When she would walk down the street in the dead of night Elfy would look to the sky, and stare at the stars. It would ease the boredom. She would count the stars, one by one, one by one, one by one. Until she would trip on a rock and scrape her knee...
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 in 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 with a chuckle. "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 chuckles, 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. "You have water damage," I point out. "You would think with all this paper laying on the ground it would be damaged." "But." The man's voice hums, crisp and clear as ice. "The papers new." I relise scanning the room. It was down pouring outside the windows, and there was a slight tisk tisk of a ceiling leaking somewhere in this room. "How long has it been raining?" I ask, before coming to the conclusion myself looking at a sheet of paper on the desk marking the previous weather. "Two days," I declare. "It's been raining for two days. But all of this paper is in perfect condition. Which means either you are a complete and udder idiot, a wizard, or your hiding something." He raises and eyebrow and I find myself correcting my words. "Or, you want me to find something." A smile twists his cold face, and I've hit what he intended. "Good Job, Ms Pennie. Please, do, take a seat." He offers gesturing to the adjacent chair across from the desk. I don't accept his gesture, leaving my feet planted against the cold stone floor. "Your quick, and yet completely gullible Ms Pennie." He speaks, his tone even and controlled. He has a slight accent licking at his voice, soft, clearly he was attempting to bury its sharp edges. "And why is that?" I ask, cocking my head to the side. "Your life is completely disastrous. Your Mom a Murderer, you, a captive survivor, a bank robbery survivor, you shot a man in self defense, and you survived a terrorist attack. You do seem to have graced the fates poorly." My chest tightens at his recounting of events. When you put it as he did it really was no wonder on why the FBI had begun to put some notice into me. "Wouldn't it make much more sense if these never were acts of fate?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at, but I hated that I had though these same thoughts before. "Pennie, you always did have a knack for seeing the hidden and missing the clear. Look at the papers." I do as he saids, my eyes grazing the papers. My breath leaves my lungs and I find myself nearly toppling over as I read the sheets of paper. Every single piece. Every sheet, every line, was a plane. It was all set up. My life was a set up. I was a set up.
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These people set me up. I had been set for a life of disaster, a life of pain. Tears well in my eyes, my body burning in rage. My body turns into a hum, my fist balling at my sides. My vision clouds, the solid thrumming Of the rain outside joining with the pounding of my heart. My body moves before I even think about what I'm doing. My feet fall forward on the cobble floors, fast and silent. The space between me and the man wasn't much to begin with, the room was already small. When I rush forward the space closes significantly. Nails bight at my skin, my fist balled tight enough to draw blood from my own flesh. My own palms were smooth, but my fingers already blood stained where they had nervously pulled away the skin from my lips. Rage takes over any reasonable thoughts as I stare this blond smug mole rat of a man in the eyes. This place, these people, had ruined me. I had no dignity in life left to lose, and if a punch to this man's face would wipe the smug grin on his lips away it would be well worth the later consequences. I throw myself forward, waiting for my fist to meet his face. Instead my own body crumbles inward, my arms falling forward to cover my face from meeting the cobble. I slam down, hard. Something hard had been slammed where the base of my skull meets my neck, knocking me down, and nearly out. The stone meets my skin with a kiss of cold, then sting. Hard labored breaths rush from me as I feel my ribs shift, a painful pop echoing from me as I attempt to move my body to the side. I let myself lie still focusing on breathing and not letting my vision dim. I hear words from beside me, and see faces. I see faces I know that should make me panic. I can feel my muscles tense. My eyes widen. But I don't move. My body is too stricken by pain to be worried by my foolish fears. The stone feels cool against the side of my face, against my aching ribs. I draw my legs to my chest, pushing up with my arms, doing my best to keep my wits, to not let the familiale lull of pain sing me back to sleep. I feel hands grab my shoulders, guiding me to a sitting position. My stomach churns, my head throbbing. I rest my head between my knees letting the blood rush back to my head. I find my hands holding my head, fingers massaging my temples. The thrums of pain slow, and gingerly I raise my head. I find when I look up Keefie and the blond man with the slicked back ponytail they had since been joined by Kaz. I know in my gut it was Kaz who had hit me. A gun sits on the blond man's desk and I can only imagine that is what had solidly smacked me at the base of my skull. I look and see his holster is empty, and I know I'm right. I try to hide my fear of the man. I try not to show that he was the monster lurking in my dreams for the last 12 years. But all I see when I look at his face is the blood pooling in my hands, my moms blood stained linen skirts, the dried blood caking my hands. I tear my eyes away, trying to rise on shaky legs. There's immediate protest from Kaz and Keefie, the blond man simply watched in amusement, a faint smile tainting his lips. His hands are perched primly on the desk, his pale skin smooth and unwrinkled. I ignore the words of protest making my head throb, the light of the room pulsing behind my eyes. The pain rushing through my head is a drop against the anger I feel. I measure where I stand and where the blond man is perched. I could reach him. So I do. I don't punch the man. That was too slow, I had already learned this. No, I slap him. I slap him, fast and hard. It wipes the smile off his face as the sound rings in the room satisfyingly, the following silence deafening. A slow smiles grows on my face, a stream of nasty names coming to my mind for this man. I have no time to muster the energy for them before my legs buckle beneath me and I find myself being held up against my own dead weight.
