Damon's head swam as he sat up, the alleyway around him spinning like a top. What happened? Tiny flashes ran through his mind, but none of them made sense. Getting to his feet, he looked around, the sick feeling that something was wrong filling his gut.
Elena.
That's what had happened. His heartbeat was in his ears, each one like another slam against the side of his head as he turned. And it only worsened when he started to call her name.
"Elena!" The words rang like echos along the red brick walls of the alley. He started to turn to go back towards the walkway to look for her, but the water drenching his clothes made it twice as hard to move. As his eyes adjusted to the dark around him, his stomach sank. That couldn't be what had happened. Could it? She would have answered him by now.
"Elena! Babe!" Oh but it was. God, he'd really fucked up. He should've known better. Panic surged through his veins. He was kicking himself, repeatedly. How could he? How could he jeopardize her so willingly? How could he let this happen to her? He flung a trail of water as he pitched a fist against the wall next to him. As he looked down, he could see against the wall, slouched over and just as wet as he was, was Elena's bright-colored purse. "Please have your phone," he prayed to the absent Elena. As he slowly gained his equilibrium, he rambled past tubes of lipstick, old receipts, and folded pieces of magazines she'd stowed away for her dreambook in search of her phone. It couldn't be that hard to find; semi-small, but archaic. It was the one that couldn't be destroyed. She was so attached to her old clunker, he couldn't believe she didn't have it with her. Suddenly the sharp sound of a polyphonic ring tone began.
"God damn it," fell from his lips as he yanked Old Betsy from the bottom of the bag, hitting the answer key. The green screen lit up. It was a wonder it worked with all the water it was in.
"Lena?" It was all could think. Maybe she'd gotten away from them. Maybe she was calling from one of the last phone booths left in New York to tell him she was okay. Fuck. It'd be better if this was all some nightmare. But the voice that answered on the other end of the line was all too real. It verified his fear and absolutely turned his world upside-down.
"You have two days, Damon. And I'm being nice." Klaus' voice was menacing, obviously trying to get his point across. He'd been after him for weeks, and Damon had paid what he could, but obviously it wasn't cutting it.
"Where is she? Let me talk to her. Please," Damon begged. God. Don't let them do anything. Not like he threatened. He'd do it, he knew. He didn't ever hesitate. But then he heard her in the background. He must have been on the speakerphone.
"Damon?" Her voice was quiet. There was no emotion. She wasn't panicking. She wasn't fighting. She was scared out of her wits. Her almost hoarse sound said it all. The two small syllables torpedoed into his heart. He could see her there, brown eyes wide, making her look so vulnerable. He never meant for this to happen. He had just wanted to help his family.
"I'm coming to get you, Elena," he said sternly, anger starting to rile him up like an adrenaline surge when Klaus' voice again sounded through the earpiece.
"You give me my money and you can have her. It's that simple."
"Where do I bring it? I'll get it."
"The same place you got it from. Didn't mommy teach you how to put things away? Right back where you got them from?" Klaus gave a laugh at his own joke.
"I'll get your damn money. Just don't hurt her," Damon spat in return. Klaus gave a meditative "hmm". It stuck his nerves like needles.
"Fine. But after two days, I'll make her work off your debt." He didn't even want to think what that meant. "Goodbye, Damon." And the line fell dead.
