(5/6/13 edit: Ok. Somehow I screwed up chapters 5-7. In the process of fixing them, I misplaced [if that's the word to use] the author's notes at the beginning and end of this chapter. So, i have no idea what went here. Heh heh... sorry 'bout that.)
Kim's POV
So, the aftermath of our day off pretty much went like this:
I called Rudy and the guys.
Together, we managed to push the large object (which turned out to be a HUGE rock, and made me wonder how the man had been able to move the rock there in the first place) out of the way and free Jack.
We took him to the hospital as he held his wrist close to his chest and brooded over the fact that he had let three people catch him off guard. I repeatedly tried (and failed) to convince him that it could have happened to anybody.
Jack refused to call the police, stating that "Revenge is a dish best served cold." I'm not sure what that had to do with calling the police, but we didn't.
We waited about an hour in the waiting room. Everyone except Jack had to hold in laughter when he silently pleaded for us to help him as an old man next to him talked and talked and talked and talked and TALKED about random things like his naggy wife, politics, and the B.O.R.E.D. (Banging Order of Really Exceptional Dudes. They apparently thought that the words 'banging' and 'dudes' were cool.), as if Jack actually gave a crap about what he was saying.
The doctor bought Jack's simple explanation of how he got the injury ("I was chasing one of my friends at the amusement park when I tripped over a rock and landed wrong when I fell onto the ground."). After an x-ray, she confirmed that Jack's wrist was indeed broken. She took Jack into a room, and he later came back out with a light blue cast. (A/N: Do they make them that color? I've only ever seen green, pink, and white ones.) She told Jack to lay off karate for a while.
He, of course, got upset over that. No one else but me was able to really tell, though. He cleverly masked his real emotions behind a small disheartened smile and one of his normal, cheeky remarks. But I could see through it. I've known Jack for about a year now. Over the course of that year, I was the one that hung around him the most. So, I learned that karate is like Jack's other half. He needs karate. If he's put in a situation where something's getting in the way of him and karate, he will do everything he has to get past that obstacle. He proved that when he didn't let his injured leg stop him from getting that belt in the first competition he was in for the Wasabi Warriors. But being told he couldn't do it for this long of an amount of time, seven freaking weeks…
…hopefully he won't go nuts.
As I sit on the couch in my living room and turn on the TV to the evening news, I wonder what my best friend is doing right now.
Jack's POV
"Are you sure? I book a flight right now if you need me to—"
"Mom. I'm fine. I can deal with a broken wrist." For the past half hour, I had been trying to convince my mother that she didn't need to come back home from Spain just because I broke my wrist.
"Mmmm… okay. Love you."
"Love you too."
"Bye."
"Bye."
What to do now…
…
This kinda sucks.
…
This really sucks. I'm sitting here, with nothing to do, and I have a broken wrist to top it off. It's too late to go to a friend's house, leaving me here drowning in boredom. 'Maybe there's something good on TV' I think. I unconsciously move my injured hand to where the remote is lying, attempting to pick it up. I end up pushing it off the couch instead. I growl in frustration.
Dealing with this injury is gonna be harder than I thought.
Grandpa had… kinda trained me for if this sort of thing were to happen. Getting a cast means that there is a little more weight than you're normally used to on that limb. It messes up your balance. He put me through all sorts of exercises that helped me restore my balance if this were to happen. Which it did.
So yeah. I can still do karate perfectly fine. It's the normal things like picking up a remote that he didn't prepare me for, which I actually find kind of ironic.
'I bet you're in heaven laughing at my expense right now, grandpa' I think, looking upwards. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear that I faintly heard his old laughter bouncing off the walls.
I give up on watching TV as I remember my new laptop that I won, sitting in its box on the floor next to the front door. The guitar is on the floor next to it. Rudy had gone and redeemed them for me after he dropped me off at home. I go over and bring the two items to the couch. First, I get out the guitar. The body is a deep, almost dark blue color, and fades into a ceruleanish color by the time it gets to the soundboard. The pickguard is a blue so dark it's practically black, and it has a design that makes it look like rippling water. (A/N: I actually had to look up "parts of an acoustic guitar" to be able to make this description. For those of you that aren't guitar-savvy like some people are, there's a link under the basic info about me on my profile. Scroll down the web page (when you click on the link) and you should see two diagrams of a guitar. It's the top one (acoustic) you wanna look at; you just have to imagine the colors.) It looks exactly like my old guitar.
The one that I played with my dad before he got drafted.
I remember the days clearly. My dad had a brown, acoustic guitar; the most common one you're gonna see out there. He named it Amber, after a golden retriever dog he had when he was younger. Almost every night, my mom, my dad, and I would go outside into the backyard and watch the sunset, and most times dad would bring his guitar outside and play something. We never sang, just listened to the guitar and watched the beautiful colors play themselves out. On my tenth birthday, my dad got me my own guitar. Over the course of six months, he taught me how to play. After that, we would always bring our guitars out together. When he died, mom and I tried continue the tradition. But the number of missed days between one time we went out and the next just grew and grew until we eventually just stopped doing it all together. When we moved here, to Seaford, I left my guitar with Chris.
Amber currently lives in a secret compartment in my closet, safe in sound in an air-tight glass case.
I hold the guitar, the hours of practice time that I spent with my dad finally coming back to me. I reach over and get the light blue pick out of the guitar's box. I search my mind and sift through the different songs that I have learned, until I finally decided on a familiar one. After a moment's hesitation, I start to play. The melody of Lean on Me by Bill Withers flows out from the instrument. A memory surfaces, and it suddenly feels like my dad is right there next to me, adding the occasional strum.
I finish the song. I sit there in silence for a few moments, before I suddenly hear a sound coming from the kitchen. It sounded like someone was pulling back a chair. My mind flashes back two about two weeks about, to that dark night in the dojo…
I'm not taking any chances.
I quietly tiptoe over to the metal bo staff that Rudy gave me as an apology for taking the one that I got from the Black Dragons; I keep it behind the front door. I softly step over to the entryway of the kitchen. I stop just behind the wall and count off to myself. 'Three… two… one!' I whip around, poised to strike anything that moves with my bo staff.
A blonde head looks up as my mouth drops open in shock at the sight before me.
Kai…
Sitting at the kitchen table…
EATING. A FREAKING. SANDWICH.
It's not that I'm surprised that he's doing something normal. After all, humans have to eat. It's really the fact that he broke into a house just to do something that he could have done at his own house. I can hardly even process it.
"Oh, hey Jack," he says nonchalantly. Internally, I'm a bit annoyed that he's so cool about this.
"…"
"By the way, that little number you did on your guitar? Awesome."
"… you BROKE INTO my HOUSE to make A FREAKING SANDWICH?!"
"Oh, yeah. About that." He points at the sandwich. "Where does your mom buy this cheese? It tastes amazing."
I swear my eye just twitched.
"ANYway," he says, finishing the sandwich and standing up. "We have business to do."
"'Business'?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Yup." He smirks, and I suddenly hear a rustling behind me, and my reflexes react just in time to duck away from the baseball bat that was aimed at my head. I roll out of the kitchen and into the living room and get into a defensive stance, brandishing the bo staff. Kai advances towards me, but Frank hesitates. After a moments hesitation, he silently sighs and mouths a 'Sorry' in my direction. I puzzle over it; could it be that he didn't want to do this?
My cocky side brushes away the confusion as I smirk, making the universal 'bring it on' gesture. Ten minutes later, Frank and Kai are down and out for the count, but I'm not sure how long they'll stay that way.
I run over to the home phone, forgetting that my cell is in my pocket. As much as I don't want to get the police involved, and as much as I know that the Black Dragons and Kai hate me, attacking me at my own house and breaking my wrist has just gone too far.
I dial 911, biting my lip as I hear one of them groan.
No POV
(A/N: Don't blame me if any of this police info is wrong, cause I have no idea if there are any subcategories of policemen or what kinds go out into the field and whatnot, so… yeah)
Deputy Neal Scott sighs as he plops down into a chair. He was sooo tired after a long car chase and an even longer foot pursuit. He puts on a tired smile; at least it's the end of the day.
Or so he thought.
But then the phone rings. He sighs. Another emergency. Hopefully it's minor.
"Seaford Police Department, how may I help you?"
"Uh, there's these two guys that broke into my house and tried to attack me. Well, they did attack me, but I know karate so I managed to take them down."
Neal smiles, thinking that this will just be an easy pickup. He's also glad about how calm the young man is being, despite the fact that he's panting slightly; probably from the fight with the two guys. "Ok, do you know these two guys?"
"Yeah. Frank Jones and Kai Masterson (A/N: I made Kai Jack's maternal cousin, so they won't have the same last name.)"
"Ok, thank you for staying calm. Now I'm gonna need you to answer some questions for me, alright?" The policeman wasn't sure if it was just his ears, but he could have sworn he heard a groan in the background.
"Sure." Neal also couldn't help but notice a small hint of panic and nervousness bloom in the boy's voice.
"What is your name?"
"Jack Anderson."
"Was there anyone with you at the time of the attack?"
"No. My mom is in Spain and my dad… he's dead." The officer felt a small pang of pity for the boy, having lost his own father at age five.
"Ok, where is your location?"
"454 HillrOMMM!" Neal unconsciously yanks the phone away from his ear as Jack's calm-slightly-panicked tone suddenly turns completely panicked and muffled.
"Thought you could get rid of us that easily, huh?" the policeman hears a sinister voice say in the background of the phone. He also hears Jack making more muffled sounds, and a series of thumps.
The sounds of a struggle.
"Jack, stop struggling. You're just making it worse for yourself!" another male voice pleads.
"OW! You freaking bit me!" the dark voice exclaims.
"HILLROSE AVENUE!" Jack's voice yells. "WE'RE AT 454 HILLROSE AVE—"
There's a loud thump, and then silence.
"Bye-bye, ," the dark voice says. The call ends.
Neal stares at the phone for a few seconds, before pressing the button of the radio (A/N: Is that what it is? IDK) on his shoulder.
"Units 586 and 912, we have a potential kidnapping on 454 Hillrose Avenue. I repeat, units 586 and 912, we have a potential kidnapping on 454 Hillrose Avenue."
