December 2nd, 1911
Matthew Bellamy - age 21
The entire vastness of England seemed to be covered in a single shadow cast by an enormous, grey blanket, stretching endlessly in every direction. A cold and drizzly wind blew damp strands of hair into Matthew's face, and he held his book with one elbow as he attempted to tuck the black locks behind his ears. As he struggled to peel a strand of sticky hair from between his lips, the gust increased tenfold. The young man scrambled when he felt the book begin to slip, bumping into a passing woman and muttering in apology just as he heard the splash. Bollocks. It would land in a puddle.
Matthew turned against the wind to retrieve the book, the world around him darkening as if a candle had been blown out. Wind howled angrily and drizzle threatened to become rain. A bolt of lightning invoked a heightened sense of panic among formerly brave civilians and they began to dash for cover, forcing Matthew to stand protectively in front of the puddle as he hugged his thin body and braced himself against the storm. When it was safe to do so, he crouched down and reached his long fingers into the water, grimacing in disgust. A rumbling sound from the road caused Matthew to turn his head-in hindsight, probably a bad move-and he suddenly found himself soaked and dripping with mud. The automobile must have been traveling at full speed; no less than fifteen kilometers per hour. There was a reason Matthew hated those damned death traps.
Standing slowly, soggy book between the tips of his fingers and water covering every inch of his violently shaking form, he ducked his head against the wind and began his second attempt to trudge home. The rain was pounding so heavily now that it was difficult to see more than a few feet. Matthew felt an anxious knot forming in his stomach at the increasing bright flashes and loud rumbles from above.
A dark figure stood an indeterminable distance ahead, causing Matthew to stop abruptly in his tracks. Nothing but a black outline could be made out through the wall of water and the anxious knot was pulled tightly. The figure started to approach.
Matthew started to back up.
Into another person.
Before he could react, a gag was roughly shoved into his mouth and his hands were being wrenched painfully behind his back and tied with something course and stringy. The young man was overwhelmed with panic and instinctively began to kick and struggle, trying to scream through the thick fabric, for which he was rewarded with a powerful boot to the stomach. He doubled over in agony and was immediately wrenched back up by his soaking hair, face contorting in pain. Whimpering and choking through the gag earned him a hard blow to cheek bone. Though it stung unbearably he managed to suppress a yell. He felt his ankles being tied tightly before his feet were abruptly lifted, but instead of falling backward he was grasped under the arms by the man behind him. The men began to trudge through the darkness, roaring wind and violent rain, carrying a helpless Matthew who despite his best efforts began to cry hysterically, tiny body shaking in terror. He hadn't known it was possible to feel so scared.
He wouldn't get to say goodbye to Christopher.
No one would know what had happened to him.
The men entered an alleyway where the rain and wind were significantly lighter. Matthew tried to be grateful for small mercies.
Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews and criticism would be great. :)
