Jo Wilson sat comfortably at one of the large marble desks taking up the center of the library. Her glasses perched gently on the tip of her nose and she flipped hungrily through her book. Sure she lived in her car but that didn't stop her from doing what she loved. She should be studying for her test but she just can't seem to put down Liane Moriarty's 'Nine Perfect Strangers'. It's a captivating tale about how people richer than her can afford therapy.
She can't help but chuckle when she thinks of that joke because she is actually happy. Her apples are so divine and her music so sweet. Her life is ups and downs but she appreciates the downs for she knows when she will find the ups they are so much higher. Still she finds pleasure in seeing through the eyes of people who aren't her. She loves her car. She loves her friends. She loves the open road but she doesn't like sleeping at night. Visions haunt her there.
A few tables down another girl jumps up from her chair, "They've found him. The man who murdered his girlfriend."
Jo had heard of the case and never thought for a moment that it made any sense at all. The whole story was blown out of proportion. It happens every day. Sometimes twice. So why is the media suddenly so interested in what happens to girls like Gabbie? Girls like Jo Wilson. She spoke before she could stop herself, "It's not him."
"What makes you so sure." Says a boy from her economics class.
She shrugs, "People are replaceable."
Such a shift in the world from her words. Such a sadness. Then she's pouring herself back into the pages of her novel. Before she's aware of it the lights go out. Everyone's gone home. Had they really just locked her in? In a hurry she's on her feet. The corridors seem to be longer. There's no sounds besides her feet. Surely someone's still here?
No. She gets to the door and it's locked. She's trapped. Reaching around to look for her phone she remembers so suddenly and to her horror that she left in her car. Of course she did. The one day she decides to go without her music she's silenced. How is this possible? She was sitting there in plain sight. She would have heard them leave right?
Then she gets the terrifying feeling that she's no longer alone.
Her book hits the floor. A car drives by outside and it's headlights are fractured in the stain glass running away along the oak wood paneling of the wall. There's a swinging of a chandelier, a whistle through a chime, and then the sounds of people walking away. Oh how beautiful is this painting of the marionette puppets reenacting the battle of Gettysburg. A door has shut and somewhere, deep underground, another one opens.
His screams have died by now. The agony of the truth has settled within him. He is bound to die slowly and vigorously and his show will be a failure. I tell you though, I disagree. For where is he? A place I like to call a land of opportunity. The open foyer at a dine in restaurant referred to as Hell. Even his weeping has seased. The tear stains dried to his face remind him that at one point he did feel but now his thoughts have dwindled to none.
"Please don't ask any stupid questions." Says a tall thing as she enters the room.
This is the beloved Christina Yang. The lone survivor of heart transplant experiment gone wrong, (See Resident Black on my page) her dear friend Calliope had no idea this was all a ploy. She holds in her hands some papers.
"I'm going to offer you something. If you agree and we pull off something successful you could walk away with a lot of money. If you choose not too then I will be forced to bring in a face transplant surgeon of mine and you will be given a new identity, flown to a new home, and start life as someone new." She took in a deep breath and reminded herself that not everyone was a genious like her.
She would need to break it down, "We're working on something. It's deeply important. Far more important that the minds of modern people can fathom. You, I say with ease, have something we need."
"You're not an alien. You're a performer." He furrows his brows in thought completely aware of the translucent comparison between her edge and his spirals.
He sighs and agrees to hear her out. What she explains is more than unnerving. It makes sense. It frightens him because there's truth in her scary words. Reguardless, he would still always want to fight for something pure. The world is suddenly so much smaller and he is right there in the line of action.
"You want me to sign that paper or not?" He said after starring blankly at this woman who now occupied the rusty swivel chair. You work for the government and here you are in the most disgusting of places offering a 'deal of a lifetime'. There's something deeply trusting about that decision. That or the trauma that comes with being in the same place as someone who screams like that. Grown men howling from physical torture. Young women weeping from the psychological torment. His very skin shudders at the thought of hearing a tiny human beg for help.
She nods and releases a lever on his metal slab that made the chains fall like a snake from a tree and he took the pen in his hand to swivel his signature across the dotted line. His heart aches as he thinks over the next couple of weeks. This... creature that she mentioned could very well kill him. Slowly. Agonizingly. Why does he feel that this doesn't matter? As if it's the best out of all his options?
Did he even have options?
In the cafeteria of the barracks Camille and Logan are already seated at their groups chosen table messing with an old boom box radio. The sun is going down on the sands of western Egypt and tonight's delicacies include what is supposed to be bread, potatoes that could pass for soup, and chicken dryer than the air. The signals cross just as James and Kendall approach with their treys and sit down.
"As of eleven this morning it was discovered that five women were abducted across the united states and left behind at each crime scene was the same symbol." A woman's voice didn't sound the least bit concerned as she delivered this terrifying news.
A doctor does the same thing when they're explaining the gory details of an exciting up coming surgery.
There's a silence that falls over the cafeteria and the message continues, "East Orange New Jursey, Gatlinburg Tennessee, Seattle Washington, Clayton Gerogia, and Hollywood California seemed to have been attacked by the same serial kidnapper. The embroidered symbol of a wolf wearing a face mask has been spray painted onto the buliding of each abduction. Even more concerning is the location of each crime. All five women were abducted from a library. We will return later with the names of the missing victims but for now we switch over to Erin Cambridge for the update on the upcoming dust bowl this weekend."
A big strong hand wrapped over the sterio system and all four of them looked up to see Sargent Owen Hunt with a concerned look on his face, "Kendall. You decided to stay?"
Conversations resumed around the room as if nothing ever happened. Suddenly Kendall felt very invisible to the rest of those in his ranks. Not just him but his friends too. An uncomfortable heat swept over the nape of his neck as he nodded in response.
"Sargent Hunt I thought you'd be a little more understanding. I don't understand why you just changed your mind." Kendall explained.
Their higher ranking officer looked over at the shadows and someone they didn't know stepped into view. This gentleman was a lot bigger than all of them. Face hidden behind a mask, eyes shielded by shades, a full uniform which must have been dire in this heat. It's here that things grew a little intense. Cuffs came out. There was some shouting. James put up a Hell of a fight but was on his face beside Kendall with a bloody nose before he got in his third good hit.
Oh, how the others look away as if it's not real. They deny the truth even as it takes place in front of them. They pretend. It's easier that way. Until you're the one with a gun to your head. Then the evening is cut short and everyone was demanded back to their tents. The empty table and the untouched trays are so gloomy in the dull light of a lifeless room where only the faint sound of a deeply heartbreaking song can be heard. Then a big strong hand is slamming the radio down onto the ground busting it to pieces.