A/N: So, what happens when you get a call at 8:30 in the morning on a Friday, and it's your Father, telling you it's your grandfather's 75th birthday and asking what time you can be ready to be picked up at (which wasn't until 9:30pm)? You get dragged 4 hours away for a tasteless (my is like super diabetic so there is no sugar or salt in his house), music-less, friend-less, computer-less, homework-less (yay!), and writing-less (boo) weekend. Then, when I was returned last night, I hung out, watched the VMAs, and painted my nails, so not having an update down at that point was no one's fault but my own, but I'm back now! Mostly because I don't want to do homework, but who really cares why? :P!
Chapter Eleven:
As Brittany cheerfully chatted away at the door, she remained oblivious to the fact that Mr. Sanders wasn't listening to a word she said about her last math test. Instead, he kept his eyes focused firmly over her head, his gaze making long, careful sweeps around the inside of her house in search of something- someone, Santana. Mr. Rich clicked mute on the television and rose from his easy chair, making his way over to the front door to greet their guests with a wide smile. He took the door from his daughter and stood in her place, offering Mr. Sanders a stiff handshake as he welcomed teacher and wife into his home with a grand swooping gesture of his arm.
That was it. Santana cursed. She was dead. Dead. They were all dead. Nobody would find their bodies for weeks. And it was all her fault.
Santana wanted to either scream or cry, and to demand to know how they could all be so stupid as Mr. Rich led Mr. Sanders and Lisa into the living room. She loved them like her own family, but, really, how could they just let these psychos into their home without batting an eyelash? Couldn't they see? They had a gun for crying out loud! Her mouth dropped open silently as she shook her head. Turning panicked eyes to Maggie, she pressed herself further into the corner of the back porch, hoping to god that she would pass unnoticed, but all the while completely aware that that would be just too much to ask for. She had to get away, for her own sake, and theirs. How could she have been so selfish?
"Please," she begged quietly, her voice hardly above a whisper. She didn't dare even glance away from Maggie, fearing that even the slightest movement or sound would give her away, and then that would be it for all of them. "Please," she repeated urgently, "don't let them know that I'm here."
Maggie was about to laugh again and insist that Santana stop being ridiculous and come inside before she froze to death, but found herself stopping short. For the first time since she arrived, Maggie truly looked over the girl who had become so familiar at her house that she was like her own wild, rebellious, strong-willed, nothing like her other three, fourth daughter sometimes. Santana's usually well composed face was pale and ashen, gone was the apathetic countenance she had adopted recently, and back was the child she had watched grow up. Her eyes were wide and terrified, lip and chin trembling threatening, her chest heaving-a mirror image of the little girl who had cried in the middle of the night because she missed her mommy the first night she slept over in fourth grade.
As Santana literally begged for her to believe in what she was saying, Maggie felt herself nodding before she even comprehended the situation. If any of her three biological daughters had asked for her indisputable trust, while being so obviously terrified, she would have given it to them without a single thought, and she would do the same for Santana.
Maggie nodded again, this time more surely, and gave Santana a thin smile, tilting her head in the direction of the old couch they kept against the wall. Santana followed the gesture, but shook her head, confused. "Go," she mouthed, tilting her head again. Santana didn't move. Glancing quickly back into the house, she noted that Richard and Brittany were keeping their two guests entertained for the moment in the living room. Covering the space separating herself from Santana, she took the teenager by her shoulder and turned her towards the old couch, pressing her towards the gap between the couch and the back wall. "Stay here," she ordered quietly, Santana nodded.
Crouched in the corner, and doing her best to stay as small and out of sight as possible, Santana listened to Maggie pick up a random box and make her exaggerated entrance back into the kitchen, loudly greeting Mr. Sanders and drawing as much attention to herself as possible. Santana would've normally at least smiled at the sentiment, but then she thought about how Maggie, Mr. Rich, and Brittany are all standing around and talking with a psychopathic kidnapped-slash-killer, all because she led the said psychopathic kidnapper-slash-killer to their house because she panicked and didn't know how to mind her own damn business and hadn't been gracefully enough to make a clean get away when she couldn't. She ran over her options in her head, contemplating her best plan of action for a clean get away while making sure Brittany and her folks were kept out of any unnecessary harm. Half-listening to the light conversation in the kitchen, she practically gagged on the genuine praise Maggie was giving Mr. Sanders for helping tutor Brittany in math. Forget that Santana had secretly been doing her homework for two months.
When Maggie stepped back into the kitchen, she dropped the box onto the dining room table with a loud clatter, smiling when four faces turned to suddenly look her way, and not sparing a single worry about the obviously now broken contents of the box. Richard raised a single eyebrow at her curiously and she narrowed her eyes slightly, giving him a hard look.
"Mr. Sanders!" she greeted cheerfully, quickly looking away from her husband, "it's so good to see you again, what's the occasion? I hope this is a social visit and that our Brittany hasn't fallen behind again."
"Oh, no, no," Henry waved dismissively, lapsing into his regular teacher-mode, "Brittany's work has been exemplarily lately, you don't have any reason to worry about her anymore."
"Well that's wonderful news," Maggie grinned, "may I offer you two some coffee?"
"Yes, thank you," Henry replied.
"Brittany," Richard clapped a heavy hand on his daughter's shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze, she straightened significantly under his direction and looked up expectantly, "would you mind putting on a pot of coffee for us?" Brittany nodded mutely and immediately hurried to do as she was told, taking her mother's place by the counter in the kitchen.
The suddenly lapse in conversation dragged on and drove Santana into immense discomfort. She shifted slightly in her hiding spot, her fingers wrapping tighter around her arms and her numb toes curling inward under her feet as she tried to slide down a little more to keep even further out of sight with little success. Flexible or not, huddled in a tiny ball, she was pretty much as small as she was going to get.
Lisa, on the fringe of the exchange between her husband and these people she didn't even know, was keeping a keen look out around the room. She only happened to glance towards the kitchen and notice the slight movement in the far room beyond the bright linoleum. Removing herself from Henry's side, she shuffled around the edge of the room and moved to investigate. Mr. Rich, who had also moved to the kitchen, unexpectedly stepped in her way with a wide grin, just as she was about to step into the porch.
"It's too cold back there," he explained casually, reaching behind him and pulling the sliding glass door half way shut, "we usually just use it for storage in the winter. But, if you would like, we could all go out front, there's a separate heater set up out there, it's very cozy."
Lisa glanced towards Henry, who, unable to think of any logical argument against moving their conversation to another room, when the kitchen had such limited seating, begrudgingly shrugged his shoulders in response. "That sounds great," she agreed when Henry didn't, Richard smiled and nodded his head.
He turned to Maggie and offered her his hand, which she accept as he pulled her from the table, "I forgot some paperwork upstairs, I'm going to run and get it," he explained, "but I'll meet you outside in a minute?" She nodded and made her way out of the kitchen alone.
"Will you bring the coffee out when it's finished, Brittany? And some milk and sugar?" Maggie asked without looking back or waiting for an answer as she led Mr. Sanders and Lisa out the front door.
Brittany nodded as she watched the front door swing shut with a loud slam and then glanced to the living room as her father quickly disappeared upstairs. She checked the coffee once before making her way out back in search of Santana. She found her best friend still hiding in the corner with her face buried in her hands.
"San?" she asked quietly, frowning when her friend didn't immediately respond. Bending down to her level, Brittany reached forward and gently pulled Santana's hands away from her tear-streaked face, hardly fazed by the sight: Santana cried all the time, it was just a matter of why. "Santana, what's wrong?" she pressed, but Santana only pulled her arms free and shook her head, desperately wiping at the tear-tracks staining her cheeks.
"Brittany," Santana's voice was stuffy and muffled, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to."
"What are you talking about? You didn't do anything," she insisted.
Santana shook her head even more, "you don't even know."
Brittany was about to argue further when her father's shadow appeared behind her. She looked up and backward, noticing the distinctly worried look on his face even when he didn't look down at her, instead, keeping his gaze firmly locked on the front door. "I'm going to bring the coffee out to your mother," he said suddenly, she nodded in response, "why don't you take Santana upstairs and hang out there for a while?"
Mr. Rich goes back to the kitchen and begins to rummage through the cabinets in search of some mugs, leaving the girls alone. Brittany returns her attention back to Santana, who's stopped crying for the moment, and she staring at the back door thoughtfully. Sighing, Brittany reached forward and took Santana's hand away, playing with her cold fingers, unsure if Santana could even feel her.
"If I sneak out the back while they're out front," Santana began in a faraway drawl, "then you could wait a few minutes before letting it slip to your parents that I stopped by, in front of Mr. Sanders, then they should leave and try to follow me, but, by then, I'll have gotten away, and you guys can get out until it's safe, and I can get help, and we'll all be good."
Brittany stopped and looked up in surprise, "what are you talking about?"
"I can't stay here, Britt, it's not safe," Santana insisted, angry when Brittany didn't get it, especially when she shook her head again. "You don't get it," she growled, Brittany just shrugged one shoulder and stood up, pulling Santana by the hand with her.
"You can explain it to me upstairs," Brittany suggested, "and you're not going anywhere without any shoes on."
When they got upstairs, Brittany locked her bedroom door, at Santana's insistence, but refused to moved her desk to barricade it until she got some answers. Santana huffed and sat down on the bed with her arms crossed as Brittany made her way to her dresser to turn off the music she'd accidentally left on when she had raced downstairs earlier.
"I shouldn't still be here. You should've just let me sneak out. I shouldn't have even come here in the first place, it wasn't right," Santana took a shaky breath, shaking her head and absentmindedly rubbing her hands together, trying to work some warmth back into her frozen fingertips.
Brittany looked up from her iPod-Dock and frowned, doing her best Santana-stop-it glare, but it didn't work when Santana wasn't paying attention. She watched as the tears suddenly welled back up in Santana's eyes, "I have to go," she declared, rising from the bed. Brittany wasted no time pushing her back down, Santana glared dangerously at her.
If push really came to shove, she knew that Santana could beat the crap out of her, but Santana would never do that, and Brittany wasn't above tickling, or actually sitting on her friend, so she wasn't worried.
After a beat, Santana's anger faded and she looked down at the folded hands in her lap, frowning, "I'm so sorry."
Brittany picked up a pillow, ready to smack some sense in to her friend when a heavy thump in the hallway caused her to jump and Santana to practically scream.
"Miss Lopez," the even, borderline kind-sounding, voice of Lisa Sanders called as she made her way slowly down the hallway, "come out, come out, where ever you are."
Brittany turned to Santana, Santana caught her look but only shook her head in response.
"You'd better come out, little girl," Lisa snapped, her voice hardening, "I have no time for games. We have a little business to attend to at home, and if you don't come along nicely, now, we're just going to have to take it out on this lovely little family you've hidden yourself amongst."
Immediately realizing that Lisa probably now had the gun, Santana rushed for the door, hand going for the lock. Brittany grabbed Santana from behind and pulled her away before she managed to regain enough control over her fingers to get at the door properly.
"Brittany, let me go!" she demanded, but Brittany didn't release her, or even ease up.
"No, San," Brittany argued in a harsh whisper, causing Santana to realize she had been whispering too, "you can't go out there!" She still didn't know what was going on, but she knew now it couldn't be good, and that Santana most definitely had to stay put.
Santana opened her mouth to respond, her fingers prying at Brittany's hand, but she stopped at the sound of a door being opened, a burst of Beiber, and tiny feet padding out into the hallway. Brittany's grip around her waist slackened, but she couldn't feel her legs to move. "Hey, what's going on? Who are you?" it was Emily.