Hi!
Sorry for the delay in updating. I moved across country and have finally gotten settled, sort of. I'm working on the next chapter. I'll post as soon as it's finished.
Anna
Chapter 4
He awakens to red. Blurred and scarlet, cocking its head as fast a snapping fingers. He blinks the bird into focus.
Cardinal.
Beyond the bird, concrete angels and tall stones stand sentry, guarding him as he slept. He forces his eyes to focus on them.
Cemetery. Why am I in a cemetery?
He pushes up to sit, recumbent against a stone both cool and damp.
How did I get here? I'm not at home. I should be home. Home.
Pain knifes through one eye and he clutches his head, rocking to soothe his tortured mind. Remembering burns and claws like a monster at his willpower. He needs to remember, but the pain is more terrifying than the emptiness.
The pain washes out. Low tide. It'll be back, of that he's certain.
Home? He poses the question softly, gently to his mind.
Chino, the whisper comes.
Chino? Yes, it feels right. It feels familiar. The image of a house in a sea of tall weeds comes unbidden.
"But where is that?" he whispers to the dull wall of fog banked behind a nearby row of cherubs. The stone figures stare back, tears dripping down their cheeks, lambs sleeping at their feet.
He forces himself up and stumbles over the pocked ground. The grass crunches beneath his shoes, his breath puffs in tiny clouds that rush out to join the fog that ebbs and flows around him.
He staggers off the curb into the street. Brakes squeal and he senses something large stop a hairsbreadth from his leg. He waits for the horn. Somehow, he knows it will follow. It doesn't. Hands turn him and he faces a young Latino girl. She speaks quickly in a lilting voice with words that make no sense to him. He can't fight the feeling that he should know some of them, but he doesn't.
"Chino?" he offers.
She stops talking, blinks wide brown eyes, casts a wary glance around the deserted street and nods, pulling him toward the passenger side of the beaten down Pinto and shoves him inside while her gaze darts around as if the landscape were alive and hungry.
**
Seth paced in his room. "I can't believe this, Captain Oats. Can't BELIEVE it! Ryan's lost, possibly dying of a head injury, unconscious with a concussion, kidnapped and sold into white slavery in Mexico for all we know!" he lamented, hands accenting every word. He stopped before his plastic horse, fell to his knees and leaned close. "We need a plan. Yep. We do. Damned cops said he isn't missing for 24 hours. Dad's organizing the neighborhood watch while the Newpsie tramps all hit Mom up for cappuccino and whine about how Ryan's probably robbing a bank somewhere. I can't take it. I. Can't. Take. It. Someone has to actually be searching for Ryan."
He stared at the plastic horse as if listening. "What? What? Oh, Dad and the local soft boys'll find him while Mom's on phone and therapist duty and we should just stay here where we're safe?" He propelled himself to his feet, pointing a finger at the horse. "No. No. Can't do it. Ryan would sure as hell be out there looking for us." He eyed the horse. "Well...me. Sorry."
He dashed to his closet and undressed, pulling on his lamented black turtle neck and a dark jacket. He ran to the window, stopped, glanced at his bed, then ran over and stuffed dirty clothes under his blankets. When he had it just so, he scooped up his skateboard, winked at Captain Oats and slithered out the window.
He flattened up against the wall that separated his house from the house Marissa Cooper grew up in and listened. His father's voice rang out from the slightly raised windows.
"We have to divide the city into sectors. Search in teams. Dammit! Does every move *have* to go up for vote?"
A murmur of noncommittal voices replied.
Sudden anger and urgency speared Seth's gut and made him want to race down into the couch potato horde screaming, "You don't give a shit because *your* kids are safe!" And if they weren't, Dad'd be the first one out searching.
Shaking his head in disgust at the neighborhood's casual response to the missing teen, he squeezed his eyes shut and called up calming music.
A moment later, he whisper-sang, "Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you..." When he opened his eyes again they shone with fiery purpose. "I *am* Fred. I'll find Shaggy and score with Daphne."
Silently, he shoved off, the soft shush of his skateboard's wheels echoing from the houses and the song, a call to arms, filling his mind.
**
When the car creaked to a stop, Summer started out of her daydreams. She blinked to awareness of her surroundings. They had parked in a dark, undeveloped area across the separated by a vacant lot from a strip of adult bookstores and trash heaps. The street had no lamp, but the lamp from the street with the porno shops glinted from a nearby dumpster.
He shut the car off. Silence rung like a bell in her ears.
"Grant? What the hell? What about lobster at the Ivy? The paparazzi? The autographs?" She didn't even attempt to keep the indignant tone from her voice. She stopped her tirade before a rage blackout kicked in. The full import of her situation washed over her: darkness, empty lot, deserted street, an unknown location, and her alone with an older, much larger man.
The click-zip of his seat belt unhooking and retracting stabbed her stomach like an icicle. No way. She had to be imagining things. Was he putting the moves on her? She glanced sideways to find him sliding toward her with slow, deliberate movements and a dumb grin on his no longer handsome face.
"Grant?" she squeaked.
"Summer, gorgeous, Summer. Damn you're hot."
"What? So? Don't come near me."
He chuckled low in his throat. Normally the sound would turn her on but this sound chilled her, like the warning growl of a rabid dog. "But you're a banker!"
"I lied."
"You lied to Caleb Nichol?"
He shrugged, sliding an arm along the top of the seat, a predatory grin on his full lips, a dark glint in his eyes. "Guy's gotta make a living. Anyway, you said when you accepted my date that you needed a bit of fun. Some risk. And I can tell you want me. You've been begging me with your eyes all night."
"OHHH, no." She shook her head, automatically undoing her seatbelt and groping for the door handle.
Her fingers touched on metal, the handle whirled in a circle. The window. Not the door. Damned old non-electric cars! The window slid down a few inches.
"Get away," she warned. "I have rage blackouts and I will rip you a new one!" Her questing fingers found a sharp metal nub where the door handle should be.
Fangs of cold realization bit into her stomach. There was no door handle on her side.
*I can't open the door.*
She gaped at him in horror.
"You planned this," she whispered.
He smiled, and she shivered at the pure malice on his face illuminated by the distant streetlight.
"I'm not a banker. And I no know one will miss you tonight, Summer." His silky voice made her tremble with fear. His eyes glimmered with glee and anticipation.
As he lunged for her, Summer began to scream.
To be continued.
Sorry for the delay in updating. I moved across country and have finally gotten settled, sort of. I'm working on the next chapter. I'll post as soon as it's finished.
Anna
Chapter 4
He awakens to red. Blurred and scarlet, cocking its head as fast a snapping fingers. He blinks the bird into focus.
Cardinal.
Beyond the bird, concrete angels and tall stones stand sentry, guarding him as he slept. He forces his eyes to focus on them.
Cemetery. Why am I in a cemetery?
He pushes up to sit, recumbent against a stone both cool and damp.
How did I get here? I'm not at home. I should be home. Home.
Pain knifes through one eye and he clutches his head, rocking to soothe his tortured mind. Remembering burns and claws like a monster at his willpower. He needs to remember, but the pain is more terrifying than the emptiness.
The pain washes out. Low tide. It'll be back, of that he's certain.
Home? He poses the question softly, gently to his mind.
Chino, the whisper comes.
Chino? Yes, it feels right. It feels familiar. The image of a house in a sea of tall weeds comes unbidden.
"But where is that?" he whispers to the dull wall of fog banked behind a nearby row of cherubs. The stone figures stare back, tears dripping down their cheeks, lambs sleeping at their feet.
He forces himself up and stumbles over the pocked ground. The grass crunches beneath his shoes, his breath puffs in tiny clouds that rush out to join the fog that ebbs and flows around him.
He staggers off the curb into the street. Brakes squeal and he senses something large stop a hairsbreadth from his leg. He waits for the horn. Somehow, he knows it will follow. It doesn't. Hands turn him and he faces a young Latino girl. She speaks quickly in a lilting voice with words that make no sense to him. He can't fight the feeling that he should know some of them, but he doesn't.
"Chino?" he offers.
She stops talking, blinks wide brown eyes, casts a wary glance around the deserted street and nods, pulling him toward the passenger side of the beaten down Pinto and shoves him inside while her gaze darts around as if the landscape were alive and hungry.
**
Seth paced in his room. "I can't believe this, Captain Oats. Can't BELIEVE it! Ryan's lost, possibly dying of a head injury, unconscious with a concussion, kidnapped and sold into white slavery in Mexico for all we know!" he lamented, hands accenting every word. He stopped before his plastic horse, fell to his knees and leaned close. "We need a plan. Yep. We do. Damned cops said he isn't missing for 24 hours. Dad's organizing the neighborhood watch while the Newpsie tramps all hit Mom up for cappuccino and whine about how Ryan's probably robbing a bank somewhere. I can't take it. I. Can't. Take. It. Someone has to actually be searching for Ryan."
He stared at the plastic horse as if listening. "What? What? Oh, Dad and the local soft boys'll find him while Mom's on phone and therapist duty and we should just stay here where we're safe?" He propelled himself to his feet, pointing a finger at the horse. "No. No. Can't do it. Ryan would sure as hell be out there looking for us." He eyed the horse. "Well...me. Sorry."
He dashed to his closet and undressed, pulling on his lamented black turtle neck and a dark jacket. He ran to the window, stopped, glanced at his bed, then ran over and stuffed dirty clothes under his blankets. When he had it just so, he scooped up his skateboard, winked at Captain Oats and slithered out the window.
He flattened up against the wall that separated his house from the house Marissa Cooper grew up in and listened. His father's voice rang out from the slightly raised windows.
"We have to divide the city into sectors. Search in teams. Dammit! Does every move *have* to go up for vote?"
A murmur of noncommittal voices replied.
Sudden anger and urgency speared Seth's gut and made him want to race down into the couch potato horde screaming, "You don't give a shit because *your* kids are safe!" And if they weren't, Dad'd be the first one out searching.
Shaking his head in disgust at the neighborhood's casual response to the missing teen, he squeezed his eyes shut and called up calming music.
A moment later, he whisper-sang, "Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you..." When he opened his eyes again they shone with fiery purpose. "I *am* Fred. I'll find Shaggy and score with Daphne."
Silently, he shoved off, the soft shush of his skateboard's wheels echoing from the houses and the song, a call to arms, filling his mind.
**
When the car creaked to a stop, Summer started out of her daydreams. She blinked to awareness of her surroundings. They had parked in a dark, undeveloped area across the separated by a vacant lot from a strip of adult bookstores and trash heaps. The street had no lamp, but the lamp from the street with the porno shops glinted from a nearby dumpster.
He shut the car off. Silence rung like a bell in her ears.
"Grant? What the hell? What about lobster at the Ivy? The paparazzi? The autographs?" She didn't even attempt to keep the indignant tone from her voice. She stopped her tirade before a rage blackout kicked in. The full import of her situation washed over her: darkness, empty lot, deserted street, an unknown location, and her alone with an older, much larger man.
The click-zip of his seat belt unhooking and retracting stabbed her stomach like an icicle. No way. She had to be imagining things. Was he putting the moves on her? She glanced sideways to find him sliding toward her with slow, deliberate movements and a dumb grin on his no longer handsome face.
"Grant?" she squeaked.
"Summer, gorgeous, Summer. Damn you're hot."
"What? So? Don't come near me."
He chuckled low in his throat. Normally the sound would turn her on but this sound chilled her, like the warning growl of a rabid dog. "But you're a banker!"
"I lied."
"You lied to Caleb Nichol?"
He shrugged, sliding an arm along the top of the seat, a predatory grin on his full lips, a dark glint in his eyes. "Guy's gotta make a living. Anyway, you said when you accepted my date that you needed a bit of fun. Some risk. And I can tell you want me. You've been begging me with your eyes all night."
"OHHH, no." She shook her head, automatically undoing her seatbelt and groping for the door handle.
Her fingers touched on metal, the handle whirled in a circle. The window. Not the door. Damned old non-electric cars! The window slid down a few inches.
"Get away," she warned. "I have rage blackouts and I will rip you a new one!" Her questing fingers found a sharp metal nub where the door handle should be.
Fangs of cold realization bit into her stomach. There was no door handle on her side.
*I can't open the door.*
She gaped at him in horror.
"You planned this," she whispered.
He smiled, and she shivered at the pure malice on his face illuminated by the distant streetlight.
"I'm not a banker. And I no know one will miss you tonight, Summer." His silky voice made her tremble with fear. His eyes glimmered with glee and anticipation.
As he lunged for her, Summer began to scream.
To be continued.