Captive - Liam Payne -

Chapter Two

A strong, bright, light forces my eyes open. My elbow pinches beneath me, raising myself slightly. I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the light.

My throat, now dry, barely manages to speak.

"Where am I?" I ask, my voice scratchy.

"Do you remember what happened?" A deep voice says.

I blink my eyes to vision and squint as I drop my hand. The man is dressed in a matching black uniform. His expression is unforgiving and cold.

"Um, no?"

"What's your name?" He asks.

Her name was Misty.

"Misty," I respond just under a breath. "I think."

"Do you remember anything?" He asks as he leans forward in his chair.

"I don't - I don't remember." I start to raise my hand, but it stops itself. My eyes dart to the source to see pale bandages wrapped around my shoulder.

"What happened to me?" I ask with desperate eyes.

"You were shot," he responds with no movement of his voice.

"Shot? How? Why?" I mutter.

"You shot someone else. You asked for it," He tells me.

I asked for it?

I open my mouth to speak. I close it when I hear the creak of a door opening.

"Hello, miss," a young brunette speaks. She faces the man. "She's all set, you can take her now."

"Where are you taking me?" I ask, my voice still harsh, my fear growing.

The man stands before speaking. "Miss, you murdered two people," he states. "I'm taking you where you belong."

Belong. That word sparks interest in me, but this guy is still scary.

I lie back into the bed and cross my arms. I'm not going with him.

"Miss," he speaks. "Follow me."

"No," I barely whisper.

He reaches his hand by his side and pulls something small and dark colored out.

"This is a weapon," he says, "I will use it if I have to. Come with me."

I glance to the nurse. Her posture and lack of a designated place to keep her eyes show that she is unsure of this situation.

I slowly raise myself from the bed.

"Good girl," he says.

"Shut up," I respond hoarsely. "Just take me where you want to."

He grabs my arm with force, his grip tightening as we walk.

We walk out the door and into the hallway. We both remain silent as he half-leads half-drags me to our destination.

He pulls me into a small room with a single table.

"Take a seat," He says.

"I'm fine - "

"Sit," He repeats with authority in his tone.

"Okay, okay," I respond. "Sheesh."

I pull out the small metal chair. The uneven legs wobble when I put my weight on it. I cross my arms and slouch.

"Misty," He speaks before placing his hands on the table. "You worked with Felix, yes?"

"Felix," I whisper. Multiple pictures appear in my mind. White hair.. Violet.. Mustache, no, he had a beard, too. He loved tulips. Her name was Misty.

"Misty?" The man asks. "You worked with him, correct?"

"I - I," the words fumble in my mouth, "Yes."

"Did he pay you well?"

"Uh, yeah, I think - Wait, where is my money?" I ask. "Did you steal all my stuff?"

"We have it at the station, don't worry." He tells me.

"All of it?"

"Well," He breathes, "Not all of it."

He looks towards the large mirror against the wall.

"Go ahead," he says, still facing the mirror.

"I didn't..?"

"Not you."

I send him a confused look, he responds with a stern stare.

After a few silent moments, the door opens. Another young man walks in holding a beautiful, shiny, saxophone. He hands it to the other, stockier, scarier, guy, and leaves the room.

The saxophone is put on the table once the door clicks.

"Do you remember this?" He asks.

"Is this mine?"

"The bartender said it belonged to you," he strokes the side gently. "He said you performed there."

"Bartender?" I ask.

"Is the saxophone yours or not?!" He demands.

His sudden outburst causes me to jump slightly. My eyes widen from the sound, and at his suddenly enraged figure.

"Yes," I speak.

Honestly, I'm not sure. Everything is a blur. Something with a bartender. Always trust the bartender.

And hey, a free saxophone doesn't hurt anyone.

A sigh escapes the man, "Do you remember anything? Does this spark any memories?"

My eyebrows raise, "You brought in a saxophone to bring back my memories," I state. "No medication or anything?"

His bottom lip curls as his slowly closes his eyes. A long breath comes from his nostrils.

"Do you remember anything," he asks, but his tone makes it sound more of a statement.

"No," I say firmly. "But I do know I would've never killed anyone for anything," I sit forward in my chair and place my hands on the table. "You've got the wrong person."

"Miss," He says. "You were the only person with a gun in that club. There were two dead people, who else do you suspect?"

I lean back into the chair. "Yeah, you've got yourself a sticky situation," I say. "But it's not me. I don't know what else you want me to say, but it wasn't me."

"I thought you didn't remember anything," he responds with a raised eyebrow.

"Look, everything is kind of a blur right now. I don't know if you remember, but I was shot, okay. And I think if I murdered someone, I'd remember," I tell him.

"Miss, we have to be fair," he sighs. "You're coming with me."

Not this time.

He approaches the door. I grab the saxophone as I walk towards him. As soon as he unlocks the door, I lift up the saxophone and land it on his head. He groans loud enough to bring attention. I squeeze outside of the door and dash down the hall. A bright, red, sign catches my eye.

I push the door open, sounding the alarms.

Here I go, with no destination. One thought runs through my mind, one thought gives me something to hold on to; I remember the voice that spoke it, the voice brings me peace:

Her name was Misty.