10:38 A.M. Seattle, WA, U.S.A
The foursome entered the dimly lit room with caution. Inside they were able to make out the objects decorating it: there was a long metal table stretching from one end of the room to the other. No windows were in this room either, and the only light source was the iridescent white light fixtures from above. Sam tensed at the darkness of the room; it could conceal somebody from her vision if they were to stand far enough back. That way they could jump out unexpectedly. She'd make sure they stood against a wall.
Lorenzo and Peter shuffled in and shut the door behind them with a clang. Freddie gripped her hand tighter at the noise and she had to repress calling him a name of some sort. There'd be enough time to poke fun at him when they were safe and sound away from this mysterious building...if they ever were.
The men sat them at the end of the table—Sam at the very end with Freddie and Carly on her sides and Spencer beside Carly. They twiddled their thumbs nervously while Sam remained motionless and unemotional. These suits could without doubt sense fear and if they so much as batted an eye in front of them, their guard would be down and they might attack. The people could be harmless policemen for all she knew but if she believed that without proof, it'd be a good way to get murdered.
A chair shrilled from the opposite end of the room. The group looked over to where a man was rising from his seat. Just as I thought, Sam thought. The dimness had covered him from their view like she had suspected it would. There could be fifty more people secluded in there, shielded from the eyes of the strangers.
As he stood, they processed his appearance: his hair was a curly blonde and his skin a crispy tan, the result of a much more powerful sun than Seattle's. Piercing blue orbs were two on his face and stubble dotted his chin where a wry smile was placed. A grayish-blue suit was his outfit, complete with an open shirt under. He was much skinnier than those who brought the gang here. No muscles bulged from beneath his sleeves. That didn't mean he wasn't capable of taking down three teens and a less than muscular middle-aged man.
"Good afternoon." he said; his voice was gruff. "I'm confident you don't know why I've brought you all here." Not one of them moved but Freddie could see Sam evaluating the male before them with vision parallel to a hawk's. The man felt Sam's eyes boring into him, and his own cerulean-colored irises stared back with power.
"Why don't you explain to me what happened out there?" he asked, sitting back down in his chair, one leg relaxing over the other. Freddie's gaze met with each of his companions: Carly was shaking uncontrollably, Sam was blank of emotion, and Spencer—who had become suddenly mature—nodded. Freddie knew he meant for him to tell the man what they'd experienced. He took a deep breath and faced the man sitting, who gazed back with the eyes like a kind he recognized all too well.
"Well…" he said, "We were going picnicking when I told him to stop the car…all these people were running and they told us to get down so we did and….this…this explosion happened..." The man straightened at the word, and he glared at Peter and Lorenzo. Freddie was thankful the eyes were off him; he'd begun to believe they could see into his soul.
"Then, it happened very fast," Freddie continued, "We were huddled into the car, and driven here, and…well, here we are." The man bobbed his head, still not returning his stare unto the boy. It was evident he was thinking deeply about the words he'd just heard. Apparently his comrades hadn't alerted him of the appalling sequence that had occurred moments ago, something Freddie couldn't understand. It led him to believe they were frightened of this man and he found he was scooting nearer to Sam for protection.
The man gave a sigh that was a borderline snarl and retracted his eyes from the others. He took a hand and rubbed it over his forehead, mumbling unintelligible words with spite. Freddie gulped his nerves down as the rest stared in frozen shock at the adult, terror and mistrust in their expressions. They knew the explosion was serious but the way he so openly expressed it was made it seem so much more horrific—like if they were to not discuss it, it wouldn't have been real.
Taking his palm off his face, he peered up at the group. His icy-blue eyes sent another chill up their spines after them disappearing for a bit. Slowly he rose from his chair, looking days older, and stared solemnly back at the pale faces. Traces of sorrow and fatigue were spotted in the wrinkles on his forehead and under his eyeballs. Lorenzo and Peter's hands were together on their stomachs but were sliding near their sides where their weapons were waiting to be triggered.
The blonde man walked over from his seat to them. After a deep breath, he spoke: "I understand this has come as a shock. But we cannot let you go, especially…" His blue eyes traveled onto those of Sam's, who froze on the spot. There was something in his pupils, something unknown. They were pained with a trace of thanks and compassion. He knew something about her. Somehow she felt a connection to him too but she wasn't about to grill him relentlessly until an answer was put forth, even if she had the desire to ask.
"You all have become a part of this," he continued, not finishing his other sentence, "Whether you like it or not, we need your help. Everything will be explained soon. Lorenzo!" He turned away to the men, who were standing at attention. "Take them away. You'll go with the boy. Peter, with the girl. And, uh…Don—you go with the man. The rest of you clear out while I talk to the other." It seemed to happen quite quickly as Lorenzo, Peter, and a redheaded—but not any less built—Don carried Freddie, Spencer, and Carly away out the door; they peeked over their shoulders at her, shaking somewhat as they were lead away. The rest of the suited people left so that Sam was the sole occupant to the room with the man. Instinctively her hands clenched and her feet untangled from their crossed positioning. One hand inched near to her pocket, where she too kept a weapon. She never used it for evil, though; it was an emergency weapon, in case someone jumped her in the night and sometimes when she needed to pick a lock in secret. If Carly or Freddie knew of it, they'd be more determined about therapy.
His footsteps echoed across the dark room, annoying little taps every other second. His eyes were on the floor and his teeth were biting at his lip. You could feel the tension radiating off of him with a pulsating power. Sam's nerves were on edge as well but when it came to the flight or fight response, it was clear which a Puckett would chose.
"I'm sure you weren't expecting to end up here." whispered the man, facing her. She shrugged coolly, making him smile in an almost proud way, something confusing. He sat beside her in one of the metallic chairs and she could feel her legs loosen for her to get away when ready. "Please don't be afraid," he continued, stretching an arm out to her. She didn't take his hand or move any nearer; instead she went on with her cold, indifferent stare. His eyes were pleading with her, asking her to listen to him. She would want nothing better than to punch him in that fat nose of his—hopefully she'd get her chance in the end.
"I really didn't want this to be how you met me," he said, shaking his head. "I mean, I knew I wouldn't be greeted with balloons and cheers but I was hoping you wouldn't hate—or distrust—me from the start."
"Who're you and what do you want from us?" Sam spat, finally breaking her silence. She was sick of his beating around the bush; they were in a frickin' underground conference room, for crying out loud. She wanted an answer out of him and wanted it then so she could assess the situation and get the heck out. He licked his lips, the tension becoming fiercer, and folded his palms.
"I don't want you," he said, "but I need you. Sam, it's very impor—"
"Whoa, hold it, margarine-head." she said, squeezing her eyelids shut, "How do you know my name?" His pupils sparkled ominously.
"I know things about you, Samantha Joy Puckett, not even you could know." he said. A chill went up Sam's back and she was hundred-percent done. All she wanted that day was to eat a ham sandwich, torment Freddie, and fall asleep on the plaid picnic blanket. The fact she was in a meeting room amidst a creep with gelled hair after a supposed bomb attack as an alternative, if truth be told, ticked her off bad. She stood up from her seat, glaring with the angry force of an army of hating men.
"Get away from me, you lunatic!" she shouted, "I didn't want any of this crud! Stop stalking us and let us be! I promise you, on my mother's life, that I will slit your neck if you take one step near me!" The man too stood but he didn't take a step closer, probably because he knew it wasn't a bluff. However, his eyes did stab at hers with passionate fury resembling her own.
"This circumstance is a grave one, Sam." he said, "You're dubious—understandable. But you can't just throw a temper tantrum and run out." Sam's face flushed at this accusation and her fists shook heatedly, a strong sign she was about to deliver a right-hook.
"You can't accuse me like that!" she yelled, "I was dragged here against my will with no information about what the heck just happened, so I have every right to throw a tantrum! But I must say if you think this is bad, you ain't seen anything yet, buddy! And where do you get off saying you know things about me? You're a frickin' weirdo with a mental issue who's interested in terrifying kids!" The man didn't reply to her so the sudden quiet following her flare-up was unsettling. For awhile he just stared straight back at Sam, unmoving. His chest heaved up and down continuously, his heart beating fast. She could sense the impatience he had and that he was holding back for whatever reason. Excruciatingly silent minutes passed 'til his mouth moved to form words.
"If I frightened you, I apologize." he mumbled, "It is terrifying, this that's happening. I also understand your caginess towards me but you have to learn I'm not some madcap man with a chainsaw. I'm someone you can trust, Sam. I'm Vincent Highlander and I was married to Pamela Puckett."
A train crashing into her face would've been less shocking than this.
Her mother had had numerous boyfriends in her forty years of existence—and most were off their rockers—but it had been told by her to Sam and her sister she'd only married one man. There was a nasty situation and a divorce was filed but that was it. Melanie and Sam concluded a fight over bills or children had occurred. Sam, being the innovative one, presumed her father was an alcoholic of some sort with no job. As the ambiguity wore on Sam had thought up some disgustingly vicious theories about the breakup. Melanie's stomach twisted every time a new idea was created, which almost always ended with her crying or puking her discomfort out. Pam had never told Sam she was right nor tell her she was wrong. All they knew was that they'd never met their father and didn't want to.
It was hard to accept the notion this man before her was a relative. Her mother was edging upwards to fifty-years-young and this guy appeared only thirty-something. It was impossible he would've had any type of romance with her mom, someone much older. Nonetheless, he bore a daunting semblance to the Puckett twins: his hair was a curly blonde with traces of a darker shade, his attitude of impatience with the ability to remain calm was a mixing of the two girls' personalities, and those eyes…they were electric blue, popping against his skin, holding the same powerful gaze hers had when she was feeling fervent emotions of any kind. They were no doubt the same inside of her head. There was enough (too much) evidence to prove they did in fact share the same blood.
Sam's sense of truth was stifled by her dread of being this man's daughter. Her father was never there for her and then all of a sudden he came up by suits with guns aimed for their heads. She was never good in pressure situations at all, having been trained since birth that staying coolheaded gets you nowhere. The red-hot blood coursed through her veins with pulsing power and her feet were shaking with the urge to run.
As Vincent moved near her, her hand went to her pocket and withdrew the glistening blade. Faster than the blink of an eye she lunged the knife at him; a scream of pain sounded and redness seeped through the gray cloth of his suit. It wasn't deep enough for hospitalization, she knew, but stinging enough for a good distraction. Knife in hand, she escaped from the room at a speedy pace.
It didn't take long for everything to explode.
Not in the literal sense like hitherto, although it was as volatile as the earlier instance. The suited men and women abandoned their tasks to chase her down. Her sneakers smacked against the metal floor, squealing as if in pain. If Sam could she'd ditch them so they couldn't trail her but stopping was a no-no when being pursued. Her blade was still clenched in her hand, droplets of scarlet flying off. It nearly made her sick to see the blood—the blood of her heritage—dripping off it. She'd never used it to slice any flesh. Her intention was to use it for that in case of an emergency but the only "emergencies" it had qualified for were picking locks. She kept cringing when she thought she heard metallic clicking behind her; no bullets penetrated her body but if she looked over her shoulder she'd slow down...put two and two together, and she's back with that crackpot guy.
Sam rounded a corner and slammed against the wall, holding her much needed breath in. They ran straight past her in pursuit of someone not there. After counting back from ten, she panted, swallowing the air hungrily. She'd been chased by cops, bullies, and even a dog or two but this was different—this made her heart pound, her vision blur, and her lunch come upstairs. This was a real thing, a real problem. It was her aspiration to blend in with life, do as she wished without trouble (or at least a small amount). That was crushed into the dust by the shoe of some cruel god.
"Sam!" a harried voice gasped, "Sam!" He was exhausted, the speaker, and young. Curiosity overcame her good sense and she peeked behind to see Freddie sprinting down the hallway. Apparently Lorenzo had disposed of him in the hunt for her, and he too attempted a getaway. The Shay siblings were not in sight but Sam just subconsciously prayed for their wellbeing as she stepped out from her hiding spot. She gestured for Freddie to look and spot her. As he changed direction her way, something zipped into the back of his neck. He gagged and shuddered before his eyes rolled into the back of his head, the red veins showing, and his body collapsed. Sam had no time to react to the ghastly happening before another zip came and she was thrust into black.
It took the dark from behind his eyelids a few seconds to disperse before Freddie could make out where he had ended up. The room was pure white, and again with no windows. Around him was nothing but a TV on the wall and a bed with a girl—unconscious—laying atop it. It didn't take a genius to realize she was Sam. She was so at peace in her reluctant slumber. However, evaluating her sleeping loveliness wasn't a main priority. He investigated the rest of the bare room: he was lying on a bed also, white sheets tucked tight under his body. It was uncomfortable in the taut position; he tried wriggling out, to no avail. His legs were very heavy and pulling them up was not an option. Maybe they're still rather paralyzed from that tranquilizer dart, he mused. Freddie had concluded one of the men nearby had used a tranquilizer to prevent the two teens from escaping.
Again he searched around the room in hopes something of interest would pop up but it stayed the same as when he first blurrily blinked his eyes open. Bored, he began to ponder what his next move would be. He had been being led away somewhere with the tanned hands of Lorenzo squeezing his arms. Carly and Spencer were in front, also being taken elsewhere. He wasn't sure why Sam was chosen to stay or why they were being taken to separate rooms. Right then, all he could imagine was being shot and thrown into a dark chamber for no one to see him writhe or hear him scream.
Man, he needed to stop reading those spy thrillers.
His panicked thoughts were infiltrated by the yell of a man and wail of tennis shoes scraping linoleum. Soon enough Sam, blonde hair flying behind her, was seen racing down a hall. There was a suspicious object in her hand that appeared red but he demanded that his brain not think the word that the crimson surely was. When the man ditched him to get her, he took the chance to race after them. Both—along with others in between them—disappeared around a corner. Worriedly, he shouted out her name to see if she was caught. It was stupid, for she appeared, and they were both shot with darts, which ended up with the two partially paralyzed in a white hospital-like room.
The squeak of a door opening made him tense, and Freddie shut his eyes as not to seem awake. He did squint to see who had arrived and what they were doing, but the ridges of darkness around his eyesight made it tricky. He was able to make out the blonde man they'd met earlier with a lady dressed as a nurse following. They went first to Sam; upon finding her still unconscious (and alive, after a concerned checking of her pulse) they went to him. He closed his eyes completely, trying to steady his anxious breathing. Ice-cold fingers touched his wrist, and he gave an involuntary quiver.
"They're still knocked out." said a female voice.
"Hmm" was the man's response. His unsure tone made sweat begin to form on Freddie's brow. Looking asleep became increasingly harder with the suspense of the man's next words. He could feel the piercing blue eyes staring at his closed brown ones with brooding concentration. He resisted the urge to peek but it made his body tingle with anticipation.
"Mr. Highlander, what're you doing?" said the nurse. Her sudden outburst made Freddie freeze; what was the man—Mr. Highlander—going to do?
"We should put the tape in." he said in a calm manner, as though the distressed pitch with which she spoke didn't affect him.
"But they're asleep, sir." she said, "It'd be a waste of time to play it when they can't see—"
"Why don't we give it a shot, Margie?" Highlander replied quickly. The woman didn't speak again and Freddie was left waiting for her to do something until the door was heard shutting. Movement in front of him led the boy to quench his thirst for awareness, and he opened an eye: Highlander was inserting the VHS in the television set. After a moment of whizzes and button-pressing, he left the tape alone and departed too, but not without stealing a glance at the kids in bed.
Once the door closed again, Freddie opened both eyes to gaze at the screen of the TV. On it was a large, triangular building of a sort. It was centered in the midst of endless dunes of sand that were blown around by the hot breeze. Bright blue was the shade of the sky, and the twinkling sun reflected off the camera with a glare. It didn't take him long to recognize the building as an Egyptian pyramid. In front of it was a majestic animal, erected of the same aged bricks and cement of the tomb. It laid on its stomach and watched over the tourists and workers shuffling about with its human-like eyes. Freddie had seen this scene in many history books whilst studying ancient Egypt—this was the sphinx guarding King Tut's grave. It confused him why Highlander played a video with that on it. That is, until it happened.
In one swift second, the head of the sphinx was enveloped in smoke and a mushrooming cloud. Screams were heard softly sounding in the background as bits of thousand-year-old brick flew everywhere. The camera recording shook so much from the artificial earthquake that the scene was a haze of beige and blue. The clatter of crumbling rock was the only distinguishable thing from the video 'til it changed to the view of a woman in front of the rubble of a once famous monument. Holding a microphone to her lips, she spoke in an authorative manner "Marie Miyazawa reporting from Egypt. Moments ago the well-known shrine of Egyptian ruler Tutankhamun was blown to pieces by a mysterious explosion. Numerous individuals came vacationing here before the end of summer when the detonation occurred. Around ten were injured but none killed. Officials are investigating the ruins for anything that may've caused the explosion." The screen switched to a picture of Marie standing nearer to the rubble (actually on top of it) with a slim, African man in flannel clothing.
"I'm here with Abubakar Ibrahim, a worker here." Marie said. She turned to face the man and asked "What have you and your crew found?"
In a thick accent, Ibrahim responded "We're still looking through the rubble for anything but we've found some small metal pieces along with wires. We're guessing it was a bomb that dismantled in the explosion." All of a sudden, the bright scene of Egypt changed to a dark room much like the one they'd been in earlier. Sitting there was the same man from previously too. Freddie thought he looked much more menacing from the camera's angle, it catching the shadows under his eyes so he looked quite ferocious.
"Abubakar Ibrahim and his team were able to scrounge up a large amount of metal scraps at the site," he said, clearly and slowly, "They sent it to the American Embassy to scrutinize it. With careful precision, we were able to reconstruct it and found it was originally a detonator that latched onto the surface of the sphinx. A terrorist attack upon the country of Egypt made headlines in almost every country but ours. Why?" He leaned forward in his chair, his nose inching close to the lens. "Because secrecy is a key factor to surviving. If we made it big news, we'd be a likely target. So we laid low. Months later, everything was calm again…until another bombing occurred in Russia's Red Square. Again America kept its lips zipped about the incidence. So far, you either think we're idiots or evil." Freddie shivered at the words, for that was exactly what he was thinking.
The man leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. "It's been going on for awhile and we here have been working since the sphinx attack to find these people and make them pay. Considering they are bombing more than one country, we've hypothesized they're out for more than revenge. Possibly world domination. If you're watching this, you're bewildered, I can tell. But you have to understand that you're with her—or are her—so you're in this. If you're a comrade, get ready to serve your fellow man. We'll explain more later and give you your vital supplies. If you're the one…" His eyes misted over and he looked away from the camera, appearing—for the first time—like a human being and not a robot. "Well, then…" he said with a sigh, "Good luck." At that sentence, the TV faded black.
Whoa, long one! LOL It's a relief to get this chap off my chest. It takes me awhile because I have to rewrite it originally in case I want to make it an original work. Anyway, please review so I can hear your feedback.