Bikes & Blood

𝐗𝐗𝐈𝐈𝐈.

Sam

Two days had passed since Amara had vanished into the night, taking with her a comfort Sam hadn't known he'd needed. A comfort found within the brown-haired girl's lifelike nature. Sam had spent the better part of the first night restless and unable to slip into the comforting embrace of sleep, tossing and turning as his mind whirled with worry for his niece. When the day came, it'd brought no reprieve from the upending spiral of anxiousness that'd plagued his mind in the night's darkness-his worry festering and latching itself to his mind, whispering words of unease deeply into its depths.

The second night had gifted him with a fitful night's sleep; plagued with nightmares of beasts with golden-yellow irises and razor-sharp fangs. Forced to relive the torments of his past through his dreams, cloying with the unmovable tack of guilt that he couldn't shake. On the second day, when the light eclipsed the horizon and the sun began its ascent, Sam had woken with purpose; unclouded and unrelenting purpose.

He'd grown lost in his thoughts, mulling over the events of the night two days prior while gnawing at the skin of his cheek when his older brother, Michael, had come down the stairs. He glanced at the clock mounted on the kitchen wall, his eyes squinted as his brows furrowed with confusion when he noted the golden rays of sunlight that seeped in through the open curtains, billowing softly in the morning light. From the corner of his eye, Sam surveyed the disarray of Michael's appearance, his crumpled t-shirt and dirt-stained jeans utterly unchanged from the days prior like even he didn't want to forget what he'd said to his only daughter.

"How long have you been up?" Michael asked, flicking the switch to the coffee machine with his granite-grey eyes trained on Sam.

"Since dawn."

Michael's eyebrows furrowed, creases etching themselves into his face as he brushed a stray dirt-brown curl out of his face. "You've been awake since sunrise?"

Sam's crystalline-blue eyes narrowed, a disgruntled scoff spilling from his lips as he rolled his eyes, turning away from his older brother and back to the leather-bound book in front of him. "It's been two days, Michael. Two days and we haven't seen her once. She hasn't even come back for clothes."

His older brother eyed him warily, toying with the handle of a cup he'd chosen from the dish rack. "What're you suggesting, Sam?"

"I'm not suggesting anything. That was my way of telling you I called Edgar and Alan." He paused, angling his head toward the front door, where the sound of footsteps echoed to the brother's ears. "That'll be them."

"Sam," Michael warned, voice low as his grey eyes narrowed on the determined blonde, who rose from the wooden chair of the kitchen table with ease.

"Do you want to find Amara or not?" He snapped abruptly.

"You know I do."

"Then what is it? What's your problem?"

Michael sighed, raking his fingers through his dark curls as his gaze dropped to the cup in his hands. "I don't trust them."

Sam blinked, mildly shocked by his older brother's words, because how couldn't he trust them? They'd saved his life twenty-five years ago. "They saved your life." He stated, parroting his thoughts.

"Did they? Or did they just get lucky?"

"They're professionals."

"I've heard that before, Sammy." Michael chuckled mockingly, turning his back to Sam as he poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

"What-"

"This time it's different. We're not kids anymore and this isn't a game of make-believe." Michael turned back to face Sam, his cup of coffee held comfortably in his grasp, steaming in the crisp morning air. "I don't trust them to keep Amara's best wishes in mind. You know how absentee Edgar is with his own sons. What makes you think he cares about what happens to Amara?"