any Pixies. “You’ll be two before you know it!  Time flies around here, so four human years is like the blink of an eye.” When Ransom said nothing, Chloe continued, “You’re an Elf baby and your counterpart is at your parents’ house. Willow had predicted we would get one of our changelings back soon, so all the families with changelings have been preparing for an exchange.”

“Why even do this? The whole changeling thing? What’s the point?” Ransom found he was able to walk again, on his little baby legs, and was trying not to think about how bizarre this all was. He distracted himself with the ancient and well maintained forest around him as he continued to follow Chloe.

“All Fae need to understand the human world," Chloe began, "It’s how we protect our world from theirs. We Elves are the guardians of magic in our world, so a handful of babies are chosen to send to the human world." Chloe paused in her lecture to gesture at some Fae on the other side of the river they were passing. They gawked at Ransom as much as he gawked at them. Knomes maybe? "We need to learn about and understand them. Usually, before the changelings turn one, we bring them home, and return the human child. At least, that’s how it worked when I was a changeling. Ever since Basil decided it was a great idea to play baby genius in the human world, and expose his Fae origins, the government has been doing everything it can to find us. They want to keep us from continuing our changeling tradition.”

“So, it’s like, a foreign exchange program,” Ransom said haltingly. This was the best translation his overworked mind could come up with, but it seemed to fit the analogy. “When did this happen, the Basil bit you mentioned?”

Chloe sighed as she thought it over, “That was right before the government started to take babies into those,” she started her erratic hand gestures again and Ransom waited for her to provide more clues. “What do they call them?  Bunkers?”

He took a moment to try to translate that into something reasonable, “The Education Centers?”

“Close enough,” Chloe said with a wave, as if to dismiss the distinction.

“Wait,” Ransom couldn’t help the small chuckle as he connected some dots. “So this all happened around 2035,” recalling the history lessons he’d endured both in and out of those so-called “bunkers.” In 2034 there were riots and rallies about social and economic inequalities that were made worse because the government didn’t do anything for almost a year. Many argued that they didn’t care. It turns out they were dealing with baby snatching, magical beings from another world. He laughed outright at this new realization, “2034 makes so much more sense now!”

Chloe stopped at a very large tree, a Sequoia; though, Ransom was sure the human world hadn’t seen a Sequoia this big, in centuries. “This is your house,” she said as she gave a brisk knock on the door. 

Nerves began to wind themselves around in Ransom’s baby tummy and he wondered if he needed burping? This odd line of thought was interrupted by some noise from within the tree. A man and woman stood in the now open door. Ransom finally got to experience that heart choking feeling everyone described when meeting their parents for the first time. “Mom?  Dad?”  Tears rolled down his little face, and all he could think was here. “I’m home,” he cried as his Mom and Dad pulled him into a hug. Snot and tears leaked from his face to his parents clothes, and for the first time since all this madness started, he was okay being a baby.

“Oh our baby! We missed you,” his mother cried as his parents fought for places on his face to kiss him. 

“We thought of you,” his father said while studying his son at arm’s length, whenever his wife let her son go long enough for him to do so.  

“We cared for your changeling carefully so you would stay safe,” Ransom was pulled in again, for yet another wet hug, and he nestled into his mother’s neck, happy to hold her tight. When she released him again she dug out a handkerchief to wipe his face, as his dad did the same for her.

It was then that Ransom noticed a boy of 16 behind his parents, awkwardly watching the happy reunion. He scratched his head as he looked at the trio, and seemed unsure what to say, “What’s up kid. Nice to finally meet you.” His face was the one Ransom had seen in the mirror everyday of his life.

“Watch it, old man! We are, after all, the same age,” Ransom said while attempting a haughty look, forgetting he now had a baby face, so it looked more like a pout. As the boy cocked a familiar smile, Ransom was reminded of the one he enjoyed making. It would be 140 years, he realized, before he was 16 again. That’s so weird. All that aside, “How do we look exactly alike?”

“We don’t. When your parents switched us, they used a linking spell. You would look like me as you grew up, and I would know all that’s happening back in the human world,” said the boy.

Ransom had a sudden thought, “What keeps you from telling everyone you’ve spent the last 16 years of your life with fairies?”

The boy thought a moment, then asked, “What kept you from telling everyone you could remember the Education Centers?  That Mom and Dad weren’t your Mom and Dad?” He shrugged letting Ransom answer his own question, “And you even had proof. I have none, so I would just be crazy.”

Ransom chuckled, “I would take them to one of those magic mushroom circles!”

“Those only work for us,” Chloe said, startling him. He'd forgotten she was there. “Humans only get glimpses of here, the ‘high’ as they call it. They won’t bring them all the way here.”

Everyone went inside the giant Sequoia tree that made up Ransom’s new home and began talking about everything as Ransom’s mother, real mother, gathered supplies for tea and snacks. He realized how beautiful she looked and was struck with the urge to see his reflection.  He was about to ask for a mirror when the boy, his doppleganger, handed one to him.  Ransom stared at the unfamiliar face and realized the boy wasn’t his doppleganger; they looked nothing alike. 

“Let’s go with brothers,” the boy offered, “you can be my little fairy brother!” he said teasingly.

“As touching as this is, we need to send Ransom back,” said Chloe before Ransom could respond.

“Yeah, I have a six thousand word essay to write after all,” said the boy as they headed out.

Ransom flinched, remembering what happened at school that day, “Sorry about that man, had I known...” 

“No worries,” the boy said, not letting Ransom finish. “I’ll probably get suspended for skipping school anyway,” this was said like it wasn’t a big deal. They both knew different, “It’ll be a nice vacation, a chance to get to know my parents, face to face.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry again.  I do hope you like the place more than I did,” Ransom felt guilty at being happy to not go back to his old life. “Will I be able to visit the human world?” he asked his parents, as they arrived at a mushroom circle.

“Not until you're at least 5,” Mom said, with no room for negotiation.

Ransom sighed in resignation as he did the math. “Well, see you in 34 years! Good luck Ransom!”

The boy, Ransom, laughed, “34 years then, enjoy being home Maple.” Chloe and Ransom disappeared from the circle.

“Who's Maple?” Maple, formerly Ransom, asked as realization struck horror in his soul, “My name is not Maple!”

His dad picked him up laughing, “You’ll get used to it. Maple is a good, strong name.”

82 years later

Maple gazed down at the old man before him, sleeping in the hospital bed, the machines around him were beeping and monitoring. “Sorry I’m late, kid. Time really does fly there. Mom and Dad are doing well. I have a little sister, Lavender. She’s annoying, but that’s what little sisters are like for the first couple decades. She wanted me to give you these flowers,” he set the wildflowers on the bedside table as an elderly couple walked in with two very young children.

“Grandma, who’s that?” whispered the little girl in the elderly woman’s ear.

“I don’t know Bernie,” said the elderly woman while staring at the little boy next to her father.

Maple was about to leave the room when Ransom spoke behind him, making him jump, “That’s my fairy brother, little sprout.”  Maple saw Ransom give a knowing look to the little girl, “You remember all my stories about Maple right?”

The little girl’s eyes lit up and she wiggled away from her grandmother’s hold. Lunging at Maple, she caught him around the neck in a hug, “Uncle Fairy Maple! It’s so nice to finally meet you!” Every word was an exaggerated squeal as she hung from her Uncle Fairy, “I have a Fairy sister, maybe you know her? Her name is Bluebell!”

Maple looked from her to Ransom, questioningly. “We got her back 6 months ago,” he said. Maple nodded in understanding; she, too, was a changeling.

“Daddy, Bernie didn’t go to an Education Center like Haynes and I did. Remember?” Said the elderly woman, her voice full of concern and worry, “You managed to end that policy before Allister was born. Do you remember Daddy?”

Ransom chuckled as his gaze shifted from his daughter to Maple, “You see what I meant now right? They think I have dementia.”

Maple smiled, recalling their one conversation, so many decades ago. Then, looking down at little Bernie, said “I don’t believe I’ve met Bluebell. If I do meet her someday, do you want me to pass a message along?”

“Really? Really! Can you tell her to never, ever forget me. And to visit me when she’s old enough?” Bernie was bouncing so much Maple thought she might be part Pixie or Sprite.

“I can tell her,” he looked over at Ransom, squeezed his hand, “It’s good to see you kid. What have you been up to?”

Ransom smiled, “It’s a long story, pull up a chair if you have the time, old man.”

Maple pulled up a chair and shared it with Bernie. Ransom teared up at the sight of his great-granddaughter sitting next to his brother, a boy not much bigger than her. A boy that was nearly a century old. A few hours later, when his grandkids couldn’t find Maple’s parents and were getting ready to report a lost child, Maple started his goodbyes.

“Until next time, old man,” Ransom said, knowing there would be no next time.

Maple’s eyes shone, also knowing he wouldn’t see Ransom again, “Until next time brother.”