Colorblind [h.s]

4

We enter what appears to be a garage.

Where the hell are we?

I've been in every inch of this library, even the basement once when the power went out and I helped Peter turn it back on, and I had no idea there was a garage down here.

Three cars are parked in front of us – a Maserati, Rolls Royce, and a Range Rover.

God damn.

My mind goes back to the Rolex on Harry's wrist.

The four other boys from the library are gathered around the cars talking amongst themselves.

The Grapevine comes up to me and studies my face as I study his.

He's shorter than Harry, probably only by a few inches, and has much shorter hair, too. It's blonde, but the roots are brown. He has icy blue eyes, and as far as I can see, doesn't sport nearly as much ink as Harry. In fact, I don't see any ink on him at all. He's wearing skinny jeans, a white button down with the sleeves rolled up, and has the same watch as Harry on his wrist.

"Jesus Styles, you really shook her up." He says, chuckling a bit.

Styles must be Harry's last name. That explains the 'H' and 'S' rings that I saw on his fingers earlier.

Also explains the audit.

Harry doesn't respond. The Grapevine – mental note to find out his name so I can stop calling him that – shakes his head and walks toward the Maserati, hopping in the front seat. The black haired boy follows behind and slips into the passenger seat. The other two brown haired ones climb into the Rolls Royce, so I follow them to the car to get into the back seat.

Just as I'm about to grab the door handle, a tattooed hand grabs my wrist, making me yelp in surprise. I know exactly who it is.

"Nuh-uh," he sings again.

Why does he sing-talk so much?

"You're riding with me," he says, holding up keys to the Range Rover in his hand. He uses his other to guide me to the black car and opens the passenger door for me with the hand holding the keys.

"Put your seatbelt on darling, wouldn't want to put you in danger now would I?" he says, smirking, and closes the door behind me once I'm situated in my seat.

I watch him walk to the Maserati and tap on the window, and the blonde one rolls it down to talk to him.

While I wait for Harry to return, I look around the car and take in my surroundings.

The car is spotless, like no one has ever driven it before, and has a smell similar to that of a new car, too. It must be new. It has a sleek, black interior that matches the outside, black leather seats, and light grey carpeting.

I need to tell my Mom that I'm ready for my driver's license. If I ever see her again, that is.

I continue admiring the beauty of the car until something unsettling catches my eye. There's a small red stain on the carpet in the backseat – so small I barely noticed it. I can't smell anything other than the new car scent, but that color is unmistakable, and I can't think of anything else it could be. It's definitely blood.

As I stare at the blood stain, I realize that what I'm smelling is not in fact the new car smell.

Bleach.

I whip my head forward and try to act nonchalant when Harry opens the door and slides into the driver's seat, his eyes set straight ahead.

He starts the engine by pressing the ignition button and pulls a small remote out of the center console. I assume it's some kind of garage door opener, because out of the side mirror I can see the large metal door separating us from the outside world start to slowly raise.