Catch Me Now

Upside Down

I stepped slowly through my apartment, glancing around and sighing quietly to myself. I'd only just moved here; my last place was so far from home. Now, to be back in Toronto... My parents, they're ecstatic. "Raella! Welcome home, baby!" Happy for me to be back from six years in New York. But here I am, standing in this apartment and wondering... What was it that made me come back?

In New York, all of my friends, well - they weren't the truest. And none of them could pronounce my name, for that matter. It isn't Ray-La. It's Ray-EL-La. Rayella...Raella. What was so hard about that? I missed the kind ways and honest faces of my friends back home, here in Canada. In the US, everyone thinks Canadians are..."different", but I've missed this place so much. I loved it here, especially growing up. In New York, I was successful. I was making great money and lived in a nice apartment, complete with all the bells and whistles. But no matter what I did, there always was something missing.

The only guy there ever was here in Canada was my best friend, Mike Scarlatti. He was a great guy, but he was so focused on his career, and to be honest, I knew he would never see me as more than a friend. He would always see me as Ell, his best buddy. Not the girl who had fallen for him at age thirteen and stayed that way ever since. Then, when I went to the Big Apple, there were so many guys who I thought were really, really interested in me as a person. Ha. Right.

Turns out, when you live in a bigass apartment paid for by your company, guys assume you come from a "good" family and they tend to sort of flock around you. They also assume you have experience in the bedroom that beats all or something stupid along those lines. Ugh, gross. Coming back home really was the best thing for me; at least out here, the men are gentlemen. They may not make a move if their life depended on it sometimes, but...hey, at least they don't grab your ass for absolutely no reason at all - completely uninvited and on multiple occasions, I might add.

The phone rang and I turned to pick it up, bringing it to my ear. "Hello?" There was no voice on the other end, and I waited. "Hola? Anyone there?" My terrible Spanish accent faltered down the telephone line and I rolled my eyes, hanging up the phone. Damn prank callers.

I took three steps forward, and then there was a bang. A loud one. A crash so loud that my ears were ringing deafeningly and my body was suddenly on the ground. There was no explanation, but I had no way out.

--

"Wakey, wakey," a voice, sick and cold, whispered in my ear. I cringed at the sound, my eyes squinting shut and my body aching. Pain at the back of my head reminded me that I'd been hit - hard - with something not long after that impossible noise. Hell, this was not how I planned my return to Canada going.

"The hell..." I groaned, slowly trying to get up from where I was laying. Peeling my eyes open revealed rope tied around my wrists, a grip so unforgiving that I could already feel my skin being rubbed away with even small movements. I looked around, my surroundings plain and confined. I was in a car, laying down on the back seat. My feet and hands were bound, my hair pulled back shabbily and my head still stinging painfully. There was something that felt like a corset wrapped exhaustingly tight around my middle, unrelenting and unexplained. A man stood above me, his face masked.

"You ready?" he asked, his head tilted to one side. His eyes looked... innocent. He was so calm that he managed to appear as if this was just any day. What a fucking psychopath.

"I-I..." I murmured, my breath quickening and my gaze struggling to reach the outside long enough to see where we were.

"Shh, stay quiet 'til I tell you, little one," he ordered me, pulling duct tape from its roll and placing it over my mouth. I tried to fight against the tape, feeling his grubby fingers thickly grab me by the hair and drag me from the car. My cries were hardly heard, muffled by the tape and tears suddenly pouring down my cheeks involuntarily. Fear pumped through my body, my heart racing and my stomach jumping around inside of me as I was dragged into a tall building. Please, God, help me...

He led us up a flight of stairs, my feet dragging along each step with the binds that they were stuck in. His arms were so strong that my weight was of no object to him. But my eyes, they still caught on the black in his hand. The black that was in the shape of an L - complete with a trigger and a hammer pulled back ready to take an innocent person's life without hesitation.

--

Spike laughed as Jules took Ed down in hand-to-hand, a wide grin on his face. He stood next to the Boss, who had come in for the day as a visitor. Things were still weird after the 911 Bomber had attempted to destroy half of Toronto's major political and communicative strongholds, pulling each member of Team One in different directions. Boss' injuries led him to retirement, after which he could go home to a new wife, Marina, and his son, Dean. With Sam working Team Leader for Team Three, Ed took Sergeant for Team One and Jules became Team Leader, Spike remaining the Explosives and Systems Expert and Leah the main CQC and take down "specialist". It wasn't an official title, but they damn sure enjoyed calling her that; her take-downs were like no other. But today was a good day; with a new member, whose name was Ben, and Raf back on the team to even out the numbers once he'd figured out his feelings about the job, it felt like everyone was there. Dean, the Boss's son was visiting his mom in Texas before he went into the Academy, and Marina was visiting her ill mother back in Vancouver. Today was just a good day for him to come visit the station and help train for a little while.

"C'mon, Ed, get her back...!" Spike exclaimed, watching as the tall and still bald as ever man made his way to his feet and took his stance once more. Jules' grin never faded, her confidence high and grace and poise even higher. Her agility and power to slink through every move attempted by her opponents were exactly what made her so good at weaponless defense.

"This is great," the Boss laughed, shaking his head in amusement.

"Excuse me!" a deep, male voice sarcastically and dramatically called out from the entryway of Team One's floor. Following the voice was the unmistakable gasp, and the "Oh my god," that Winnie couldn't help but mutter from behind them. They all turned, curious as to what the commotion was about.

Oh my God... was the thought that immediately crossed Spike's mind, his eyes widening and heart stopping. In the matter of half a second, his world was flipped upside down.

There stood a man, tall and heavily built, covered from head to toe in black. His face was covered, his eyes revealing the joy he felt in creating fear and disgust in the unsuspecting people - and police officers - around him. His hand was threaded through a woman's thick, chocolate hair, her eyes glazed over with tears and her cheeks stained with the others she'd already cried. Around her middle was a vest, black; it appeared to be a bullet-proof vest, Kevlar waiting to protect her from another person's bullet. Against her skull, with his free hand the man pressed a gun, the hammer cocked back and an eerie smile on his lips. Her feet and hands were bound with rope, duct tape shining across her mouth and preventing her words from reaching the ears of the people who could help her. But Spike didn't see any of that. No; what he saw was something much more.

"Ella...!" he sputtered, stumbling forward and looking from the subject to the hostage, not believing that either of those titles could involve the girl that he grew up head over heels for.