CHAPTER 5

{NICK LUCAS POV}

"What the—F*CK!!" I was cut off by Elvis' large jaws snapping down, full force, on my wrist. His bite was so painful and powerful; I felt the bones in my wrist and hand snap before I heard them. Searing pain rushed up my right arm in a wave of knife-like fury, and I cried out. My eyes were blinded by tears, and when I blinked them away, I saw blood—from my elbow to my fingertips, my arm was drenched in it. My blood.

I looked at Elvis, furious, raising my other hand up, preparing to hit him as hard as I could, but stopped. I can't hit Elvis. He's my dog; my best friend, my companion. If I hit him…I'd never forgive myself. But then again, if I don't do something, he'll rip my arm off. I have to…have to what?

"Oh my god," a voice yells. It is female, that's for sure. "Oh my god!"

I hear the girl run closer, but by then, Elvis has tightened his grip on my arm. A few tears escape my eyes, and I shut them tight in agony. I'm beginning to think Elvis will never let up when I feel the girl grab his snout. My eyes snap open in surprise as she struggles to pull the jaws of my dog apart, one hand on each jaw.

My mouth fell open when she pulled Elvis' jaws off and away from my arm. She held his mouth together with one hand and used the other to hit his head. Elvis yelped a little. A surge of anger towards this girl flashed through me. How dare she hit my dog—my dog! She has no right! I began to stand up, but a wave of dizziness from loss of blood made me stay on the ground. My head began to pound, and I lied on my back, trying to stop it.

I vaguely heard the girl saying something to Elvis, but I couldn't place her exact words. It sounded something like, "Open your eyes! Dog, wake up! You just bit your owner. You hurt Nick!!"

How does she know my name? I don't remember saying it to her…My thoughts were cut off when I heard…nothing. I painfully squinted one eye open, and was amazed at what I saw. Elvis was sitting obediently on the ground a few feet from me, and the girl was petting him, whispering soothing words. The girl had her back to me, and Elvis looked…scared? No—guilty. Do dogs even feel guilt?

"Hey…hey that's my dog," I managed to verbalize. "What are you doing to him?"

"I'm calming him down. He's disoriented," she replied. "And you're welcome for tearing him off your arm, too," she added sarcastically.

"Th-thanks..." I sat up and coughed. My head felt like it was going to explode. "Hey…how'd you know my name?"

Her hand hesitated on Elvis' neck. "What? I don't know your name."

"Yes you do." Another cough. "You…you told Elvis that he hurt me, and you said my name."

"Oh, really? I don't recall. Maybe you were just delusional…" I could tell she was lying. She was rubbing Elvis' back quicker, more forced.

"You do know my name, and you did say it! My name is Nick." She flinched. "See? You do know my name! Why won't you just admit it?"

She sighed, defeated. "Alright, fine. I already knew your name was Nick Lucas. Happy?"

"Sort of. How did you know?"

She turned and looked at me. "You're famous. Duh, everyone knows who you are." She fidgeted her fingers nervously.

I narrowed my eyes. "But is that the only way…?"

"No," she answered, sighing again. "Let's just say…we're kind of acquaintances."

"How?" She was confusing the hell out of me.

"Well…here, I'll just tell you my name and see if you remember. Emily Thompson."

I racked my brain, trying to remember an Emily Thompson. "I've known so many Emily's in my life, how will I know which one you are?" I asked.

She was starting to look annoyed. "Ugh, you leave me no choice." She stood up and knelt down in front of me. "Look in my eyes."

"And why should I?"

"Just do it, Lucas."

"Fine." I stared into her eyes, which were a really pretty shade of blue—they were light, almost shining, and really stood out against her light brown hair. I found myself losing consciousness after a moment, and became frightened.

"Don't worry. Just let yourself fall asleep and I'll show you who I am."

I trusted her words—even though I just met her—and slipped into a light slumber, suddenly seeing sparks and flashes of colors behind my eyelids, which turned into people and animals and scenes.

I was watching Emily Thompson's memories like a movie.

*flashback*

--My parents both wore worried expressions as I slung one arm through my backpack and walked down the driveway.

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"

"I'll be fine, Mom."

"But…you know that the army is really demanding and difficult. Plus, there are guns and bombs involved…"

"Mom, I told you, I want to do this. It's my decision. You can't stop me."

"Emily—please. I don't want to see my little girl getting herself hurt or even killed."

"Dad, you of all people should know that I have to do this."

"Just because I was in the army doesn't mean you should be too."

"And just because I'm your little girl doesn't mean I'm not tough enough. Please, it would make everything easier if you said goodbye."

"But we don't want to say goodbye."

"Well I do. I love you, now goodbye."

"Please stay safe."

"I will. Goodbye."

"We love you. Goodbye," they chorused.

I didn't look back as I stepped onto the bus, which was almost full except for one seat near the front. My seat.

--"You cannot get caught."

"What happens if I do?"

"You'll either be tortured to reveal answers and left to die, or be murdered on the spot."

"I could escape, you know."

"Not likely."

"And why not?"

"They'll probably catch you—they've got guards everywhere."

"So the first order of business is to kill all the guards."

"That won't be easy."

"For who, you? You know me."

"Yes."

"So why don't you trust me?"

"No one trusts you."

--Hands, on my upper arms, squeezing, pain running up and down my arms. Throwing me down into a chair. A light pushed into my face. An obscured face in front of me, questioning.

"You will tell me what I want to know."

"Or what?"

"Or you die."

"I dare you." No reason not to get cocky, right?

"Alright. Boys, unsheathe your knives."

I glanced around, unimpressed. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"Sorry, everything is too much."

"Than your life is too much for us to handle."

A knife strikes my back.

I don't feel a thing.

Neither do they.