Space Egg

December 11th

I let the sedative still in my system lull the throb in my head into a silent dull hum. I hadn't intended to fall asleep. I ment to stay awake until Keefie returned, but when he had been gone long enough for the automatic lights to flick off by themselves, my eyelids began to grow heavy, my ribs throbbing. The sedative lulled me to sleep. And I knew that was Keefies intentions. He had ment for me to rest.
    I slept in a listless sleep, each ache of my muscle like a wave across the ocean. I hadn't faced the faces and horrors in my dreams like I had for every previous night of my life. There were no dark shadows taunting me. No blood pooling in my hands, the red catching off the moonlight. I slept in complete darkness, each rise and fall of my chest tethering me to life.
Daylight filters in through the curtains settles behind my head where I hadn't noticed the Night before. I push myself up, my head dreary with the heavy lull of sleep. My head had calmed, only the faint hum of where pain had once been ricocheting in my skull. I was still sore, my body aching beneath my weight. My arm was still tethered tightly beside to the bed frame, a positive way to make sure I wasn't going to be dashing again. I tug at it uselessly, despite knowing it's not going anywhere. I fiddle with the plastic piece with my free hand not able to loosen it. I look around the room hoping to find something sharp, or even thin to shove under the zip tie and loosen its grip, but the only thing that I seem to be able to reach is a paper cup full of water perched on a wooden night stand lacking any drawers or handles.
I curse this place, the wretched, painfully white room. The medical equipment now sat docile in the corner of the room. I hated hospitals, and I hated being stuck. I hated the stupid man who had taken me here. The stupid man who had ruined my life.
I had sat with him that night. I placed my hands to his wound like I had seen in movies. The blood seeped between my small hands, too much, too fast for me to do anything. His breaths slowed under my hands. I hadn't grasped the concept of death until that night. I had felt, felt his pulse slow under my tight grasp. I understood then that death was the end. It was permanent, irreversibly.
Except it clearly wasn't. That same man had now taken me from my home, in the midst of one of the most chaotic times of my life. He had brought me to whatever nightmare my mother had given her life to try and shield me from. There's guilt in me, building in the pit of my stomach. I somehow felt like I had failed her, being dragged to wherever this place was.
"Knock Knock." Someone declares as they slip into the room.
I look up guilt ridden like a kid with their hand caught in the cookie jar. I pull my hand away from the zip tie, doing my best to pretend like I hadn't just been caught trying to free myself.
Keefie cocks his head to the side, raising a skeptical brow. "I'm going to pretend like I didn't see that."
"See what?" I ask, reciprocating his expression.
    "Exactly." He hums with a wink.
In the daylight I can truly see his face. His features are soft against the angles of his face, a heavy helping of freckles scattering over him. His hair looks like he just rolled out of bed, loose unruly blond curs slightly brushing into his eyes. His eyes are light, a grey green shimmering with hints of gold.
"Good to see your not dead." He declares cheerily sorting through the medical equipment loosely tossed in the corner of the room.
I watch him silently, trying to figure out the kind of situation I was in. This captor, this boy, was generally friendly. Annoying beyond belief, a complete nuisance, but a cheery and happy one. Yet he had zip tied me in place, sedated me, and was holding me hostage. He still had his knife strapped to his leg and his gun holstered at his hip. Either he was a complete sociopath, or he truly believed he wasn't doing any harm.
"Who is holding me here?" I ask, once again pushing for answers. I wasn't going to be held in this small hospital room for no reason. Who ever had me here had me for a reason.
    "Well, if you want to know that it's your lucky day," Keefie hums clearly trying to keep himself busy. "My Boss wants to meet you in just a few minutes."
    His voice is cheery the same as before, but his face is telling a different tale. He didn't want me to meet his boss.
    "It's not Kaz?" I ask, flinching at his sour name in my mouth.
    "Nope." He saids, offering no further explanation, before turning around and pulling out his knife.
    I flinch back, straining against the bond holding me down as far as I can the plastic course against my skin. My heart stammers, any sound catching in my throat.
    "Woah, calm down," Keefie musters, holding his hand with the knife up . "I'm just cutting the zip ties, your all good."
    I raise an eyebrow skeptically, sealing my mouth shut.
He slides the blade of his knife under the course plastic, the metal cold and smooth against my skin. The tie breaks open with only some fight, releasing my red and blistered wrist. I pull it away, slowly flexing it letting it gain blood flow again.
Keefie slides his knife back into its sheath, offering me a hand up.
"Boss is just going to love you."
I try to hide the panic hiding in my face, the swirl of bile in my stomach. I had a hunch I was going to love this boss just as much as he was going to love me.
Despite my panic, I understand that this is my chance to both figure out why I'm here, and get my self out. I ignore Keefies hand, pushing myself up swinging my legs out of bed. I wasn't going to hesitate. Panic, sure, maybe, but I wasn't going to throw away my shot at figuring out why the hell I was here.
    I plant my feet against the floor finding I'm still in my black sweats and walrus socks. A sweatshirt had been pulled over the hospital gown acting as a shirt. Standing on the cold linoleum floors I'm suddenly extremely self concuss. I run a hand through my short hair, the tangles grasping at my fingers. I was a mess. My hands were cracked and bloody from the dry winter air, my wrist red and raw from the zip tie. My ribs ache with every breath, my legs swaying beneath me. But this time I'm able to keep them firmly planted.
    I breath escapes my lips as I look to Keefie, then to the door. "So, am I going to meet this guy?"
    "Don't be so eager." Keefie grimaces, not nearly amused with what I was yet to learn.
    He opens the door and steps out waiting for me. Clumsily i follow, my legs resembling led weights, my balance long since gone. Still I walk, each breath labored. Outside of the room is a hall going west to east, long and grey. Doors line the hall, one large wooden door to the right at the end of the hall. It's an eerie sight, unsettling as the hospital room itself.
    "So warm and cozy." I muster following Keefie to the wooden door.
Keefie wraps on the door twice, the wood thick and solid.
    There's no response, and I expect him to wait. Except he doesn't bother, pushing the door open with a solid click of the brass knob.
    The light blinds me as it takes my eyes by surprise. My first instinct is to shrink away from the light, pulsing sudden pain through my head. I try to step back and duck my head, but find a firm hand on the small of my back pushing me into the room. I let myself be pushed forward, doing my best to blink away the pain and study the room blinding me.
    A large wooden oak desk sits in the middle of the room, illuminated by a tryptic of windows set behind it. Book shelves line the room accompanied by a medium grey shade of blue paint covering the walls. The room was desperate for a fresh set of paint, white plaster patches covering parts of the walls, water stains near the ceiling. The room smelled musty and had a chill to it, surely seeping up from the obviously original cobble stone floors. The cold shivers up my legs through my socks, leaving goose skin along my arms. A draft brushes my hair over my eyes, and futility, I push it back only for it to fall back into place. Papers covering the floors wrinkle in the slight blow, showing they're true numbers.
    My eyes meet with the cold ice blue ones staring at me from the leather chair perched behind the desk.
    A man with a face so sharp and pale you might think he was an ice sculpture. His hair is shoulder length and blond, the same shade as Keefies. His hands fold perfectly on the desk before him, a splay of papers lining the surface. The room is a stark contrast to him. And quite frankly a mess. Disorganized, papers left haphazardly just about everywhere you looked, the distant pitter patter of water somewhere leaking. He on the other hand was as cleanly put together as one could be. He had a finely pressed grey wool suit, his hair was slicked back expertly, and looked like he might cut you with his gaze.
    I chew my lip, putting on my best act of being completely unfazed.
    "Pennie." The man's voice hums, crisp and clear as ice. He leaves the air open letting the scrape of ice on the roof above us fill the air.
    I stare at him. I feel quite unprepared in my current state, I know I must look ill. The stone beneath my feet feels damp from the chill in the air, and to be quite frank I have no idea what to say. My heart is in my chest, evident by the sound hammering in my ears. Every time I try to form a word, my mouth ends up empty.
    "Do take a seat," the man offers, standing up to pull the seat on the other side of the desk out for me. I step back away from his presence, slamming into Keefie standing in the doorway. The man is wearing cologne, smelling too much like a campfire. Enough to make me crinkle my nose.
"I'm not sitting." I say. My legs are stiff from who knew how many days in bed, never mind the cloudy hum hanging in my head. If I sat down, I'm not sure I could get back up.
The man looks at me. He raises a brow.
"Then stand."
My insides squirm, the room around me feeling so wrong. The hum of a heater hides behind the curtain pulled beside the window, the snow piling down upon the branches of the trees. The distinct sound of a tick tick sits in the back of my head, where snow was melting on the roof leaking into the office.
My eye catches a movement beside the curtain, and I quickly relise why the room felt so wrong. There Kaz stood, his carheart jacket the same grey blue color of the curtains behind him, a stark contrast to his olive skin. I try to hide my jolt, my heart palpating, my hands growing clammy. How Kaz was alive I couldn't comprehend. Mom had killed him. He was shot twice through the neck, and I had placed my small hands over where I thought the wound was. Through that night the blood had dried on my hands, flaking away, but even now I can still feel it caking my hands, and the cuffs of my sleeves.
I shake my head, my eyes jolting to the floor to where papers are littered at my feet. They're stark white, a hard contrast against the original cobble floors.
    "The papers new." I mutter, scanning the room. The ceiling had been leaking where snow melted on the roof, paper littered under where the drips would land.
    "It should be soiled." I say a bit louder now, more confident that this was what the man had been waiting for me to find.
    "But the papers perfect. They are hardly touched, no one had even stepped on them?"
    He raises an eyebrow.
"There's no reason for those to be there." I say, trying to convince myself to believe my own words. I grimace as I lean down to pick up a paper, my ribs grinding against each other, my legs quaking beneath the efforts. I stumble, bracing my hand against the floor, keefie grabbing my arm pulling me back up. I jerk my shoulder away and read the paper.