So..um...I'm back. *dodges stones and other projectiles* Yes, I know, I'm an awful person. But now school is over, exams are done, the school musical I was in is over...and now I solemnly swear that from here on I shall attempt to write at least a chapter a week. So, sorry about how short this one is, but a longer, better one is coming soon. Once again, so sorry about this whole "not-updating-for-four-months" thing! Don't kill me!
The single thing that both comforted and terrified Kurt was that the men had a plan. It meant he had a slightly lower chance of dying. He had read somewhere on the internet that a lot of joint kidnapping-murder cases happened because the kidnapper had no plan beyond taking the person…he had nothing to turn to. So when fear of being discovered, of his disguise being unmasked became too much, he disposed of the evidence of his crimes. In a split-second, frantic decision, a life could be lost.
These men, though, had no second thoughts. No guilty consciences. They had a plan, and the determination to carry it through. As Kurt sat as still as possible in the backseat, mentally cursing the kidnappers for their calculating minds. They had left the original car in a Wal-Mart parking lot, somehow obtaining an old van…with only one door leading from the backseat to the outdoor world, and heavily tinted windows. Upon an all-too brief examination, Kurt noticed the contortion of metal around the one door in the backseat and the trunk. A tell-tale mark of welding. He wryly mentally congratulated the men on thinking ahead.
As the hours passed, the smooth feel of highway gave way to the potholes and rough gravel patches of seldom-used back roads. The van would shake violently on the trying terrain, causing Kurt to grit his teeth and clamp a hand against his inflamed and grotesquely bent wrist, until soon it was an endless stretch of pure agony centered around his wrist. In a desperate attempt to distract himself from the pain, he stared out the window, watching the suburban buildings slowly give way to trees, tall and leering in the coming dusk. He felt a chill run down his spine as the rain started up, drops ringing against the metal roof. Kurt didn't believe in omens, didn't believe in signs, but for once the rain seemed like something more than weather. How ironic, he thought, with a crooked smile, that I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, would turn to religion and myth.
"Why are you smiling?" Growled Tattoo-man, noticing the wry smile that graced Kurt's face.
Kurt gave a minute shake of his head. "Nothing."
Tattoo-man fixed him with a glare before turning back to the road. "Check the map….how much longer?" This was directed to the shorter man, who fumbled with the large map spread on the dashboard.
"Um…not long. Less than five minutes, I think."
"Good," Tattoo-man caught a glimpse of Kurt looking at him in the rearview mirror, "Stop looking at me, kid. Its freaking me out…and I don't like getting freaked out." His voice was terrifying, having already mastered the art of quiet, calm threats.
The headlights illuminated a shape looming out of the darkness. A one-story brick house, moss growing in the cracks of the bricks, windows boarded up with sheets of old plywood. Around it, the woods stretched endlessly in all directions, encroaching heavily on the seldom-used road.
The van grumbled to a halt, and Kurt bit back a yelp as he was suddenly manhandled out of the car, and forced through the doorway, gun pressed against his back. As he stepped into the pitch-black interior, he had a stifling feeling that perhaps he wouldn't come out alive. And if he did, by some miracle, survive…then he would come out not the same…forever changed by the terror that lurked in this abandoned, isolated house.
Once again, sorry for the shortness of that...a new chapter will be up in the next week. Reviews help to motivate me!