Voices could be heard as I went through various levels of consciousness.
I was able to discern at one point, that I was in a vehicle. I was jolted by the bounce of the car falling in a particularly deep hole.
What if the boss doesn t-
There is no what if he doesn t
So, he d like kill you or something?
Or something.
But what if-
Din you hear me the first time!
Okay.
I was fighting to hold on to the few weak threads of lucidity that I had left, but even that drained me, and I fell back under the power of the drugs coursing through my system.
The dream was disconcerting- it seemed as though the thoughts were sand falling through my loose fingers. The moment I thought I was focussed on a thought, it was gone. It reminded me of when I used to try to catch fish in the shallow pools near First Beach. They were always slightly grey in the evening sun, almost like silver in the water. They always caught my eye; in fact, it was while reaching out to the shining creatures that I met Jake.
Jake.
And if he was still around today, maybe we could take a trip home. To visit-
Charlie.
Images I d repressed throughout the years were clear behind my eyes, and on some level I knew they were only flashbacks, but they were so vivid that it was as if I was truly there again.
My shallow breaths sounding off in the empty hall, echoing around me. The knife etching the shape of its handle into my skin. The stench of blood and death clouded the once lively hallways. I could not look at the ground and forever hold the gruesome memory of empty eyes staring back at me. I could only press on forward to the only reason I had not fainted or fallen.
My dad.
Even in my dream I could not turn around; I knew what was coming next. My feet moved determinedly toward my destination.
The office at the back of the church.
I opened the oak door, and pushed a bit harder than usual. When I made it in, I looked behind the door to see Mrs. Cope, assistant treasurer, slouched over herself, head between her knees.
Blood between her fingers.
I dared not look further, focussing instead on the cough I was hearing. Someone was alive.
I turned right, and there he was.
Red, bloodshot eyes.
Hand entwined with Sue.
A weary smile on his face.
Charlie.
Bella, I heard him say.
His voice was weak, scratched, forced.
And that's when I saw his hand.
It was clutched to his chest, full and overflowing with his blood.
Dad.
Bella, don't cry, please. Come here. I walked carefully over to him, trying my hardest to avoid taking in the scene around us.
I was suddenly next to him, trying not to think, trying to ignore the inevitable.
My dad was going to die.
He was in my arms, hugging me weakly, I was holding on to him, knowing how soon I would have to let go.
-that I love you, and all I want is for you to grow up and be happy. Don t be afraid to fight- he coughed again, for what you want- for all your, no matter what they are. Take good care of yourself Bella. Later Gaiter. He chuckled as he used the line he always did when I would go visit Renee.
Renee. It was her fucking fault.
Her fault my father was slumped in my arms.
Her fault he was-
He was dead.
Dead.
Don t cry, a deep voice begged. Per favour la mia ragazza, Please my girl He speaks Italian...
I could feel hands moving on my back, kneading into my muscles, and I sighed at the touch.
I didn t think he had warming oil on his hands, but they ignited my skin in a way I could recognise even in this state.
This state... I need to call my cousins. Paul and Embry and the others... they weren t really my cousins. They were close though, family friends. Good friends.
Good friends- like my neighbours, the old Mr. And Mrs. Banner. They lived across the street. Crazy neighbours, but I grew to love them. I decided to bake them a cake.
A low sugar cake. For their anniversary. Which might have been coming up.
I wasn t sure though. Between the soothing hands and the drugs and the low melody, I was being lulled deeper and deeper into unconsciousness.
*
A steady beat was thrumming in time with my pulse through my skull as I came out of a hazy dream.
These were not visions of the past, but images my mind had conjured up.
My body spread, waiting for the command of the Velvet voice that soothed my body and soul.
I reached over with a small smile on my face and weak limbs, planning to grab my phone from my bedside nightstand.
No phone.
No phone?
I peeked open one eye wearily, and instead of the usual sandy peach, the wall I saw was lavender.
I bolted upright as images from my capture flitted disorderly through my brain along with the intensified pounding in my head.
The fight. The injection. The capture.
I slowly rested my head down onto the pillow, careful not to jolt my already pulsing head.
Soon the pulsing subsided, and I was able to think.
I was abducted.
Abductions were rare, but not unheard of in the area I was in.
A few miles further, and abductions were common.
I knew from the stories of women who escaped where I could be.
I could be on a mattress, flung haphazardly in the corner of an abandoned building. There could be men around me, some who had used me already, others who were waiting.
I could be alone, being guarded by a member of one of Estancia s many gangs.
It all boiled down to either the Volturi Mob or the Hunter Gang.
These were the two most notorious mobs state-wide. Every gang, criminal or simple drug salesman seemed to have an in with one or both.
None was better than the other. You either came out bruised battered and beaten or battered beaten and bruised. And you didn t even get to choose.
No matter what I found when I opened my tightly shut lids, I already decided that I would have to be strong. After hearing all the stories and teaching all the seminars and studying and learning, I was sure I could escape if I wanted to. But my whole plan was to find new ways to assist my foundation.
What better way than to see it for myself? I could be a bigger help. I could assist more people and save more lives with firsthand knowledge. On the inside, it was easier to envision avenging the hundreds who had been sucked in and taken away. Fearing the worst, I pried my eyes open.
I was so very wrong.
This was not a shady shack in an abandoned area. This was not an old warehouse where thugs and gang lords would trade.
I had never heard of a mob quarters where there was a queen sized bed, dressing table with a mirror, and a small fridge. I had never heard of a mob where kidnapped girls wake up squeaky clean and in brand new lingerie.
I had never heard of a Mob where the walls were warm lavender and the room clean warm and an enticing aroma faint in the air.
I had never heard of any of this before.
If this was a mob, there was only one situation which this was consistent with.
The ghost mobs.
Crime occurred.
No clues, no leads, not a trace left behind.
Women disappeared.
Some said goodbye, some simply left, others had long been forgotten.
They slipped seamlessly in and out of reality.
All traces of their existence ceased, until they returned, baring no information as to where they had been.
These things happened only as many times as it took for it to be known that a ghost mob existed. Nobody knew anything about the ghost mob. Some would go as far as to say that it did not exist. But I knew better.
Some women, who trusted me and had been through my institution, had disappeared, much like the ghost mob stories. They would return, better off than they were before, financially and sometimes even physically.
And when I would ask, they would never answer any of my questions.
The only question they all answered was yes, it was the ghost mob .
When these people came out, no matter how much protection they were offered they never spoke. They never said a word about what had happened or where they went.
So now I was here, and perhaps I could uncover the mystery.
That's when I realised something didn t add up.
Ghost crimes never happened in public where people could see. The women disappeared, most who had a family or friends actually left a note or even said goodbye. They left on their own, maybe even of their own will.
I was kidnapped, in public, not on a busy street, but I knew there were people around.
So what sort of place was I in?
I knew the foundation was in good hands, and Bree would be more than willing to pitch a hand. All my concerns about Red Wine came rushing back into my head at that moment. What would happen to Bree? How was she coping?
What time was it? How were things going? I was pulled out of my musings by footsteps just beyond the deep lavender walls. Fear ran through me as I thought further, what would happen to me? What were the women who came out experiencing that made it necessary for them to be paid in return? Did I really want to know? Did I really want to find out?
It was as the silhouette emerged from the shadows that I realised.
I didn t get to choose.
I was going to find out.
A/N: I predict steady updates, no more than 4 days apart, and some BDSM themes. Hey, I'm just the hands for typing out the stuff. This thing is writing itself :) I'd love some feedback- you know, so the hands move bit faster *wink wink*. Review for some mystery man massages!