Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I still don't own Death Note… Can you believe it?

Missing

Sirocco glanced at the number on my phone's screen. "Nice," he commented. He didn't say anything past that, but I didn't care. Honestly, I was a little more concerned as to how I'd get out of cooking dinner later tonight. We'd been here for about an hour, and the store had cleared out just a bit. And when I say 'just a bit', I mean that one person had left. And that was our mom's assistant, who was on her lunch break.

"So," I said, "Have you found anything interesting?" Sirocco sighed.

"No… it's all the same as last time… I thought mom said she'd gotten some new stuff, but I guess she was wrong or it sold out." I smiled.

"It probably sold out," I said, "After all, we did get here a bit late…" With a shrug, Sirocco turned away from me.

"I'm going to go check again!" He said, but I caught his shoulder before he could dash off into the crowd.

"Matt's going to give me a ride to the garage," I said, "So if I'm not here, I'm picking up the car. I'll have my phone on me, but you'll probably have to get a ride home from mom." Sirocco nodded.

"And what should I tell her?" I shrugged, secretly glad that he was thinking ahead.

"Tell her… I saw Alorra here and we went shoe shopping or something like that." He nodded again and was quickly lost in the crowd. Amaya whimpered as he left, and I stroked her ears. "It's okay girl. We're going on a car ride in a bit. Hear that? A car ride!" I laughed at my idiocy, but if Amaya understood any English, it would be the phrases 'car ride' and 'breakfast/dinnertime'. Sure enough, her ears swiveled around slightly, as though they were radars that could pick up exactly which car she'd be riding in. I smiled at her and walked around, wondering who or what had possessed me to wear these shoes. The heel was thick, but they were still very uncomfortable, and I kept tripping unless I picked up my feet just right. Maybe if I wore them more often… Yeah right. If you did that, you wouldn't have feet. Oh well. I could put up with it for a bit longer. Then I'd text Matt, we'd go pick up my car, and I'd go home and relax.

After I took Amaya to the groomers and decided on what to cook for dinner. Oh well. If I could spend ten minutes curled up on the couch texting, I would be happy. Or even five. Or just get to listen to the CD's in my car on the drive home. That would be nice. I caught myself humming a random string of notes just thinking about music, which had to make up at least forty percent of my life. Well, maybe I was exaggerating a bit, but music had been part of me since I can remember.

I found myself at the front door of the store when I snapped back to reality. Heck, I thought, Sirocco knows you're leaving, mom won't know. I stepped outside for some fresh air. The smell of nicotine wasn't quite what I'd been hoping for. I glanced over to my left, and sure enough, there was Matt. "You know," I said, "I think that sign says 'no smoking within fifteen feet of entrance'."

"Ten," Matt corrected, "And if you must know, this is twenty feet." Why was he smirking? Damn him, he was so easygoing!

"Well, you're not exactly helping business here," I snapped, walking over to where the smoke wasn't blowing into my face, being careful not to trip. Matt shrugged.

"I suppose not," he admitted. Then, expertly changing the subject, he asked, "Were you looking for me?" I sighed, knowing that I wasn't going to get him to stop smoking anytime soon.

"I guess I was, seeing as how I found you. Where's your car?" Matt gazed at the small parking lot, as if daring me to guess

"Take a guess," he confirmed. More guessing games… just perfect.

I glanced about at all the cars immediately visible, but didn't see anything that looked like a car Matt might drive. There was a dark green minivan, a white truck, and a few of those 'mini cars' that were 'soooo economical' and seated two people if you didn't mind invading someone else's personal space. Then my eyes caught a glimpse of red, and I blinked. Someone was pulling out of a parking space. A certain leather-clad blonde sort of someone. "There's my guess," I said sarcastically, nodding towards the red car. I had no idea of the make, model, company name; anything really, but what a beautiful car! It was certainly nicer than my boxy old Cube, if not so much suited to my taste.

"Absolutely," Matt said, crushing what was left of his cigarette under his boot. "Shall we?" I laughed at the phrase, but followed him as he kicked Mello over to the passenger's seat, and slipped into the back seat with Amaya, who immediately tried to stick her head out of the window. I rolled it down quickly, before she left nose prints on the glass, and she stuck her head and shoulders through. I smiled at her and rubbed her back, then quickly shifted so that we were on opposite sides of the car (though I did keep a firm grip on her leash). The drive was relatively silent until Matt hit a button on the dashboard.

Amaya almost jumped out of the window. I, personally, leapt out of my skin and then started laughing at myself. It was the radio. My guess was one of those metal stations. I had no idea what song was playing, but it involved a guitar and a bass drum or six. Matt slammed the volume button again, and glared at Mello, who was laughing quietly into a leather-gloved fist. "What the hell was that for?" Matt asked incredulously.

"Oh, nothing really," Mello admitted. "I was just bored." Matt sighed.

"You'll have to forgive him Enya," he said, "The last time he said that, he'd just dyed my hair neon orange." I laughed, though I was trying to disguise it as a cough. "It wasn't funny…"

"It was," Mello said. "You should've seen the look on your face!" Okay, maybe I'd judged Mello a little harshly before. He had a cruel sense of humor, but he seemed like an okay person. Sort of. Either way, Matt didn't turn the radio back on. I guessed he was embarrassed, but then again, who wouldn't be? Amaya, hearing that the music was off, turned and slipped back inside. Her nose twitched for several seconds, and then she tried to jump into the front seat. I grabbed her harness and held on for dear life. She was quite strong when she wanted to be.

"Amaya, what on earth are you doing?" I hissed at the dog. Mello, meanwhile, was still laughing.

"She's got a good nose, doesn't she?" He asked. I blinked, confused, but nodded.

"Yeah…" Then it clicked. "Oh, you've got food up there… Amaya, come here!" I tried in vain to pull her back over to the window she'd been looking out of. She flatly refused, straining even more against the harness. She never acted like this… and in the presence of two almost complete strangers… I was mortified. Matt turned left without slowing down (I hadn't realized how fast we were going) and I felt my grip on Amaya's harness loosen. Then he hit the brakes. Amaya leapt out of my grip, snatched something from Mello (a bar of chocolate, I realized later) and dashed out of his window, which was wide open. A moment later, Matt leapt out after her. Well, he didn't jump out of the window, but he rushed outside.

"I'm so sorry Enya!" He said, "I'll be right back…" His voice faded away as he ran off. I had been unaware that smokers could sprint that fast, but started to climb out of the car as well.

"Where do you think you're going?" 'Started' being the key word in that sentence, because to my horror, I felt something cold and metallic being pressed against the side of my head. A gun. Mello had a gun. I felt my stomach disappear, then reappear suddenly full of lead.

"I'm getting out of this car," I said, now knowing that this would not be happening but saying the words anyway. I felt the gun press harder against my skull. It was a feeling I would never forget, a feeling of your life being held completely in someone else's hands, its end just a trigger pull away.

"No, I don't think you are," Mello said, his voice as cool as ice. "I think Matt is perfectly capable of catching a dog on his own… don't you?" He'd shifted over to the driver's seat, where Matt had left the keys in the ignition. And the ignition on. "Don't try to get out. And give me your phone." I fumbled my phone out of my pocket and held it out to him. I had no idea what to do. I was terrified. And the gun was still pointed at my head. Wasn't it safest just to obey?

"Why are you doing this?" I asked quietly as he took my phone.

"I suppose you'd like to know," Mello said, "But I don't intend on telling you just yet. Now, you're going to call your mother, and tell her that you'll be late getting home." He handed me my phone, and I opened my contacts list, the gun now pressing into the front of my skull. I didn't intend on calling anyone else, but Mello was obviously smart. He'd deleted the rest of my contacts.

The phone rang three times before my mom picked up. I almost cried when I heard her voice, but forced myself to remain calm; to try and keep the fear from shining from my eyes like floodlights. "Hey Enya," she said, "How are you?"

"I'm good mom," I answered, praying that she would find something, anything wrong with my voice, something that might tip her off to the situation I was in. "I just wanted to let you know I ran into Alorra at GameStop, we're going shopping and I might be a bit late getting back." My stomach was doing backflips. Very painful backflips. Mello gave me a bit of an odd look, and I flinched.

"Honey, you know I don't like you being out late… neither does your father." She had heard nothing. Just her daughter being herself. I wanted to cry.

"I know," I said, forcing back my tears and cursing every minor role, every tree or shrub my mom had forced me to act as in school plays; they were all paying off at the wrong time! "But I'm picking up my car too, so I won't be out on foot." I knew she would find another way to protest, so I quickly cut her off. "Mom, I'll be fine. I promise." Yeah, I'd be fine, I was only being kidnapped and had a gun to my head. "I'll only be a little late. Oh, and can you find a way to get me out of making dinner? Sirocco tricked me into it, and I don't know what to fix…" I trailed off, and then quickly ended the call. "I've got to go, I'll see you tonight!" I hung up instantly and tried to ease my breathing. "I told Sirocco to give the same excuse to my mom earlier, it'll hold up if she asks him," I explained quickly.

"Give me your phone," Mello said again. I handed it to him. A moment later, the gun was pulled away from my head, and Mello had performed a dangerous U-turn and taken off with a squeal of tires. I put my head against the window and closed my eyes. I didn't know what to do. I was scared, and stuck in a car with a man who had a gun. He'd taken my phone, and deleted all of my contacts (which I had never bothered to memorize). Amaya was lost, and Matt… well, he'd meant well, but this was entirely his fault. I took a deep, shaky breath and tried to pull myself together. It didn't work. I tried again, with slightly more positive results. I opened my eyes. Matt was standing on the curb, Amaya at his side. He'd caught her. He was staring at the car in shock. I wanted to call out, but fear had stolen my voice. Then I blinked and he was gone. Or rather, we were gone; speeding away to where, I didn't know.

"Why are you doing this?" I asked again. I couldn't keep the fear out of my voice, and mentally, I scolded myself. If he wanted you dead, you'd be dead by now. You'll find a way out of this… just stay calm. It was easier to think that thought than it was to act on it. I felt like I was going to hyperventilate any second, my heart was beating at about a hundred miles an hour, and my lungs weren't working right.

"I told you once," Mello said, "You don't need to know." I didn't know what to say. I was so scared… if you haven't been kidnapped before, there's not really any way to explain how it feels. Try to imagine being torn away from everyone and everything you know. It's probably harder than you thought. It's like dead, pure panic, like an icy glove clutching at your heart and freezing all of your internal organs. It's a feeling that will make you wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for breath and drenched in sweat.

It took all of my courage (and I will admit that at the time, that wasn't much), but I whispered, "Yes, I do." I flinched, half expecting him to shoot me, but nothing happened. He turned right, into an alley. I felt ill.

"Hold out your hands," Mello snapped. "With your wrists together." I did as he asked, my heart (if it was possible) speeding up even more. He slipped a pair of plastic handcuffs over them and pulled them tight. He proceeded to also put a pair around my ankles. I was tempted to kick him, but was still in shock. "Keep your hands in your lap," he warned, and then turned back towards the steering wheel and pulled out of the alley.

I blinked away a tear, and once again rested my head against the window. I remember my thoughts right then; I remember them to the letter. Please don't hurt my family. It was all I could think. Please don't hurt Sirocco. I couldn't imagine my little brother being in this position. The thought was paralyzing. I had to get out of here… for him and Amaya and mom and dad and Matt, and everyone else I knew. But I didn't know how to save myself. I had no idea as to what to do. So I closed my eyes against the tears that threatened to spill over my eyes, and concentrated on the cool glass that was pressed against my forehead. I don't know how long Mello drove, but the last thing I remembered before falling asleep was him pulling onto the highway.

Matt's POV

The second I saw my car being driven by Mello, I had a pretty good idea as to what was happening. I knew he used to associate with the Mafia, but I thought he'd managed to worm his way out of that; as much as one could, at any rate. But I was panting and gasping for breath after running after Amaya. Maybe all that crap about smoking affecting your lungs was true. Then again, I'd never been in very good shape. Either way, there was no way I'd be able to run after that car, even for half a block. So I did something a bit different. I walked off in the opposite direction. Enya's mom was the manager of that GameStop. I had to tell her about her daughter. Her beautiful, funny, sharp-tongued daughter… Whoa Matt. Calm down, you don't even know the girl. And it was true, I didn't know her. I'd met her less than three days ago, spoken to her for less than thirty minutes, and ended up getting her kidnapped. She'd probably hate me for the rest of her life.

Oh God… her life… what if he kills her? What if he tortures her? What if he holds her for ransom and starts sending limbs to her parents as proof that he's got her? Without really thinking about it, I started jogging. Then I picked up a run. Before I knew it, I was sprinting. Amaya kept up effortlessly, her paws seemingly sweeping over the pavement.

We managed a full two blocks. About one city block, maybe. Then I tripped and fell. I managed to catch myself before I broke my nose on the cement. But I couldn't run another step. I staggered to my feet and began walking, every panting gasp painful as it entered my lungs. I suddenly longed for a cigarette, but Enya's words kept echoing through my head. "That's disgusting," she'd muttered after she'd seen me smoking. I didn't know why, but I wanted to impress her. So I stayed my left hand (which had been slowly reaching for the pack of cigarettes in my pocket) and kept walking. I wasn't too far off from the store now… It should be right around this corner.

I managed a stumbling run when I saw the familiar store sign up ahead. I prayed that Enya's mom was still there, or at least that boy I'd seen her talking to who I assumed was her younger brother. Someone… anyone. I slowed to a walk and slipped through the door. No point in creating a scene.

Unfortunately, I almost immediately caught the attention of the boy who I assumed to be Enya's brother. "Hey," he said, walking up to me, "Name's Sirocco. That's my sister's dog there." Well, he was a bit odd. But not much more so than I was.

"Matt," I answered. "And I know. Um… hey, is your mom here?" Sirocco responded instantly, slipping away into the crowd as though he was made of quicksilver, and appearing about a minute later with a woman who stood several inches taller than me (damn my height), with dark brown hair and brown eyes. Her skin was a bit pale, like most serious gamers, and she had light purple rings under her eyes, like she didn't sleep well. Not exactly as pretty as her daughter, but I could see where Enya had gotten her figure.

"I'm Mrs. Yale," she said. Her voice held a faint accent that I couldn't quite put a name to, but I wasn't particularly concerned about that right now.

"Mail Jeevas," I replied, "Call me Matt. Um… is there like, a back room or your office or somewhere I could talk to you privately?" She nodded.

"My office will be fine. Why?"

"Um…" I didn't know what to say. "It's about Enya…" I saw something flash in the woman's eyes.

"If you laid a finger on my daughter…" I felt myself blush slightly.

"Mrs. Yale, you've got it wrong… just let me explain…" I could tell that Sirocco was beginning to sense my panic, and I think Mrs. Yale might have too. Either way, she turned without another word and walked off. I followed her, Sirocco walking behind me.

After we'd all assembled in her office (a small, stuffy affair with gray walls and a painting of a vase of flowers) and Sirocco had closed the door, I released Amaya's leash, realizing that I'd been holding on to it like a drowning victim might a lifeline. She trotted over to Sirocco, who absentmindedly stroked her ears. "Where's Enya?" Mrs. Yale snapped.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for whatever explosion might come after my words. "She's been kidnapped."

There was nothing but dead, cold silence.

"Explain this," Mrs. Yale said after a minute. I took a moment to collect my thoughts, and in that time, I felt something change. It wasn't the temperature of the room, like they'll tell you in books, but the feeling. I suddenly felt as though I needed to stand up; start pacing. Or start trying to pull my hair out.

"Mom," Sirocco said, "Should we call dad?" Something in my mind clicked.

"Ma'am," I said before she had a chance to answer, "Where does your husband work?"

"He works with the FBI," she replied hesitantly. "You aren't really supposed to know that, but given the circumstances…" I nodded; everything falling into place.

"Okay," I said, "I'm pretty sure I've got a motive in place." And so, I began to explain.

…

AN: And so ends the second chapter. Please review!