Mission Semi-Complete ✔

Chapter Eighteen: Challenge

Life has always found a way to put me back at a spot. When I get there,
I work my way back like before, with more strength and knowledge. It has become the new norm.

First mother, then father, then Vaughn. I thought life was done, that wasn't so. Punishment was due unto the one who sent her father into exile.

When Vaughn reunited with his wife and daughter. The government wanted to take me, but Vaughn's mother said she would take great care of me. She did.

I spent in total four years at Vaughn's home, he is still a father to me. Nancy died a year after Vaughn. She was the best grandmother ever. I went into foster care at sixteen, my new home welcoming, but can never compare to Vaughn's. I went to college with my inheritance from granny and Vaughn, while my foster family supported me. I got a job, and that's where I met Chris on one of his missions.

I left their place, I was at age, and worked along side the one I loved, still do. I called my new family every now and then. Chris and I became best friends, I remember that mission so well when he made his promises.

From then on life has carried me back and up many spaces, and I'm still holding on. I can make it out this dusty dark hole, once again.

My eyes flicker open as light enters. The room sways infront of me, as my senses regain themselves and my muscles wake. My vision become clear and steady as I stare at a white wall, however my aching body reminds me of the last scene. My skin itch from dirt, especially on my face. I raise a hand to scratch the dirt away and find it's handcuffed.

I rub the spot on my face that itches realizing it's the same spot the man punched me on. I groan. I take my phone from my back pocket, looking at it's broken glass. Damn those people, they broke my precious gift. I look at my reflection in the cracks. Suddenly, the phone is grabbed from my hand. My head snaps up in surprise, I never realized someone was in here with me.  I didn't check anyways, so.

My eyes greet black ones, and for a minute a freeze collecting all data from my early years. His dark eyes bore deep into my soul, burning holes into the thin pieces wanted to be mended. His broad nose sits on his face, flaring. He pulls his plumped lips into a line, his black beard moving down then upwards as he fold his lips. His round face, similar to that of mine holds a questionable expressions.

The face seems similar, however I just can't pinpoint where. I scrunch my nose as my eyes fall to my broken phone that was just snatched away from me.

"Where did you get this from?" He asks shaking it infront of me. I keep myself form asking him if he's blind. Like anyone with eyes would have seen I got it from my back pocket. My question is why the hell did he snatch it, I'm sure it isn't his. My face makes a frown.

"Damn they can't do anything good can they? Want something done properly you do it yourself." Beard man yelled to himself. He's not only blind but mad, yelling to himself. A chuckle escapes my lips in a whisper.

He storms away throwing the phone in the wall smashing the remaining pieces. Great! I was going to turn that into a souvenir. He exits the black door, leaving it slightly opened in his state of rage.

My eyes scan the almost empty room. I lay on a bed spread with white sheet, my dirty body messing it up.  A dresser lay to the far end of the room and a bedside table on my left. The room seems boring, I think the warehouse was more entertaining. Chris?

The last time I saw him was before the explosion. My stomach turns as the way he looked at me pops into thought. His scream fill my lungs, the last thing I heard before I blacked out. They must have him too, probably in a next room.

I look down at my feet still wearing my dirt boots no ropes or chains. I climb of the bed body aching with every muscle I move. However, I tell myself it's for Chris. I leave the room, not caring to close the door like beard man.

I look left then right down the damp hallway, pondering where I should turn. I turn left. Dull lights flicker above me in sync with my footsteps. My heavy boots against the floor are only thing you hear, making this hall way creeper.

I come upon a next intersection, and decide to take left again. Left all the way, why not. I hear more footsteps as I walk further down into the grey haunted hall. Lights stop flickering as I enter a big room with computers and people working at their desk. I turn back not wanting to be seen. My footsteps become echos as I fast walk trying my best to get away before I'm seen. I turn right heading back in the direction I came from. My head slams into a cheat as I turn the corner. Damn it, why am I always caught.

I step back holding my head, which awakens a headache. Damn sensitivity. My hand cuffs are brandished and green eyes look at me puzzled. I get a better view of the person I thought was my father. I still think he is. His long face pointed at his chin, slender nose pointing at me, thin lips quirking and bold big green eyes. He looks at me with curiosity, not uttering a word. I make the first move.

"Are you Stewart?", I question him. His eyes opens in shock like seeing a ghost. His slender fingers reach forward to touch my face. His cold finger tips come in contact with my face tracing my jaw line. I let him touch me without passing a sassy comment and slapping away his hand. His touch feels so familiar yet so odd. It's like something was missing. He withdrew his hand like I burnt him, and continued looking at me like I was a ghost. His thin lips shivered then spoke so softly I nearly hadn't heard.

"Avagay? Is it you," I wanted to ask if I look like someone else but the words vanish from my mind before I utter them.

I shake my head saying 'yes' as a tear escapes his eye. He hugs me with my cuff hands  in front of me. I try my best not to focus on my hand that's resting on his pants zipper. I fail however I'm soon drawn back by powerful hands. I spin facing the person earning a slap on the same cheek that has crossed many oceans. It stings then slowly turns numb.

I watch as beard man paddle over to Stewart his arms folding into a fist which later connects with his nose. I hear a crack, as blood streams down from his nostrils, and he stumble back into strong muscles arms. As Stewart holds his nose he looks at me: no fear or anger. Just relief. It's like he already knew his fate. Like he wrote his story.

He receives a punch in his stomach; he slumps forward. He lifts his head, glinting to me he is fine. I know he is hurt, I hurt him. I always do. He opens his mouth to say something as beardy turns towards me. I glimpse his blood coated teeth that shakes with his feet. He closes his mouth.

I watch my captor slither infront of me staring me down with fierce eyes. He turns looks at Stewart, then at me in disbelief. He huffs, before setting off down the corridor shouting at his puppets over his shoulder.

"Take him to the same cell as Jasper, '1212', and take her back to her room. I'll deal with her later"

Authoritative hands showed us our way back to our temporary dorm. I don't want to call it cell. Even though it practically is. This time I'm chained to the bed and the door is locked.

My eyes scan the four corners of the room as my mind ponder on the number '1212'. The day last long, but the night even longer, as I feel straps harshly against my back.