welcome...
The answer to the last question is..."you'll figure it out"
the brownies go to Rachelle4eva might have been right, yet might not have. All that matters is that you had the best answer
here you go! [::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::]
ONE MOAR THING! Sorry I forgot to mention in the last chapter that minato4ever is gonna be my co-writer again. ^-^
Steve had already broken out into a cold sweat by the time he reached the red double-doors of the warehouse. He took a deep breath.
Thump. . . Thump. . . Thump. . .
The door creaked open with low moans echoing down the vacent halls. He remembered everything he saw the day everyone escaped. The only thing that seemed to have changed was the foliage that somehow found its way onto the walls.
The man took one more deep breath and stepped in.
Soda slowly opens his eyes, straining to see anything, only to find him in complete darkness. Panic started to rise up through Soda as he remembers what has happened to him before.
Calmly, he starts feeling around and clawing around the area around him desperately looking for a way out. He swung his hands up to the side to meet glass, and he suddenly realized he was in a car. He searched the bottom of the window and pulled the lock on the car ready to get out. He swung the car door open and was about to bolt when a hand grabbed him and tugged him back into the seat.
Terrified, Soda lets out an ear popping scream, and started to kick and punch wildly at the person who pulled him back.
"Soda! Soda! Chill out man!" the voice behind him said. Soda stopped and looked behind him wildly, to see the dark silhouette of what looked to be Dally. Dally pulled something close to his face, and a light illuminated the car.
Dally could see Soda, looking around wild and his eyes darting in every direction, he obviously was not too pleased to be here, but he wasn't freaking out as much as he thought he would.
"Dally... where are we?" Soda asks as he settles his eyes on Dally, relaxing slightly into he seat he was in.
Dally chose not to say anything, so not to freak Soda out. Impossible task, Soda was going to flip anyway.
"Dally…?"Soda asked again getting more and more tense as he is drawing a conclusion of where he may have ended up. His eyes go wide and his breathing starts to get shallow.
"You didn't! Please! Oh God! Please tell me you didn't bring me there!" Soda screams. Dally winces at the painful volume.
Soda jumps out of the car and looks around, and he saw it. Right there in front of him was the warehouse in all of its terrifying nostalgic glory.
Soda doesn't know what he should do, whether he should scream or run, so he went with running. He fled with all of his might to get out of sight of the warehouse, just knowing deep in his gut that something is going to go wrong.
Dally cursed under his breath and went to get Soda, his feet pounded heavily as he desperately tried to catch him, who ever said Ponyboy was the only fast Curtis was lying, because Dally could hardly catch up. He finally got close enough to jump on him and through Soda down onto the ground.
"No! Get off! You can't make me go back there! Not after what happened! Something is going to happen! I know it!"
"Soda! Calm down! We are here to cure ourselves, nothing is going to happen! All those bad guys are gone! Dead! They're all dead!"
"And Pony! So is he! He died right here too! I'm not going back there!"
"Soda! PLEASE! Think about what Pony would want! He wants you to get over him! Please think rationally!" Dally screams at him.
"HOW WOULD YOU KNOW! PONY WOULD NEVER WANT ME TOO COME BACK HERE!" Soda explodes, his face turning bright red under the pressure.
"FUCK Pony for the minute, what about Two-Bit than? He'd want you to go in there, don't you think?"
"NO! NO! He wouldn't and don't say that about my BROTHER!"
Dally sighs, and collects himself. Obviously yelling wasn't going to solve anything. If Dally had been the same before this whole mess happened he would have beat the tar out of him.
"Soda, I'm sorry, but please calm down. I promise at any sign of danger you can leave." Soda seems to still want to fight but he relaxes. Dally lets him up off the ground now that he has calmed down.
The cloaked "man" that murdered the poor, badly timed squirrel, watched from the shadows as the greaser tip-toed through the hallways, waving his flashlight like crazy whenever the smallest sound was produced. He ran a gloved hand over the seams on his forehead while contiplating a thought in his complex mind. "Hmm."
An unnerving smile spread across his face when a lightbulb had finally formed over his head. So he continued to lurk in the shhadows, watching as Steve meandered through the rotting hallways.
"Maybe," The "man" thought, "Maybe I should make it easier for him. After all, that hand is the one of the only things left I haven't had yet. . ." And with that said, he vanished down the hall.
The "man" flew up three flights of stairs, zipped down hallways of pure black, and forced his way through a door that was rusted shut. He paced through the room that held a sickening green aura filled with oily black shelves that were running low on their stock of human parts. He skimmed through the lables on the jars of the section marked as Hands. It was then that he found what he was looking for.
"Steven Randal."
Not wanting to waste anymore time lingering there, he held the jar firmly to his chest and ran as fast as possible. Through the petrifying darkness he went, scatterng groups of rodents, splashing through puddles, knocking items off tables with just the sheer force of the wind trying to match his speed.
"Where shall I even put this when I find him?" He thought. The notion was so important to him, he had to stop just to think about it. That's when it hit him. "That room. . ." He thought as he took off again.
More groups of rodennts scattered, more puddles splashed, more items knocked over, and he was there. He stared at the golden double-doors before; the very doors that guarded the very beginning of the nightmare the gang of greasers went through. He kicked the doors open and rushed inside. Quickly looking through the lables on the bed, he found theone marked "Steven Randal" and placed the jar on it. Apon leaving the room, he left one of the doors open to be sure the other man wondering the building would find it, and hid in the shadows once more.
Steve swallowed yet another thick lump in his throte when a small animal splashed through a puddle. "I swear," He thought, "I don't find anything in the next three minutes, I'm out."
Just then, a loud bang explodes through the thick air and he takes off through the halls. He didn't know where he was going, all he knew was that he had to keep moving. Even when his legs became sore, even when his lungs caught on fire, he continued on. It was only when he started recognizing his surroundings when he stopped.
"Wait. . ." He survyed his surroundings one more time to confirm his suspicions. "If that's there, then that one room should be somewhere near here. . . Maybe my hand will be. . ." With that thought in mind he carefully crept down the long corridor searing for the correct room. Then he finally arrived at those golden double-doors. He didn't even give it a second thought when he saw that one of the doors were left open. Sure enough, a jar containing a hand labled "Steven Randal" was resting on the very bed he was kept on during his time in the large, prison-like warehouse. Quickly, he snatched the jar off the bed and took off at the speed of light.
Had he been in any other situation, he would of thought twice, pondering thoughts such as, "Why would it be convieniently right there?" But in this situation, thinking logically was an inability.
When the Greaser had finally made it back to the truck, Soda was shaking and crying in the back seat. Dallas gave him a look that said, "We need to leave, now." To which he agreed.
After starting up the car and turning around on the trail, Steve felt a shakey fist hit him in his should. "Agh! S-Soda, why'd you do that?"
"'Cause you brought me back here! You know I'd never wanna come back here. Why'd you do it. . .? Why?"
The driver sighed. "I'm sorry Soda, it's just that. . . Look, I'll tell you when you start feeling better - tomorrow, okay?"
The younger man gave him a glare, but remained silent. If only Darry had come home earlier so they wouldn't have to bring Soda. If only Soda had slept more soundly. If only had comforted him better. . .
If only they'd known they were being followed. . .
Ahhahah... Sorry for the long wait, but we had some technological difficuties =w=
Okay, HERE'S THE QUESTION! Can Kaarie X write a good tension building story?. . . HA! That's not really the question, feel free to answer it though...
HERE'S THE REAL QUESTION! What will Shakspear do? Reward is fifteen choc chip brownies. [::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::][::]