So, I've written "Hostage" before. Except, it was badly written. The information wasn't spaced out enough, the character's were developing rather too fast and their behaviors didn't match at all to the amount of crap I put in their past (eh, if that made any sense.) and other errors. So, I decided to re-write it.
Please vote, favorite and comment. It let's me know my strengths and weakness, and what I need to work on, as well as what you like! You can also comment and message me any suggestions and I'll take it into consideration. A.k.a. if you have any deep and dark fantasies about my book, please comment or message me ;)
So, I'm the type of person that can suck at the most simplest math. Like determining how old someone would be if it's currently June 2015, they were born like September 1987 and what age they would be if it was like summer of 1998 or some shit like that. So, I do apologize. I also might get certain things wrong, perhaps car names and bomb names. -Shrugs-
Well, here's the chapter! Hope you like it. Will post soon.

December 17, 1998
Baltimore, Maryland

Timothy walked excitingly to the front door of Bridgett Raymer's house.
His dad had bought a gorgeous 1984 Camaro, which was also what his dad had bought him on his sixteenth birthday before he crashed it. Plus, as another surprise, he had two tickets to Amsterdam to see the Anne Frank House, in which his parents had also pitched in to pay.
He promised he would pay them back. But first, he couldn't wait to see the look on Bridgett's face.
He took a deep breath, then knocked on the shiny, wooden door. After several moments, Daryl - Bridgett's dad, had opened it slightly, only exposing his face. He looked stressed - or angry - at his presence. Tim already knew Daryl wasn't very fond of him, especially the night he had caught Bridgett and Tim making out in the middle of the night.
He blushed at the thought, then cleared his throat. He was determined not to say something awkward this time. He needed to get over it.
"Is er, Bridgett here?" He asked, knowing she should be. Daryl had gave a heavy sigh at the sound of her name.
"Timothy, we need to talk." He spoke firmly.
Tim looked confused. He never called him by his first name, for one. He wasn't sure if he should feel proud or not. Plus, he always spoke in an angry voice with him, but he spoke firm, like it was serious. He started to wonder if Bridgett wanted to break up.
"Y-yes, Sir?" He stuttered, his heart began to race.
There was silence. Daryl had looked down at the ground. As if he felt ashamed.
It was strange. Daryl was much like his own father, so seeing him like this only meant something was wrong. Like what ever he was about to say was hard.
His heart thumped harder.
"Bridgett...She's gone."
More silence.
He couldn't believe what he had just heard.
"Gone? Like...went somewhere, gone? Or...gone gone?" He sounded stupid and he knew that. But he only hoped his answer wasn't what he had thought.
"No, Timothy. She's dead." He sounded slightly annoyed. He still looked away, unable to meet his eyes.
"How?" Timothy finally choked the words out.
There was a deep sigh. "It was a hit and run. She died instantly." More silence. "I'm sorry." He said, then shut the door. Tim stood their, trying to process what had happened.
He slowly backed up, making his way to his vehicle as memories with Bridgett flashed through his mind.
Now Bridgett was nothing but a memory. Nothing but the best moments of his life.
He knew she was too good to be true.

Present Day, Washington, D.C.
Uncle Joe's Cafe

She walked in the Cafe, pulling her sleeves down. It was in the middle of summer, but the marks on her skin shouldn't be seen.
She quickly sat at a small booth and opened up a magazine. She waited with patience, not knowing what the man she waited for looked like.
She looked up, feeling a strange sense of anxiety, as if someone was looking at her.
A man had, in fact, locked his bright green eyes onto her. She looked away quickly, feeling uncomfortable.
He seemed to be unable to get the hint as he made his way to her table. He kept starring at her, then finally, spoke a single word that made her heart nearly jump out of her chest.
"Bridgett?"
Her eyes widened at the sound of her name.
This couldn't have been the man she was waiting for. They told her the guy was in his mid thirties and carried a envelop in his back pocket with the number "forty-two" on it in large black letters. Still, the man that spoke her name had to be in his fifties or sixties.
She opened her mouth to speak but was unsure what to say.
"I'm sorry." The old man chuckled as he rubbed his forehead in frustration, "You just look like my daughter." Another short laugh, but she knew it sounded fake. "I don't know how I would recognize her anyway. Haven't seen her in fifteen years." He smiled, and continued to stare at her, "But of course, a father's intuition."
"Isn't it a mother's intuition?" Bridgett said, then immediately blushed. She wasn't supposed to talk to other people, besides the man she was supposed to make the deal with today.
Still, she knew they weren't watching, nor could hear her. She wouldn't run. She had too much to lose. She wouldn't dare risk it.
She looked up at him, and they made eye contact.
He had light grey hair and bright green eyes. His skin was wrinkly, but fairly tanned. He had a tiny scar under his left ear.
"You know what my baby girl always told me?" He smiled, "anybody could be a father, but -"
"It takes a real man to be a daddy." Bridgett looked down and smiled as past memories flashed in her mind. There were tears in her eyes.
When she looked up, the old man was starring at her and smiling. "Bridgett, I know it's you."
A bell dinged, and the door opened. A muscular man had walked in, looking around. He looked in his mid-thirties, and carried the large envelop in his back pocket. She could see the number "forty-two" engraved in black, shiny letters. She stood up quickly, secretly wiping away her tears. "My boyfriend is here now, so please don't bother me anymore." Bridgett lied with a threatening voice. Her father looked up at her in shock, then sudden realization. He looked from the man and back at her. "Sorry to bother you ma'am." He said, getting up and walking to another table. Bridgett stood there, breathing heavily. The muscular man sat down, "What was that about?"
"Nothing. Now, where's the formula?" She asked with a serious voice.
He gave a heavy sigh that seemed threatening all by itself. "You got the money?" He said, quietly so no one would hear.
Bridgett smacked her gum and rolled her eyes as she grabbed the envelop from her purse and set it on the table. "Formula. Now." She said firmly. He gave her a perverted smile, then gave her the envelope.
She gave a sigh of relief as he stood up and walked out. She could see her dad stand up, fixing to make his way to her. "4058 Fowler Avenue. You get one shot." Bridgett spoke quietly without looking at him, then rushed out.
She made her way to the alley and towards the black suburban vehicle. She was nearly five steps away, and darkness devoured her. She could feel the sharp needle dig into her skin and numbness take over.
She hated this part. Getting drugged and taken back to what seemed like prison. She hated it even more since it seemed more useless. She had found out the address of where they hid her, but they didn't know that. However, it seemed like the information was finally useful.
The only bad part was, she had no idea where Natalia was. She needed her dad to report where she was and make it seem like he found out on his own, given that he is the only one that knows she's alive. If someone else made the report, they would know she tried to escape. She would never be able to see the day of light again, or worse: Natalia would be dead.
One mistake is all they need.

Cliff hanger (sort of)!
Anywhozers, hope you enjoyed. Please comment, vote, favorite, message and whatever!
Have any dark (or light, lol) fantasies about what you would like to see in future chapters? Just comment or message me and I can take it into consideration.
-Toxxic