Ack. It's been over two years since I started this thing and it still isn't finished. I always meant to get back to it, and I loved it when someone new would find my stories, go through, and write reviews on all of them, but somehow I just never got around to that. I'm sorry for that, and thank you so much to everyone and anyone who has left me reviews, asked me to finish this, or favourited me or my stories. I'm not really sure where this is going, or how the case will be solved, but I figure I should at least give another chapter and work on figuring it out instead of just ignoring it because I don't want to think. I'll post as I get it figured out, and I'll try to do that quickly. :)
So, to everyone who's followed my work – sorry for the long pauses and thank you so much for your comments and encouragement. I really have appreciated them, even if I've not given any indication of that by writing more.
Chapter 10
Yawning, I rolled over in bed, opening my eyes and then blinking them shut again against the bright light that streamed in through the window. The sunshine was lovely, warming my skin and, as I opened my eyes again, more slowly this time, illuminating the room quite beautifully. Dust motes danced in the air, shimmering in the morning sunlight, and the birds chirped outside, their cheerful songs drifting in through the cracked-open window. I smiled, stretching out to my full length, palms pressed against the headboard as I arched my back, enjoying the feeling.
I felt wonderful. It had only been a week and a half since I had started training, but already I could feel the difference. I didn't know that was even possible. Wasn't it supposed to take a while? Apparently not – I could already feel strength in my body that hadn't been there before, my pants were fitting more loosely as I slimmed down, and my face had lost a little bit of its roundness. I wasn't looking like an Olympic athlete or anything, and wouldn't be looking like that for quite a while, but at least I could run a mile without wanting to throw up, curl up into a ball, and die.
I'd adjusted to the food, and, while part of me missed things that actually tasted good, I could deal with this. Plus, as I said, my body felt better than it ever has for as long as I can remember – it might actually be worth the fact that everything I ate tasted like cardboard.
Today I felt better than ever before. Yesterday I'd kept pace with Dillon for the first two miles of our run before he had to slow down a bit, I'd shot an entire clip of bullets within the first two rings on the target, and I'd just had the best night's sleep I'd had in…my thoughts froze, horror filling me. In a week and a half.
I rolled back over, bolting upright as I looked over at my alarm clock. 9:47 AM. What?! How…why…? This was bad! Something was wrong. I hadn't slept past five AM since starting training. Once, a few nights ago, I'd slept in, automatically hitting the snooze button, but Dillon had still gotten me up.
This morning, though, was clearly different. There'd been no Dillon wake up call, no knock on the door, no one yanking the blanket off of me and dumping ice water on me when I failed to wake up. Which was bad. It meant Dillon hadn't been around to wake me up. It meant, simply put, that something was wrong. Dillon was gone? Hurt? Dead?
It was like someone had poured icy water down my throat – my stomach felt frozen, shivers running up my spine at the thought of someone hurting my teacher. Oh, sure, I whined about him and had more bad nicknames for him than most people had for all of their enemies combined, but I really did like the guy. He was training me, despite the hassle to him, and he always knew whether I needed to be teased and goaded into working out or if compliments and encouragements would work better. Despite the fact that he'd taken away all that I love in the world (peanut butter, chocolate, and sleep were rating pretty high up there right now) I didn't want him being hurt, no matter what I muttered under my breath as we trained.
I got out of bed, about to run to the door and then pausing, Dillon's words sounding in my head - "don't just let your passion rule you. You're smart, Stephanie, and you've got good instincts. But you're not going to help anyone if you run into situations without being prepared. Better to slow down a little, make sure you can handle what you're headed towards, and then go in, than be too hasty and end up getting everyone killed." Right. Better to take things slow, make sure I was ready, and then go. I was hoping that whatever had happened to Dillon was just a result of him having been asleep at the moment. If he'd been fully alert and fighting back and had still been incapacitated, I didn't stand a chance. I was good, yes, and getting better with every day. But better than Dillon? No – I wasn't even equal to him. I was a fast learner, and (maybe this was a bit overconfident but oh well – I was feeling good about my training so far) might get to the point where I could match him, someday, but I wasn't even close. Not yet. Not now.
I dressed quickly, even pulling on my shoes – if I had to kick someone, a booted foot was going to hurt a lot more than a bare one – and then grabbed my gun, checking that it was fully loaded before slipping it into the holster that Dillon had started me wearing about a week before whenever I wasn't sleeping. As he'd said I would be, I was now completely used to it, and the weight of my weapon on my hip felt natural, even a little comforting, rather than awkward and strange as it had at first. I walked to the door, and then paused once more. Why was my gun holstered? That wasn't going to help at all. I pulled it out, removing the safety, and then walked out the door, beginning my hunt through the house to find who or what had hurt Dillon. I went upstairs first, heading for his room. Part of me still clung to the frail hope that he might be sleeping. Maybe the power had gone out during the night, or something, and knocked out his alarm clock. I knew that wasn't it (he'd told me he woke up at four-thirty on his own every day and no longer had an alarm) but…oh well. I'd rather look around than accept that my mentor was dead and someone dangerous was in the house.
I reached his room, my breathing picking up speed a tiny bit. He may have made me stronger physically and intellectually, but he'd not dealt with my emotions. Right now I was getting a bit nervous. Or…ok. Fine. A lot nervous. Did I really want to walk into the room? What if he was laying in bed, dead and bloody? What if his assailant was still in there? What if…? I stopped myself. Ok. Time to get a grip. Hand shaking just a little, I reached for the door handle. I gripped it, not quite turning it yet, and then took one more deep breath, trying to convince myself that I was prepared for whatever I might find behind the door, and then I turned the handle, swung the door open, and stepped inside.
Wow…anticlimactic, much? There was nothing here: no dead body, no sleeping Dillon, no crazy ninja killer leaping out to slay me. Just slightly rumpled sheets, a jacket thrown over a chair, and the same happy-bird sounds coming through his window as had come through mine. Ooo. Sinister. Terrifying. I rolled my eyes at myself, turned to leave, and then shrieked, adrenaline shooting into my veins as I leapt back and away from the man who now stood before me.
A/N: There you go. :) I think I have the next chapter planned out, as well, so I should get it up soon. I think she sounds a little un-Stephanie-ish but that's because I've been writing only with my own characters for the past year and not with her. Theoretically I'll figure her out again. Until then…enjoy this oddly different Stephanie, I suppose. ;)