Written in a delirious feverish haze, I decided this is funny. It's going to be a silly story if I bother continuing it. Rated T for drug references.

It was fairly easy to find the silly girl. She doesn't bother covering her tracks at all. And why would she? She doesn't have any enemies. Rather the opposite. She's just a regular twenty-year-old girl from the trendy inner-north who apparently likes to party. A lot. And if her Facebook pictures are anything to go by, she also likes to dress up in ridiculous costumes, too. Last week it was Kath & Kim night at Supersmall Bar. Next week she's clicked "going" to a Toga party at Melbourne University where she is not even enrolled.

Facebook is a great starting point to learn these things. And Anna's is full of generic drinking pictures with a variety of colourful male and female friends, backyard barbecues, suggestive poses with historical statues, nightclub bathroom shenanigans. There are also expensive overseas family holidays, looking bored at the horse races, looking bored on yachts, looking bored at fancy dinners, and when Elsa scrolls back far enough, a private school uniform and a poorly executed emo phase.

But stalking social media is for amateurs. Facebook, instagram, twitter, these are carefully curated platforms where people display their best self. Clipping the ugly corners of their lives and hiding dark shadows that don't fit the perfect persona one wishes to show their grandma, their jealous ex, their potential employers and everyone they ever went to primary school with. It's only half the picture. No, a person's real, honest, raw self is found in their bank transactions. Elsa particularly enjoys the process of picking through the list of debits and putting together a story. A pattern. A pulse. She finds that most people are quite predictable, and this makes her feel like there is order in the world.

Bank transactions reveal that Anna's party habits are actually rather particular. She knows what she likes. She likes to start the night with a live band and usually finishes it up in one of four local gay bars, sometimes until the sun comes up. She drops a lot of cash on the weekends. Sometimes up to a grand in one night. Cocaine, perhaps? Or is she shouting all her friends' entry fees and drugs and alcohol and taxis? She seems like she might be a people pleaser.

Elsa wouldn't know how all that works. She never really got into the whole nightclub scene. Crowds make her deeply uncomfortable, and she can't dance to save her life. What would she even wear? Her whole wardrobe is basically multiple copies of the same three outfits: Her casual getup, for days like today, consisting of a plain white tank top, black jeans and boots; her formalwear, which is just basically a suit; and of course, her tactical gear, turtleneck and all.

She's also learnt that Anna is not fond of long train rides home late at night (who can blame her, really?), and she appears to have a variety of places to crash consistently in the CBD and inner north area. Her parents own a multi-million dollar property up in the Dandenong Ranges, which is technically her home address, but her GPS shows she's only there once a week or so. Perhaps it's just too far away. Of course, there could be another reason. Tensions at home. Sometimes these stupidly rich families are the most fucked up ones of all.

Last night was "Back to the Eighties" at Yah Yah's (with most of the crowd no doubt having not even been born yet in the Eighties) and sure enough, a steady stream of captioned photos appeared on Anna's feed, growing blurrier and more indecipherable as the night went on. Her last purchase for the night was $17 from Ali Baba Kebab House at 4:32am. If her routine is anything to go by, she will arrive at the 7/11 on Brunswick street some time between 10am and midday, and spend about $35. Cigarettes, probably, and some snacks.

There's no GPS signal from Anna's phone, but Elsa calls her, just to be sure - it's flat, which is perfect. Hopefully she'll be alone and this can be a quick and efficient operation. It's a cool morning with warm sun and a pleasant breeze. She sits on the step of her van with the door open (not all the way, just enough to fit an unsuspecting, skinny rich kid) and a soft, paisley curtain fluttering behind her, hiding the emptiness inside.

Sure enough, at 11:17, the bleary eyed redhead stumbles up the street and hits the traffic light button impatiently, holding up one hand to shield her eyes from the harsh sun. Her fluro green party dress hugs her slender frame and a thick, white eighties-style belt sits low on her hips. Teased hair sticks out in all directions. Her makeup is smudged, and as she gets closer, a thin spattering of glitter shimmers on her face, in her hair, on her arms. She's just completely covered in glitter, apparently. She wobbles a little in her heels and Elsa wonders what kind of shitty friends don't even lend her a pair of flats to wear.

Oh well. Not her problem. It'll be harder to run away in those dumb things.

Anna waltzes into the 7/11, humming a tune and smudging her makeup even more as she rubs her eyes.

Elsa pulls out a cigarette and lets it dangle from her lips, unlit. The sky is clear and she feels her fair shoulders burning already. Her head is starting to throb lightly and she hopes Anna won't make this difficult. She needs another coffee and a rest.

Anna waltzes out of the 7/11 sucking down a blue Powerade like it's rain in the desert. She pulls out a cigarette, flicks her lighter a few times, and relaxes into that first drag.

'Hey,' Elsa calls, 'could I get a light?'

Anna turns her head, grins and struts over to the van. She holds out a psychedelic patterned jet lighter. 'With those guns, baby, I reckon you can get whatever you want around here.'

Elsa's breath hitches in her throat for a second before she realises the handgun tucked against her waist is not exposed and Anna is in fact referring to her...arms? She looks down and inspects her pale biceps. She keeps toned for her job, sure, but they're nothing to write home about. This abduction might be easier than she expected if her target is going to flirt with her the whole time.

'Oh...thanks...' She's so used to these kinds of comments from guys at work, and usually deflects them with a scowl and threats of grievous bodily harm. But in this case… 'Big night, beautiful?'

Anna giggles like a damn schoolgirl. It's...kind of cute, to be honest. 'Oh, you know, nothing too crazy. Just a few quiet ones, right? Nah. Who am I kidding? I'm wearing fluro. Of course it was crazy. I met this girl who called herself Bea. She was all like, yeah, my name's Bea, like Queen Bea from Wentworth, so you better not fuck with me!' She quotes that last part in a ridiculous gruff voice like a cartoon villain. 'Then she bought, like, nine shots of tequila and bet me I coudln't drink them faster than her! Next thing I know, I'm lying on the park bench, and a drag queen is snorting coke off my stomach! My other friend Lachie's there and he's lost all his clothes, again! We're gonna go look for his pants, later. I have this vague memory of hanging them on a flag pole, but it might have been a hallucination. You haven't seen any pants flying from a flag pole this morning, have you?'

Elsa shakes her head silently, open mouthed, not quite sure what to say to all that. It was a longer answer than she was prepared for. Her headache settles in behind her eyes.

She doesn't have much time to dwell on it because Anna continues, 'Hey, are you one of those van-life people? I've been following heaps of van-lifers on Insta. It looks cool but my friend Kristoff tried it for a while and let me tell you, it stunk! I mean, seriously stunk. Like, I'd rather sleep under a bridge, for real. That's because he never washes his dog, though. Like ever. Ever ever.'

Wow. The girl can talk. Elsa takes a long drag of her cigarette and simply says, 'Gross.'

'Yeah, super gross. I still think it's cool though, being that free. Just hitting the open road and going wherever the wind takes you, right?'

'Livin' the dream.'

'Can I have a look inside?'

Anna moves closer, eyes fixed on the paisley curtain. Well, shit. This girl's just about abducting herself. Elsa was ready to do her whole bit - saying she's broken down, asking to use their phone because hers is lost. Oh, it's flat? That's alright, she has a charger right inside here. Sometimes they decline to help her, these cocky little rich kids. Spoilt little assholes. That's when she has to use force. She's quick and precise, and they never stand a chance when she catches them off guard. Even the boys just whimper and splutter as they try to figure out what just happened. Drawing her weapon is, of course, a last resort.

'Sure.'

Anna steps one foot up into the van, holds the curtain aside and pokes her head in. 'It's kinda dark in here. Don't you have windows?'

Elsa shakes her head in disbelief, then shrugs. She gets paid the same, either way.

'Wait a minute… Where's all your stuff? You don't live in here! What's going on?'

Normally she gives them a nice hard kick, at this point. In the back of the knees does the trick nicely. Or the side of the ribs, if they're really insufferable. Or the butt - it's juvenile but it's effective. But for some reason… She hesitates. Growing soft, apparently. She checks the street first, making sure that there's no one close enough to witness what she's about to do.

A light push sends Anna onto the foam floor with an 'Oof' and the door rolls shut. With the press of a button and a mechanical click, the door is securely locked.

And about time, too. Elsa really needs that damn coffee.