Chapter Eight- By Dani
Skye's POV
I shrug at my sister. "You should have. He was cute... what are you looking at?" I ask as I watch Rory staring.
I follow her eyes and see Mike and Sydney, who I'd finally met at the club tonight, pulling suitcases to the elevator. "Oh, that's Sydney."
"Who?"
"Sydney Bristow, Michael's girlfriend. I met her at the club. I suggested the club to him once and I guess he figured it would be fun to take her there."
"Oh..." Rory replies slowly. "What's she like?"
"She's so cool. They're perfect for each other, too. You should see them just hanging out and stuff. They should be next to 'hopelessly in love' in the dictionary."
Rory rolls her eyes. "Multi- worded phrases aren't in the dictionary."
"Whatever."
What I failed to mention to my sister, however, is that Sydney was a little freaked out by me. She and Mike defiantly noticed that I'd been wearing almost the same outfit she had on in that picture. Then I guess they'd figured it was just a coincidence because they'd shrugged it off and hadn't said anything about it.
I hoped I hadn't given myself away.
"I'll be in in a minute," I say to my sister. "Hold the elevator."
I head over to where Sydney was picking up her bag again and moving with Mike in the direction of the elevator.
"Hey Mike. Hi Sydney."
"Hey," Sydney answers, grinning. She's so... friendly.
"What's going on?" I ask, indicating the bags.
Sydney beams and glances at Mike. I don't need an answer to know what's going on.
Mike answers anyway. "I asked Sydney to move in with me."
"Oh my God. Guys, that's awesome. Congrats!"
Wait... she's never even been to his apartment, has she?
"Thanks, Skye," Mike says.
"Skye!" I hear my sister call.
"Oh, Rory's holding the elevator. You coming up now?"
"Yeah," Sydney answers, and we all step into the elevator. When we reach out floor, the doors slide open and we all exit.
As Mike and Sydney head for his door, I give them a word of advice. "Be good, you two! And be safe. One Michael Vaughn in this building is about all I can handle right now."
"Skye!" Rory gasps, but she's smiling.
The couple is equally pink in the face. They laugh. "Skye Hawke, when did you become such a trash mouth?" Mike asks me. "I still remember you at five years old asking me where babies come from when I was babysitting you."
"Adolescence," I answer innocently.
They shake their heads. "Well, it was nice meeting you guys," Sydney tells us.
"You too," we echo.
"Night."
We all enter our rooms.
My cell phone rings. The caller ID doesn't pick up the number.
"I'm gonna take this outside," I tell Rory. I'll be back in a few minutes.
I go out into the hallway. "Hello?"
"Skye Hawke?"
"This is Skye."
"Good."
"Who is this?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that right now."
"Um, okay. Is this some kind of joke?"
"This is no joke."
I wait silently for the man to say something else. "Miss Hawke? Are you there?"
"Yes. Tell me who this is," I demand.
"I can't tell you that," he repeats. "But I can tell you to come to the Smithson storage facility at 7:30 tomorrow night. All will be explained."
"Yeah, right."
"Sarcasm will get you nowhere, I promise you. It may work on your sister Rory and your neighbor Michael Vaughn might think it's cute, but it won't work for me."
"Who the hell are you, you freak? Tell me, God damnit, or I'm calling the cops!"
"Tomorrow, Smithson Storage Facility, 7:30. Come alone-"
"In your dreams, Dipshit-"
"-And be aware that the police cannot help. There are more of us than just me. Goodbye, Miss Hawke."
"You-"
"Goodbye."
Click.
What the hell was that about? I have some f*cking British psycho stalker after me. But what can I say to the police? I have no evidence or physical description. Only an anonymous phone call. And they'd warned me....
What the hell do I do?
Suddenly, my cell phone beeps, indicating a message. I listen to the voice mail.
"Be there if you want Rory to make it to her next swim meet."
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I can't call the police. They'll restrain me from going to the meeting. Then the caller will hurt my sister. Or they'll come with me and catch the caller, but then his partners will hurt her anyway.
I have to go, if only to protect her. I can handle whoever this person is. Nine years of kickboxing training pretty much guarantees that. I glance at the clock. 6:45. I have forty-five minutes to decide the fate of my twin sister.
I make up my mind, knowing full well that this is probably the most idiotic thing I'll ever do. I grab up the lavender bag I always bring to my lessons, filled with everything I might need for a fight.
I don't say anything to anyone as I leave. I just slam the door behind me and run towards the empty elevator.
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I shiver. It's cold in here. I'm dressed for a spring Los Angeles day, not a 20 degree, non-heated warehouse.
I'm alone. Checking my watch, I see that it's 7:24. Six minutes. I wrap my arms around myself and wonder momentarily if this is a joke. Maybe my friends will just out from a corner and laugh at me for being so damn gullible. No, I know that can't be it. They'd never do something this insane.
I hear a rustle from the gate and am pulled from my thoughts. My heart pounds. They're here. A figure steps out from the shadows.
"Good evening, Miss Hawke."
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