Chapter Two: In Dreams

Christine smiled charmingly at her, snorting with laughter. I loved that side of Christine. When she just gave into her laughter and abandoned all logic and thought for a split second to laugh. I watched as my friend leaned over and picked up a red stone off the ground.

"Do you know what this is?" she asked, the voice magically amplified. Christine tossed me the red stone, and I caught it, studying it.

"It is your heart."

I glanced up, confused, and saw Christine laughing again. But this time with malice and hatred. I glanced down at my chest and saw red liquid pouring out from a gap in my ribs, and then Christine was in my face.

"It is all your fault."

I screamed.

Yes, I did scream. I awoke with a start from my tortured dreams and yanked away from the vision of Christine's face. The leering grin disappeared instantly, and instead the view of my cell met my eyes. I sighed and wished I had stayed sleeping. Bad dreams visited often, but it was better than being awake and having to deal with that idiot Marie.

Three weeks. Three weeks since I had been taken. You would have thought I would be used to waking up with a stiff back and a sore neck, but I still wasn't. Those morons didn't even have the decency to untie me from the chair and let me sleep in that crappy cot they had. It wasn't like I could've run away. They had that place so heavily guarded it wouldn't have mattered.

Snorting, I rubbed my nose against my shoulder. I had caught a disgusting cold in that place- no heat in the middle of February!- and currently had snot dripping down my nose. Not a pleasant picture, but hey, it was a significant moment! Then again, every breath in that darn place was considered significant. That's right. I was bored. B-o-r-e-d. Bored to death. Bored to tears. Bored to-

The door opened. Turning my attention away from my snotty shoulder, I looked to see who was coming in. I really shouldn't have questioned who. It was always the same three people. Marie and her two henchmen. They really got on my nerves- Marie with that calm little sneer, and her two henchmen with a kind of dumb look on their face.

Marie gave me a calm little sneer- hey, I was right!- while her henchmen looked sort of dumb. Mentally, I made three tally marks on the side of my skull. I was always right. I was cool, man. Who else can predict what her captors are going to do? Come on, count with me now!

"What are you grinning about?" Marie asked sharply, her eyes cold. I hastily wiped the silly grin off of my face and stared at her the way any normal hostage would- with terror. 'Course, it was all an act. That little idiot was smaller than me! As if she could hurt me! She was, like, 4'11. Okay, maybe taller, but-

The small hand that hit me on the cheek caught me off guard, causing me to lose my train of thought. I let out a small yelp and glared at Marie. She hadn't touched me before, and now she was off slappin' me? What was up with that, man?

"What was that for?" I asked angrily. Marie chuckled a bit and walked around behind me. I tensed automatically and prepared myself for the worst. Oh yeah, I got the worst. Marie started playing with my hair! My long, gorgeous locks of blond were being played with by that nutso psychotic freaky weirdo! I bit my lip, refraining from hurting that freak.

"You didn't answer. You will answer when I tell you to," Marie stated calmly. I snorted. Well, if the woman wanted an award for melodrama, she certainly got my vote. Moron. And why wasn't she letting my hair go?

"Sorry. Next time I'll answer your every beck and call," I said sarcastically, trying to (unsuccessfully) yank my hair out of her hands. Marie just cackled, the weirdo. I half expected her to appear standing over a cauldron reciting that Shakespeare thing. Y'know, the Macbeth witches, or whatever. Never got through that play, actually. I preferred Romeo and Juliet.

"Ow!" I yelled as Marie yanked my hair. My neck tilted back and she leered over me, her weird psychotic smile on her face. I really needed a better vocabulary, I really did. Weird, psychotic, and freak with various endings tacked on was not getting me anywhere.

"Do not be sarcastic with me, little girl." Ok, sorry, but I resented that remark. I was not little.

"I'm not little." Oh, genius Kline. Just go blurting out your every thought.

"Of course you're not," Marie purred. Her hands tugged on my hair again. I clenched my teeth.

"You know, you are really annoying. Give me three minutes alone with just you and me in a room, and I'll show you how exactly annoying you are. And I'll teach you a lesson about NOT ANNOYING PEOPLE!" I shouted as she yanked my hair again.

"All done," Marie said, supposedly ignoring me. Darn her. My speech skills gone to waste. I tried to twist my head around to see what she had done, but I couldn't see anything.

Wait. I couldn't see anything. Where the hell was my hair? It was really long, and I could always see it when I looked off to the side... oh, that woman was going to die.

"You CUT MY HAIR!" I shrieked, lunging a bit in my chair. Marie cackled again.

"This is just the beginning of your torture, Miss Kline. Your darling friends have made no attempt to find you," Marie breathed quietly, coming back around to face me. I glared at her. That freak had cut my hair! I had been growing it for years... it was so cool looking, too. Thick, blond... had darker highlights that were natural... I loved my hair. It was my best feature. Had I been the crying type, I probably would have burst into tears.

"I don't believe you," I said stonily, refusing to give in to her taunting. Sherlock, Jenny, and Christine had to be looking for me. I knew that they had to be looking. They wouldn't just leave me in this madwoman's hands. I know they wouldn't. They cared about me. They were my friends.

"-we decided to bring them out of hiding," Marie said. I snapped out of my little thoughts and looked at Marie, startled. Had she been saying something important?

Apparently so, because she snapped her fingers and her henchmen immediately went to open the door. They threw open the door with ease, and another figure entered the room.

It was tall, first of all. Maybe a little smaller than me. And it was a girl. A swell in the chest area kind of gave me that hint. Black hair, cut extremely short. A boyish hair cut, if you asked me. I couldn't really talk though, since I had no clue how short Marie had cut my hair. It stuck out at odd angles, like the girl had done it herself. If the girl was going for the dramatic effect, she certainly did it well. She wore all black and sunglasses over her eyes. Ok, she actually looked kind of biker-chick with black (tight) leather pants, a tank-top made of leather (in February, for Gods sake!), and knee high leather boots. Duh. She might as well have been made of leather. To complete her obviously American look, she had socks on her hands. At least, that's what I always regarded the style as. She had cloth past her elbows, with no fingers, and it looked like cloth. Plastic bracelets ran up her arm, and her ears were pierced several times.

Yeah, she looked pretty comical. I would have laughed, except she had this awfully big gun hanging off her hip. Really big gun. As in, could blow my head off with no effort gun. Vaguely I wondered where the heck she had purchased a gun like that. Eh. Maybe she pilfered it off some poor, unsuspecting military man. Heavily armed military man. This girl meant business.

"Mar-ee," the girl said, a heavy accent in place. I had no clue what kind of accent it was. Christine was always better with the accents than I was. Sharp pang of sorrow as I thought of my friend, quickly replaced by calculations. No need to think about friends who hadn't even tried to save my neck at a time like this. I had no idea why the girl had that gun, and I was really hoping she wasn't going to be using it in the next ten minutes.

"Ah, Ace! A pleasure to see you. I am delighted to see that you came prepared. But you died your hair black... whatever happened to your lovely shade of white?" Marie asked. Apparently, she knew this woman. Ace, or whatever.

"My picture that I used in advertisements is years old," the gunwoman said in the same, strange, broken accent (AN- I'm lazy, just pretend it's still there. For those of you who have read Harry Potter, think Krum's accent). "People recognized me with white hair, and the police were going to find me. I had to change my hair."

"I hope, then, that your qualifications are still correct?" Marie asked quaintly. Ace nodded slowly, fingering her gun lovingly.

"If anything, they are behind the times," Ace replied. Marie smiled thinly.

"A... demonstration, perhaps? On our lovely guest here?"

I froze in my seat. Yeah, as if I could do anything else with those nice little ropes restraining me from moving much. Ace turned to face me, her face colder than stone as she surveyed me. A faint smirk crossed the killer's face before she turned back to Marie.

"No. I reveal my skills to no one. I assure you, though, that whichever one you want dead will... disappear," Ace said dramatically. I swear, villains all have this thing for drama. Still, I was a bit worried. Some master gunman going after someone? I wanted to know who. Maybe I could convince those dumb henchmen to help me and get a message to Jenny or Sherlock or-

"Christine Penninger, aged fifteen, possibly sixteen. Reddish-brown hair, dark blue eyes. Friends of that little harlot over there," Marie said, pointing at me. "She is friends with Sherlock Holmes and Jennifer Watson. Here are a few pictures of her and information on where to find her. I want her dead. I want Sherlock Holmes to suffer. I want Miss Kline to suffer. I want Jennifer Watson to suffer. After she is dead, kill Watson. Here are some pictures of her. Make the deaths bloody and exceptionally painful. Drawn out. Torture them. I want you to tell me about how much they screamed."

Ok, sorry, but I have to admit, I did the girly thing. I had a whole lotta fun passing out. But can you really blame me? I mean, I was hungry, cold, upset, and just heard that my friends were being targeted by some poorly dressed Bulgarian girl. I think it was Bulgarian, anyway. I didn't pass out for long- like, two minutes- but when I came to Ace was wrapping up her business with Marie.

"They're in St. Ives. Watson and Holmes were accepted into an Arts Academy of some sort. Quite amusing, since the entire school is just a trap for them. Gardens has kept up a good act so far, but the facade will most likely deteriorate in a few weeks or so. My pocket money only stretches so far, and the building they're renting costs so much money. Imagine, Sherlock Holmes receiving an education from criminals!" Marie cooed, her voice reaching unimaginable heights. I winced, which caught Ace's attention.

"Your guest does not enjoy your voice, Marie. If you'd like, I can take her off your hands," Ace offered. I blanched considerably at the offer. My hair was already in ruins. If that girl forced me to dress like her, I was screwed. She might even be one of those perverts who enjoys American playthings. She did have a weird sounding hopeful tone in her voice... not going there. Definitely not going there.

"As much as I would like that, no. She is a most annoying creature, but she is so fun to toy with."

Ace looked disappointed, but quickly returned to her stoic, creepy-looking self. "Very well. I leave you with your captive. Marie, do not harm her just yet. I may need her to lure out those that you want dead, and she won't be any use if she's injured. People do not pay for broken merchandise."

With that, the pretty creepy gunwoman Ace walked out of the room, slamming the door violently behind her. I was dismayed to note that she had taken the photos with her. Marie stared at the door for a moment before turning to look at me.

"And so the fun begins, Miss Kline. A pity that you can't partake in the fun. Your little Christine friend should be fairly easy to kill. She's a pacifist compared to you... not very fast, not very smart, and reluctant to fight... I chose her to be first because of all those qualities, you know. She has such pale skin... imagine how wonderfully it will bleed come the time. Perhaps I can arrange for Ace to bring her back here and kill her..."

"Enough!" I yelled, teetering dangerously on my chair. It tipped wildly and then pitched to the side, bringing me with it. Oh yeah, great. Now I have a snot filled nose, funky emotions, AND a headache.

"Oh... poor girl. Such an emotional wreck. Not at all like your friends. Hmm. I look forward to seeing your reaction when Ace sends me photographs..."

I growled and tried to look as evil as I could from my sideways position. Didn't work really well, sadly, but I think I instilled fear into the hearts of the cockroaches that went scuttling by.

"Do shut up."

Those were Marie's last words to me for the day, and she spun and left the room. I sat on my side, staring at the concrete ground, when I felt my chair lifted and set straight. It was her two henchmen, Amelia and the other one... I didn't remember his name. They looked at me sympathetically, and for once I saw a gleam of intelligence in those dull eyes. The man- why couldn't I remember his name?- made quick work of the ropes binding me as he helped me to my feet.

"Oh, thanks. Mind me asking why your risking your butts to untie me?" I questioned, rubbing my head and then my nose. Amelia handed me a handkerchief, to my shock, but I took it anyway.

"We don't want to see anyone get hurt. We may act and look dumb, but that's only because we want Marie to believe it. We work for her, but we're not loyal to her," Amelia explained. The man nodded. I shrugged.

"Cool. Thanks then. What do you know about that Ace girl?"

"Just that she is an excellent shot and a ruthless murderer," Amelia said, offering me a cigarette. I declined.

"She's a sniper, actually. A really good one. Worked with the American police. Don't be fooled by that thick accent. It's put on because the police won't recognize her. She is white haired naturally, but nobody has ever seen her eyes. Besides her sniper talents, she has a deck of cards that are actually razors. She's famous for them. It's how she got her nickname. If she can't shoot them, she uses her cards. Painful, I've heard, and it takes forever to die by them," the man grunted. He had a curious monotone voice.

"Oh, great. So my friends are going to die in a card game. I mean, come on. Christine has no poker face, but this is ridiculous!" I exclaimed. Amelia and the man smiled thinly, but didn't reply. Instead they waved their goodbyes and left me alone in my room.

Alone. Great.

Bored. B-O-R-E-D. Bored to death. Bored to tears. Bored to-

I was tired. The cot, despite its small size, looked comfy. So I went to bed.

I hoped the nightmares wouldn't come again.

Isn't Kline an odd one? Yes, her thoughts are fairly hard to follow. But that's the way she does things. Heh. She has a different narrating style compared to Watson. I hope it wasn't too hard to follow. If it was, I'm sorry. I'll try to revise it a bit, but I wanted everyone to see that Kline is always a fairly relaxed person, even when panicked.

I'm sorry I haven't written for a while. I got bronchitis, then a sinus infection, then the flu, and then a cold. I really need a better immune system. Anyone want to trade?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I loved the reviews so much, and they really encouraged me to keep writing. Whoever asked why Christine punched Watson, I did explain it. Christine needed to get out of there because she was extremely upset and emotionally distraught. Sadness can do that to a person.

Again, thanks much to all who reviewed. Please review this chapter! I know it's short, but how much detail can be put into a person who has been sitting in a chair for three weeks? She hasn't done much...