Well howdy there! ElectroKate here, welcome to my latest story. This first chapter is acting as an introduction to our main protagonist - Macy Grey - so not much of our favorite boys in this chapter just yet. Set during The French Mistake, and continuing the (slightly tweaked) canon story line from there. There's a longer A/N at the end to explain a few things so read on and I'll talk to you at the end!
A Hitchhiker's Guide to Dimensions
PART 1 - Chapter I: 'Curiosity'
If my life were an after school special, the moral of the story would be 'curiosity killed the cat', or some other inane, ancient saying that was an attempt at setting kids on the straight and narrow.
If you asked all the other kids in the graduating class of 2004 about me, Macy Grey, they'd probably give you a blank look, mumble 'who?' and return to the high-powered jobs they'd walked into upon leaving university. I, of course, took the road less traveled so to speak, and instead threw my medical degree in the trash in favor of a notepad, coffee and a small apartment in downtown Vancouver. Was I indulging my self-righteous side in an adult equivalent of sticking my tongue out at the other med students while yelling 'see? I don't need your stupid pretentious degree! I have creativity and talent!'? Most definitely. Smart move? Decidedly not. You see, if I hadn't have done that, I wouldn't find myself in the terrible situation that altered my life completely. If I had stayed in America and got a high-end job at some ridiculously expensive hospital, I wouldn't have been pushed towards a life of danger and death. If I had stayed, I wouldn't have been sitting in this alleyway, hugging myself as I shook with nerves and doubt.
The garbage beside me wafted an unpleasant stench to my nose, the hard brick behind me most likely scratching my beautiful dress, and the small breeze that flowed through the alley biting into my exposed skin. None of this really registered on an emotional level; I was drained and numb. What had I gotten myself into? I had come out there to think, to breathe and perhaps gain a little perspective over the events of the past few hours. But as I sat there, trying to reign in my thoughts, two voices interrupted me.
"You should thank me for what I'm about to do," a menacing voice suggested further down the alley, towards the lip. The large garbage bin beside me didn't allow me to see what was going on from my position.
"Why? What are you about to do?" A high voice asked, fear clearly evident as it shook. Another shuffling sound, the man whimpered in response.
I don't know what possessed me to do it, I should have turned tail and run. Should have called the cops and let them know something shady was going down. But instead, my curiosity got the better of me. I'd always been small and inconspicuous, not many people tended to notice me and I liked it that way. So when I inched my head out from behind the garbage bin, I thought I'd sneak in a quick peek and get on with the whole scramming plan. I had never been more wrong. A dark-haired man in a black coat held another, smaller man by the throat. He spoke something too quiet for my ears, as he slid the knife into the smaller man.
I must have squawked in shock, or shifted something, because as I held my hand to my mouth in abject horror, the killer's eyes slid towards mine, their dark depths calculating. I knew I was done for.
"You," he shouted at me, his eyes sparking with… recognition? Was I seeing that right?
But we're getting ahead of ourselves – let's go back and see what led me to my sticky predicament, shall we?
24 Hours earlier:
She tore down the grand staircase, her long evening gown whipping behind her as she raced through the front doors and to the driveway. As she pursued her love, every breath of wind against her cheek whispered his name and spurred her on her quest; nothing would come between them now.
'Oliver!' She cried, waving her hand at the man astride his horse in the field below.
He looked up at her, his expression revealing his feelings without him even having to say them. He galloped towards her, the gallant steed below him leaping effortlessly over the fence. As he reached her, he swung her up upon his horse with one strong, sturdy arm and placed her hands upon his waist.
'Rachel, my dear, I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean-"
Wait, wait, wait, scratch that, it didn't seem quite right. My pen drew an angry line across the last words on the page and I returned to sucking on the end of it. Oliver was the 'heart on your sleeve' kind of guy, he needed to say something sweet and meaningful to adequately express his heartfelt love for Rachel. He wouldn't use a simile as overused as the ocean… He'd use something much more powerful. My pen returned to the page once more.
'Rachel, my dear, I love you more than there are stars in the sky-'
BZZZZZ. My head snapped upwards and my legs jerked, sending my notepad to the floor and my cup of coffee pouring scalding liquid down my legs and onto the page, no doubt staining the paper. Who the hell would be at my apartment at this hour?
Sopping the mess on my pajama pants with a cloth, I looked through the peephole, sighing in relief as I saw the familiar face behind the door.
"You know, calling is usually considered proper etiquette," I pointed out, pulling the door open to let my visitor in.
"Babe, I thought we were past that stage in our relationship," Greg whined as he swooped down to plant a kiss on my lips, chaste and soft.
"Guess again," I narrowed my eyes at him and his veiled attempt at smoothing things over with a kiss. "You ruined my pajamas," I huffed, closing the door firmly behind him.
Greg frowned, "Sorry about that, I didn't mean to," he wandered towards me and gave me a hug. I hugged him back, glad for the comfort. I hadn't seen him in a few days now and I'd missed him more than I thought I would.
"Let's go to bed," I suggested when we pulled back, smiling up at him. "I missed you."
Greg nodded and stroked my cheek. "I love you," he said simply.
My breath caught in my throat and my head swam with nerves and satisfaction that someone could feel that way about me. It didn't matter how often he said it, it still caught me by surprise. "I love you too," I replied automatically, reaching up to plant a kiss on his mouth.
The next morning, I rolled over in bed to find a vase filled with roses sitting on the bedside table, a note sitting next to it with flowery script. It read:
'I had a wonderful night, but had to go to work early this morning love. See you tonight. xxx'
I allowed myself a brief girly sigh and clutched the note to my chest; he really was the hero to my story, so attentive and gentle, caring for my every need. It was a wonder he wanted me at all, a lazy writer with one measly book to her name. I opened up my bedside table and folded the note, placing it with the rest of my sentimental items I'd kept over the years. Most of them were presents or memories about my mum, though one stood out: an ornate candle complete with overly fancy candlestick-holder that I'd found with my things after moving here to Vancouver. It was gold, carved into the shape of a dragon whose mouth held the white candle. The wick was black, obviously used, but it was so beautiful I just couldn't throw it away. Greg hated it so I'd had to take it off the mantel I'd put it on and kept it in the drawer for safe keeping.
After a quick shower and a short fight with my tangle of long red curls (which I lost, again), I sat myself back on the sofa in my yoga pants and shirt, notepad and pen at the ready.
"Speak to me, Oliver," I murmured, flipping through the last few pages I'd written for inspiration. It was a frustrating past time, and one that quickly went from difficult to boring if the words weren't flowing quite right. Over the past few days the words had been suspiciously absent from my mind and I was running low on motivation to even write the damn book. My air-head publisher was asking for a sequel to be finished in two months. The deadline was fast approaching and I'd only written a third of the damn thing, without editing and without a clear direction to head from there.
"Oh God," I muttered, rubbing my temples. The headache was starting again. Maybe it was the pressure from my publisher, or maybe it was my lack of sunlight, but the migraines were getting worse. I popped a few pills, swallowing them with some water. Hopefully by tonight, I'd have a clear head; Greg had booked a table at the fancy restaurant down the road to celebrate our one year anniversary and I wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.
The day passed slowly and painfully, my head aching worse and worse with each passing minute. It was a relief when my alarm went off on my phone – time to get ready for my date. The warm, soapy suds of the bath and the smooth silk of my off the shoulder, slightly too short, not appropriate for meeting the parents, blue dress gave me some comfort. It was just Greg and I tonight, the first night he'd had off in a month, and I was going to be charming, sexy and graceful. Looking into my bathroom mirror, my pale, drawn face stared back at me. I pinched my cheeks to regain some color and applied some light lip stick and mascara. I looked like a painted on corpse. I pulled my hair closer around my face to hide.
"That'll do donkey," I grumbled, readjusting my bra. I loved to dress up; the clothes, the hair, the shoes, it all made me feel so much more confident. But my migraine and general well-being was definitely showing through.
Greg picked me up from my apartment, surprising me with a white limousine out front and a bouquet of flowers, larger than the ones he'd left me this morning. He was often indulging my romantic fantasies and spent way too much money on me than he should, but every time I complained all he would say was that I was worth it, and that his job as a cosmetic dentist more than paid for it. How did I get so lucky again?
It was a guilty pleasure that I relished, spending time with Greg. He was far too upper class for me, and there was no way his parents would have considered him dating me if it weren't for my university degree and published novel. Of course, Greg always said that he loved me because I was so different and that he needed someone to spoil.
And spoil me he did. The restaurant was very crowded, it was a Friday night after all. And as we wound our way through the diners, I couldn't help but feel nervous and excited as we were led to the rooftop terrace, one of the few couples who were lucky enough to dine in the exclusive area.
"This is far too much," I finally said as the waiter helped me into my chair. "You shouldn't spend so much on me!"
Greg laughed, his head tilting backwards as he grabbed my hand, stroking my palm. His longish blonde hair was parted to the side, allowing an uninhibited view of his smooth, handsome face. His light brown eyes regarded me with sparkling joy. "You are worth every penny. You deserve it."
I knew he was in love with me, but I found it hard to take his words to heart. I didn't feel as though this kind of treatment was warranted for someone like me. Glancing around at the other diners, I could see the model perfection of the women and their dazzling handsome partners, sipping delicately from their wine and embracing the decadent culture they lived in. But I shook the unpleasant feeling off and let Greg sweep me off my feet.
Dinner went smoothly, as it always did while I was with Greg. He was easy to talk to, and the conversation flowed without problem. We talked about trivial things; the weather, his work, my novel (which I skated over). Dessert was served, a rich chocolate mousse with whipped cream piled high in the center. There was one for the two of us to share.
"You go first," Greg prompted, handing me a fork. He smiled at my eagerness as I dug in, taking a great helping of mousse and shoving it in my mouth.
"This is delicious," I mumbled around my food, smiling cheekily at him and his judging look. I knew what I must look like, chocolate dripping from my mouth and cheeks puffed out. But the wine had loosened me up and I simply giggled, and he relaxed slightly, his eyes rolling good-naturedly at my antics.
I dove in for another forkful of food, but something stopped me. "I think there's something in there. We should get the waiter," I glared unhappily at the shining object that was interrupting my session with the mousse and waved the waiter over.
"No-" Greg started, his hand reaching into the dessert. He pulled out the object, covered entirely in chocolate, and wiped it with his napkin.
I gave him a confused look before turning to beckon the waiter over once more. "It's okay, I'm sure they'll give us another one."
When I turned back around, Greg had left the table. My momentary confusion dissolved as I saw his position beside my seat, down on one knee and holding out the object towards me with a blissful look upon his face; "Macy," he started, "I love you more than there are drops of water in the ocean, more than the stars in the sky," at that his lip twitched and I just knew he'd purposefully snatched that from my writing, "Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
My heart had long since abandoned me and I was left frozen on my seat, hands gripping my arms tightly. I admit, I had suspected that this was where the night was heading, but I hadn't thought he'd have done this here, right now, in public, in my fucking dessert. As I sat there gazing into the giant rock of a diamond before me, our future life together flashed before my eyes; I'd be a stay at home writer/mother to our beautiful 2.5 kids and he'd be the breadwinner dad who would traipse home after a long day's work, crack open a beer and enjoy dinner with his family. I could see it all, our kids going off to college, leaving us to be empty nesters for a while before he retires. Watching our kids grow old and get married themselves. Sitting on a porch, swaying in a rocking chair as an old lady and helping Greg get through the morning crossword puzzle.
But even imagining our future, I couldn't prevent my heart from sinking with dread. Did I want that? More importantly: did I want that with Greg? I'd always imagined I would marry someone with a bit more… substance.
But the longer I thought about it, without him, I wouldn't have survived in this city on my meager salary, living alone in my crappy apartment. He spoiled me rotten and treated me like a princess, fulfilling every girl's princely romantic fantasy. So I did what any smart 27-year-old woman would do;
"Yes," I breathed, watching the smile break out on his face as he slipped the ring on my finger and embraced me. I felt paralyzed as I stood there, clinging to the shirt on his back and listening to the other diners talk about us and clap, having seen the entire show. I turned cold, not quite expecting the feeling of panic that accompanied having made a verbal contract of commitment to Greg. I loved him, of course, but looking down at the ring on my finger, I wondered if I was quite ready for what I'd just stepped into.
"I have to um... I have to go to the bathroom, freshen up," I murmured to him as I pulled away. He nodded and gave me a quick peck, before seating himself once more.
I turned and had to hold myself back from sprinting towards the door, power walking as inconspicuously as I could down the stairs and out the back door of the restaurant. In the dark alley out back, I expelled the breath I'd be holding and hugged myself, trying to calm down. My legs shook and I didn't trust them – not with this dress and these heels – so I slid down the wall beside me, concentrating on slowing my breathing to a reasonable pace.
Which brings us back to the present.
You know how in every horror movie or crime thriller the victim always scrambles away towards the dead-end? How they always end up falling over their own feet? Well, I can now safely say that I am no better than those floozies. The killer who strode towards me, bloody knife in hand, spurred my feet into action. Now, if the whole coffee spilling incident from before didn't clue you in, I am not very coordinated when confronted. And as it turns out, intense fear does not really help the situation, especially not in heels.
I scrambled to my feet and for the first time that night, did something any sane person would do, I ran. My heels clacked loudly in the alley and I realized that for all his scary and menacing features, the dark man didn't actually make a sound. But then again, my breath and heartbeat were too loud in my ears to hear much of anything anyway. I had almost made it to the bend in the alley when my heel got caught in a crack, snapping off and sending me crashing to the ground. I could hear the rip in my dress and for a moment, all I could think about was how this was my favorite dress and that I'd have to pay for it to be fixed, that I didn't want to have to find another one. Call it a coping mechanism, but in retrospect all that energy spent thinking would have been much more useful in figuring out an escape plan.
"You're not supposed to be here," the man murmured as he grabbed a fistful of my hair, hoisting me up to my feet.
"I don't want any trouble! Just let me go and I'll leave you to your business!" I squeaked, squirming away from him like a worm wriggling in the clutches of a hungry bird.
"I have to take you back," the man said in a firm voice, as though deciding something. He dragged me by my hair towards the mouth of the alley. We passed by the corpse of the man he'd stabbed, young, handsome face with brown hair and a cheerful sweater. The image would be forever seared into my brain. We stopped and the man seemed to deliberate. "Stay here," he commanded me, releasing my hair. "I need to make a call."
I couldn't believe he'd let me go. I stood there in shock for a moment as the man wandered back towards the corpse, collecting blood in a bowl and whispering some words. I waited until he was fully engrossed in what he was doing (and tried not to throw up), before I backed away. I managed to make it to the street and began waving my hands at a couple wandering halfway up the road. "Hey!" I yelled, "Help! Call the cops!" I had begun running towards them, trying to ignore the pain of the cuts and bruises I'd sustained.
The couple didn't notice me, they were too far up the road. They'd already begun turning the corner and out of sight, but I continued running. After a moment of brief freedom, a hand grabbed my arm and spun me around, my body swinging like a rag doll. The moment I realized that the killer had caught me, his fist came flying up to connect with my temple. The contact didn't hurt – in fact, it felt like nothing. Black swallowed my vision as I passed out. The last thing I remembered was the feeling of the man's strong arms encircling me as I fell inevitably towards the ground and towards unconsciousness.
"… all this. I'll explain when I can."
"Friggin angels…"
A low knocking sound. "Solid. It's real. Nice."
"Yeah. Yeah, real, moldy, termite eaten home sweet home. Chock full of crap that want to skin you. Oh, and uh, we're broke again."
"Yeah, but hey, at least we're talking."
"What are we going to do with her? Cas just left her here. Think she's dangerous?"
"I don't know, could be. Guess we'll find out, she looks like she's waking up."
I couldn't ignore the voices anymore. They'd turned from dreamlike and far away to very close and very confusing; what happened? I cracked my eyes open one at a time, my headache returning in full force with the power of a freight train hitting my skull.
The musty smell of the couch I was lying on made my nose twitch and it was all I could think about as I slowly pushed myself up, wincing at the ache of my body.
"Rise and shine," a gruff voice greeted, with no amusement in its tone.
I finally noticed the two men that stood before me, both very tall and both with highly intimidating, stony faces that looked down on me. One had his hand resting on a gun, holding it away from his body and pointing at the floor, but his arm was tensed and ready for anything.
I scrambled up on the couch until my back hit the window. "Who are you?! Please don't hurt me!" I yelled, the information of the last few hours slowly trickling into realization in my brain. "Where am I?" The room looked like a bomb had hit it; it was a mess with empty bottles of alcohol, strange substances floating in jars and items that looked like bones littering the various surfaces around the room. It must have been some kind of sick cult, a ritualistic kidnapping before they planned on killing me. They must have been in cahoots with the man who'd stabbed that guy in the alley.
"Relax," one of them soothed, the one with a mane of brown hair which he distractedly brushed out of his face.
"Relax?! RELAX?! You kidnapped me! And you're about to kill me! How can I-" I couldn't finish my rant, my breath caught in my throat before my breathing started accelerating rapidly and I started hyperventilating, my heart about to burst out of my chest.
The two man gave each other a loaded glance. The one who had told me to relax pointedly looked at the other one's gun. After a brief moment of hesitation, he put the gun in the back of his jeans, though I could see his hand still hovering in anticipation. The taller one made a move towards me, hand outstretched, but I bolted off the couch and out the archway to the left. I found myself in a kitchen and saw it contained much of the stuff from the other room; all the gross odds and ends, as well as old blood stains in the ground and what looked like bullet holes through walls. My eyes grew as wide as dinner plates as I took it all in. I continued through the house, getting as far away from the creeps as I could, and managed to find the front door. Sweet, sweet freedom beckoned me and I ran towards it, yanking it open. However, as I placed my foot out the door, a sharp jab to the back of my knee made my crumble to the floor and clutch it in pain. I was clearly not having much lucky in the whole 'fleeing for my life' department these days.
"You're not going anywhere," my captor told me as he hoisted me off the ground and pointed his gun to my back. I froze and turned as he tugged on my arm.
I couldn't help the whimpering that bubbled up my throat as he led me through the house of horrors and down an ancient staircase to the basement. The gun was like white hot metal burning a hole through my back and edging me forward with each tiny nudge. As I was pushed into a circular room with metal walls and a high, lit ceiling, I reached the point at which I knew there was no getting out. There wasn't a hope in hell that I would be leaving this place alive, unless my captors decided to pity me.
I stumbled into the room after a rough shove from the man behind me. I turned quickly, noting the lack of a gun to my back and watched as the man closed the hulking metal door behind me, his eyes watching me from the outside through a peephole. I realized that pity was not on the agenda; there was a cold callousness to his look, absolutely no room for mercy, and I shrunk in on myself, backing up to the far wall even though he was on the other side of the door. While I was well and truly imprisoned in this strange circular cell, at least I wasn't caged with the person those eyes belonged to; they were haunted and cruel.
I flinched as the peephole was shut with a loud screech of metal on metal and sank to the floor. I should never have looked to see what was happening in that alley, I should have minded my own business. I should have stayed with Greg, kissed him, finished our dessert and made passionate love to my fiance, but instead here I was in some fucked up kidnapping with a bunch of criminally insane men, judging by their living environment. I looked at the shining diamond ring on my finger and fiddled with it gingerly, trying to make it fit right. It was my lifeline, the one thing that I knew was worth me fighting for. I needed to live, needed to see Greg again. Surviving this ordeal with my life would be difficult, but nothing was impossible.
But of course, like I said before; curiosity killed the cat.
A/N: So there you have it, what do you think of our leading lady? This will be one of my favorite types of fics - a romance with a very slow burn. (Emphasis on 'slow') We're in it for the long haul, kids! Hopefully you're all as interested as I am to see how Macy will shape up in this world, and how she'll go from having a fiance to maybe falling for our rugged Dean. Drop me a quick review (or a long one) and let me know what direction you think the story will/should go in. I've got big plans for this one, friends! Follow/favorite to find out! X
