The Runaway Lord!

Lord Jackson Frost was reported missing Friday evening during the Luck estates cotillion. The dance, hosted by Lord and Lady Luck, was filled with various suitors, all hoping to win the hand of the young lord. Yet, anonymous sources divulged that Frost had negative connotations towards marriage. He thought of it as a form of subjugation, which leads ups to the theory that the boy ran off last night to avoid fulfilling his royal responsibilities. Several eyewitnesses said that the last person the boy was seen with was his sister, Lady Toothania. Others say he was socializing with a tall, dark, nameless stranger, who then led him away from the crowd. Though, few witnessed this, and evidence goes to show that it is highly unlikely that Frost was kidnapped. Did he run away, leaving his family distraught, all for the sake of his freedom? The Luck family has refused comment for this article.

A long smile stretched across Pitch's face as he read the article aloud. He lounged in his luxurious armchair idly, a fire roaring in the underground fireplace. The smoky scent had dispersed through the air, making the room smell musty. Pitch's tie had been lazily undone, and his vest unbuttoned. His jacket lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, next to his perfectly aligned shoes. His eyes glittered maliciously over the words on the paper, his happiness uncontainable. The fact that he had accomplished such a feat without any inclination that he had been at the cotillion was simply… delicious. Everything was going exactly to plan, and Pitch was in one of the best moods he had been in in years.

"It's too perfect," he laughed to his henchmen, who stood by the door with pleased expressions.

"We did well Sir," said Simon, "But it's been awhile since the frost boy has awoken. Should we be concerned?"

"No," Pitch waved off, "I will take care of that myself. Let him sleep. I must revel in our success awhile longer. The next phase of the plan will soon be put into action."

Pitch turned around in his chair, folding his paper neatly onto the table. He exhaled contently, before speaking. "Now, you two, return to your posts until I summon you."

The henchmen nodded and swiftly exited, one after the other. Pitch clasped his hands behind his head and sighed. Oh how wonderful it was that everything was going his way. The hard part was over.

Though, something picked irritably at the back of Pitch's thoughts. He tried to ignore it, and attempted to continue reveling in his triumph. But the voice kicked and shouted, demanding to be heard.

The boy. Jack… something about him put off Pitch's joyful accomplishment, and left him feeling confused. While seducing the boy, Pitch had successfully ignored his feelings. Feelings were dangerous for someone with his occupation, and he had learned to push them away for the sake of his job. They only made things more complicated then they needed to be. However, regardless of how troublesome his feelings were, Pitch couldn't deny that they were there, pricking away in the back of his brilliant mind.

The boy was different. Pitch hadn't expected him to be so confident. He had anticipated weak, unsure, and timid. But Jack hadn't been hesitant about his feelings when Pitch had attempted to lure him away. He almost seemed to give in too quickly, for Pitch had thought it would have taken much more convincing. The staff may not have even been necessary. Pitch found the boys assured attitude somewhat refreshing and he couldn't lie in saying, in the heat of the moment, there had been some… connection. Pitch sighed softly as he let his mind wander to the boy's soft, snow white hair that smelled like pine, and his striking blue eyes…

Pitch scoffed at himself, considering the ridiculousness of it all. He would go wake the boy now. Dreams and sleep were his specialty, and he was sure he could coax the boy from his unconsciousness. Of course, Jack would be violent and perhaps slightly crazed when he awoke, but then again they all were. Pitch smirked as he walked towards the door. He decided that Jack would be much more fun to torment then any of his previous captures.

Jack was alone, and he couldn't see. It felt like people were brushing past him, grazing the hairs on his arms and legs, but he couldn't tell if it was just his imagination. Uncontrollable panic arose from within him, spinning into hysteria. Jack began to hyperventilate as he attempted to maneuver through the darkness, holding his hands out in front of him clumsily.

"HELP ME!" He screamed, "I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM! PLEASE HELP ME! PLEASE!"

His panic escalated as the creatures around him began to move faster. He whipped around, trying to find what was brushing past him in the shadows, but he was completely blind. Jack's reasoning was distorted, and his fear was maddening. It clawed at him, eating away at his soul. Jack grabbed his hair, attempting to ground himself. He was there. His body was still a tangible object, but he felt so alone, and so lost. The endless unknown lurked before him, yet he had nowhere to go.

"Please," he whimpered again, feeling tears sliding down his cheeks, his breathing shaky and loud. He crumbled to the floor, hiding his face inside his chest, jumping at every brush of whatever foreign object was out there. He didn't dare look up from his fetal position. He didn't dare face his fears…

Jack awoke, screaming. It was a single, drawn out cry that reverberated off the walls like an alarm. It pierced his own ears, and when he stopped, he could still hear ringing. Jack's chest heaved with desperation, and his eyes were wide, unwilling to blink. Sweat ran down his face, and had pooled on his pillows and sheets. All was quiet. The fear from his nightmare still seemed so real to him, and for a moment, he thought he was still there: still trapped in that infinite cage of darkness with those faceless creatures.

Then, Jack's eyes began to adjust. He saw small flickering candles running down walls, leading up to a grandiose bookcase that took up the entire far wall. A fireplace jutted out from amongst the books in the shelves, but there was no fire roaring in it comfortingly. The room was wide, with no windows, and an incredibly high ceiling. Jack suddenly took notice of the fact that he was, indeed, lying shirtless in a bed. The high posts held up the draping canopies of black cloth running down the sides. The sheets were soft and silky, crumpling in Jack's strangling grasp. Jack was never usually cold, but violent shivers that he could not control ran down his spine.

It was only then that Jack felt a presence beside him. He didn't want to look. The idea that it was the presence in his nightmare, circling him like he was prey, made Jack cry out in fear.

"Hush now," said the deep voice. It startled Jack, and he realized he was no longer in his dream. His gaze shifted to look at whoever was next to him. It was hard to distinguish him from the shadows, but Pitch's eyes could be seen from within the darkness, piercing and golden. Jack gasped, but he was still in too much shock to do anything. Pitch reached out a hand, and began to stroke Jack tenderly, the way a mother would comfort a child. He ran his fingers along Jack's spine, giving Jack something to feel that was real and grounding. Pitch's hands were soft and gentle as they roamed over Jack's bare shoulders and down his arms. Jack's breathing slowly returned to normal, and his eyesight fully adjusted. He could make out Pitch quite clearly now, reveling in the shadowy tint of his skin.

"It was only a bad dream," Pitch murmured, and Jack began to collect himself. He hadn't had a nightmare since he was a kid. After he had fought with his parents, he fell asleep crying, and visions of their death twirled around in his head. When he awoke, his mother was there to hold him as he apologized over and over.

But that was a long time ago…

"W-what am I doing here…?" Jack asked in a timid, yet gravelly tone. He was not home, that much he could see. Pitch continued to rub his back in small circles, and Jack had to admit that the warmth from his palms was nice. Though, he didn't let it show.

"Your body didn't respond well to the chloroform. It took a while for it to recuperate. After you fell asleep, I had my henchmen bring you here. You've been unconscious for 24 hours." He explained.

Jack stopped panting for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise. He turned to pitch, leaning away from his touch at the information. Pitch gently retracted his hand.

"I've been asleep… here? for 24 hours?" Jack restated, "and you… y-you drugged me?"

Pitch smiled, and shrugged like kidnapping was an idle hobby.

"I didn't figure you would come willingly. They seldom do," he responded. Jack's jaw dropped.

"You… you didn't figure I-" he stammered, the words he wanted to say just out of reach. Pitch raised an eyebrow, as if questioning the boy's intelligence. Jack turned red.

"But the time for sleep is over. I suspect you've had enough rest to last you for a while." He continued, pushing himself off the bed. Jack grabbed his forehead with a cool hand, trying to make sense of it all. He had been kidnapped and unconscious for three days…

"Wha… What happened? The dance! My family," he spat out incoherently.

"Done. Gone," Pitch replied simply. Jack heard the words, but had difficulty processing them. He attempted to organize the rampaging questions cavorting through his head recklessly.

"Where am I?" Jack asked finally.

"My underground palace," Pitch explained with an extravagant wave of his arm. "Specifically: my chambers."

"Your chambers?" Jack asked, befuddled, "but… you kidnapped me."

Pitch sighed, as if answering to Jack repetitive statements was the most wearisome thing in the world.

"Yes," he answers languidly, "And?"

"So, why am I not shoved in a dungeon somewhere?" Jack asked suspiciously. Pitch turned to Jack with a scoff, looking amused, yet pleasantly surprised.

"Regardless of how you got here, I like to pride myself on hospitality. I will not have my guests thrown into dungeons. Where the courtesy in that? Unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of thing…"

Pitch turned to give Jack a suggestive look over his shoulder. Jack gritted his teeth, but swallowed hard and looked away. He felt irritation and anger swell inside him.

"Well, normally, when someone takes you for a prisoner, they don't consider hospitality a priority," jack pointed out with a sarcastic tone.

"Well Jack, you'll find I am hardly your average criminal mastermind," Pitch said lightly, "and I find my hostages cooperate much better under more relaxed circumstances."

"Well if you think sleeping in your bed is going to get me to cooperate, you've got another thing coming!" Jack snapped. Pitch didn't respond to this, but Jack assumed he was having a good laugh at the boy. He tightened his grip on the sheets, his knuckles whitening.

"Why?" Jack pressed, switching topics.

"Why what?" Pitch said softly.

"Why kidnap me?"

Pitch turned to face Jack, his hands clasped behind his back in a serious manner, his golden eyes ablaze.

"Ah, now we've reached the real questions," he nodded in approval, "well Jack, there is something I need… something very dear to me. I thought it was lost, and for years I suffered without it. Now, to my delight, it seems to have arisen again. Only, in the wrong hands…"

Pitch snapped his fingers dramatically, and a fire sprung up in the fireplace. Jack rolled his eyes, vaguely reminded of Jamie, and how he loved to show off. The memory brought a sharp pain to his chest. Would he ever see Jamie again? What about his family?

"I needed something to trade it for. Something valuable, and something I wouldn't have too much trouble acquiring. Luckily, my superior had a special request: you." Pitch explained.

"Me?" Jack repeated, aghast.

"I was just as surprised. I wondered what a boy of your age and minimal importance could offer," Pitch admitted. Jack bared his teeth in offense.

"I'm not-"

"Regardless, I followed my orders." Pitch rambled on, ignoring Jack's protests, "and once I make a deal, I never go back on it. Obtaining you was simply a matter of breaching the secure defenses around the estate. Once inside, it was too easy."

Jack's anger slowly morphed into horror as he listened to Pitch boast. His eyes widened and dropped down to his lap. He could feel his cheeks burning, and his entire being filled with self-loathing.

This was his entire fault. Jack had allowed Pitch to lead him away from the watchful eyes of the guests and his guards. Pitch had convinced Jack - seduced him was more like it- to follow him into the shadowy gardens. Jack could've told Pitch he wasn't interested. He should've returned to the party, where people could've kept watch over him. Then none of this would have happened…

Stressed, Jack ran his fingers through his hair, growling in frustration. His family was probably sick with worry at this point, and Jack had no one to blame but himself. He felt ill. Hearing Jack's growl, Pitch gazed at the boy over his shoulder, a lustful haze gleaming in his expression. Jack swallowed hard, trying to maintain a reasonable composure, but it was challenging.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Pitch said with mock sympathy, "I am known to be quite charming when I need to be."

"How did you get in, then?" Jack probed, compelled to drive the blame away from himself. Pitch paused, letting a quietness settle over the room. The snapping fire was homely, and lit up the once dark room with a comforting familiarity. Jack had many fireplaces back at the estate, though his parents never did let him have one in his room. Seeing as Jack was drawn to trouble like bees to honey, they figured that leaving him alone with fire was not the best idea.

"One of your party planners had carelessly tossed out a handful of the invitations to the cotillion," Pitch revealed. "My henchmen discovered them, and brought them back to me. A few touch-ups here and there, and voila! I became Kozmotis Pitchiner: A humble, yet prestigiously rich general."

Pitch gave Jack an analytical look, and Jack returned the stare, feeling a profound sense of… respect. Jack was beginning to realize how clever Pitch was, and how resourceful. It only made him all the more dangerous, but Jack couldn't help but admire him all the same. However, Pitch wasn't finished.

"I knew that, once inside, I would have to convince you to follow me out somehow. I took many precautions: the extravagant gift, my teleportation-"

"That's right!" Jack cried out, "You can teleport! Isn't that supposed to be, I don't know… impossible?"

Pitch's face scrunched in annoyance at being interrupted in the middle of his monologue, but Jack looked much too disturbed with the information for Pitch not to address it.

"I wasn't lying when I said I had been trained in combat. I used to be a general for an army up towards the eastern side. We were small, but powerful. We didn't conquer, only protected. One of the skill sets we had to learn was teleportation through shadows, and it came in quite handy…."

Jack wondered if Pitch was lying; it was so hard to tell, seeing as his aura was always so enigmatic.

"You expect me to believe that you were… a general for an army, and now you're a washed up criminal?" Jack summed up, hinting at his suspicion. Pitch growled.

"Not that it's any of your business, you pesky boy. But yes, I expect you to believe every word, because it's the truth."

Jack crossed his arms, and gave Pitch an appraising look. His feelings about the man were conflicting, but Jack felt like bitterness was a reasonable emotion to fall back on.

"What did this… superior want me for?" he seethed. Pitch shrugged, unbothered by the question.

"I don't like to pry into the business of my betters. I'm smart enough to know that they usually prefer privacy. I merely do my job, get paid, and move on."

"So what, you kidnapped me without any background knowledge?" Jack yelled incredulously, "you call that smart? Don't you want to know the motive behind the work you do?"

"The only motive I need," Pitch snarled, "is payment. Trivial matters such as background knowledge are unimportant. The employer has something I want, and I intend to get it, regardless of what he wishes with the likes of you!"

"Oh really?" Jack retorted, "Then what is it?"

"What?" Pitch snapped.

"The item you're so interested in getting back! What is it?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Like hell it isn't, it's what I'm worth!" Jack argued. "What am I worth Pitch? What are you trading me for?"

Pitch whirled around and approached the bed in long strides. His face was twisted with animosity, and Jack felt that same flicker of fear rise in him before he quelled it.

"How dare you address me like that! Need I remind you who has the upper hand in this situation?" he shouted, "you are intruding on dangerous ground, Jack. I kidnapped you! You should fear me!"

"You don't deserve my fear, Pitch!" Jack snarled in response, "I'm not afraid of you!"

Shockingly enough, Pitch's wild composure distorted and became one that Jack could only describe as terrifyingly evil. The menacing smile that stretched across Pitch's face sent goose bumps running along Jack's skin, and he no longer felt so sure of himself.

"You'll wish you had never said that," he crooned. And before Jack could croak a protest, Pitch reached forward with his long arms and snagged Jack by the throat. Jack, taken aback by the surprise attack, clawed at the hand crushing his windpipe in a panicked manner. His eyes bulged from his head and his breath came in sharp, ragged bursts.

Pitch was much stronger than Jack had anticipated, what with him being so slim. He hoisted Jack up by one hand, and slammed him into the wall to the right of the bed. Jack felt the solid concrete smash into his skull, and his vision began to blur. A streak of pain ran from his temple to the nape of his neck, and he tried to cry out, but no noise from his mouth was audible anymore. Pitch's eyes reflected the lividness from within, and jack could faintly feel fear creeping back into him. The nightmare had left him vulnerable, he realized, because it was no ordinary nightmare. He recognized that Pitch must have manipulated it somehow to make him weaker.

Jack's feeble attempts of attack slowly ceased, and instead he mustered whatever strength he had left to try and pry the hands from his neck. Pitch began to laugh, but there was cruelty in his tone.

"Learn your place, Jackson Frost. And I would suggest you learn it quickly, or the consequences will be severe."

Jack's line of sight began to darken around the edges and he felt weak at the knees. Just when he thought he would surely pass out, Pitch abruptly released him. Jack slid to the floor, a coughing, sputtering, shaking mess. He massaged the raw skin around his neck and skull, still feeling the searing pain running along his temple. Pitch stood there, watching him regain composure and what little dignity he had left. Jack looked up through tear filled eyes, but said nothing.

"Let this be a lesson to you," Pitch continued, "and believe me, I've only scratched the surface. The things I could do to you, Jack…"

Jack used the wall behind him as support, pushing himself into standing, trying to stop his legs from quaking. He refused to meet Pitch's gaze, to which Pitch only chuckled again.

"All in due time I suppose. Perhaps a bit more sleep would do you some good…"

Jack's head snapped up at the idea of more nightmares. Pitch was enjoying watching him squirm, but jack couldn't help it. He had never been more afraid in his life.

"I have more business matters to attend to. I expect to see you out and about at 7 tomorrow morning. We are going to discuss the plan for departure. If you do not do as I say, the nightmares will only get worse. Just some food for thought."

It was then that Pitch gave Jack a bitter smile, before swiftly exiting the room, slamming the door behind him.