Motega

Chapter 2

Hiya folks!! The next chapter of "Motega" is indeed here. The plot line is moving fast, and the only reason for that is because a majority of the story takes place after the main secret has been exposed. Please let me know what you think, I appreciate it so much!

Chapter 2

The house lights were out when I reached the farmhouse gate, but I forced myself to remain calm. Dad should be watching the news in the living room, an annoying voice whispered in the back of my head. I mentally shushed the only practical thinking left within me before opening the metal wiring with a tentative shriek. I stood facing the house, allowing no pessimistic thoughts to override my brain. So intent on my quest, I didn’t register another person’s presence.

“Colette?!” Someone cried out from farther up the road, “Is that you?”

                Trying to maintain normal breathing I turned towards the familiar figure, “Aleta! What happened?!”

“I’m glad you’re here,” the girl hobbled over, clutching her cane, “Someone came into your house. I don’t know what happened! I heard screams, and yells, and something broke! I wanted to find help, but I couldn’t…I just couldn’t…”

                Aleta was frantic, her voice had notched and tears had begun to snake their way down her face. I held her reassuringly until her whimpering had subsided.

“There wasn’t anything you could do… besides,” I put on a bright face, “They could still be fine. Just a little misunderstanding.”

“But if it wasn’t a misunderstanding; it was my entire fault.” Aleta mumbled, “All because I can’t see with these stupid, stupid eyes.”

                I grabbed her hand, for my comfort as well as her own. What was I supposed to do now? I had an insane teenager on my back, my family appeared to be gone, and now I’m stuck in the dark of the night with my blind best friend. I couldn’t crack, I just had to keep strong.

But how strong can you be if you’ve never lifted a finger in your entire life? Great. The annoying voice had returned.

~~~

                The house I had grown up in was now a disaster area. Tables overturned, papers on the floor, ripped linens, and a flooded bathroom made up the majority of a once tidy home. The kettle still worked, and so did the stove. I set to making a hot tea for Aleta, who had regained the case of the sniffles. As I set a steaming mug in front of her, she gazed up at my face and made contact with my eyes. It always amazes me when she manages to find something so quickly.

“What do you think happened?” She whispered as she blew onto her drink.

“I have no idea.” I leaned back against the kitchen counter, my expression blank, “I really don’t.”

                We settled into an uncomfortable silence. I watched Aleta from a distance, studying her every move. At fifteen years old, she’s almost two years younger than I am, but she’s been through much more. An abusive father had cost her something you couldn’t get back, her eyes. In fact, she spent more time at my house than her own; the abuse hadn’t stopped after going blind. It might have gotten worse. You wouldn’t be able to tell though. Her black hair was long, and shined with a cobalt hue, her face was pretty and delicate, and the once-seeing eyes had remained a light blue. Our friendship started five years ago, and had only grown stronger. Oddly enough, we were completely different. I was loud, and, at times, rude. She was nothing but quiet and polite.

“I’m so glad nothing happened to you Aleta.” The silence was thankfully broken.

“I don’t care about me.” She closed her eyes and set the mug of tea down defiantly, “I care about your family. And they obviously are not here.”

“Obviously.” I muttered, receiving a deathly glare from Aleta before continuing, “Okay, let’s think. What are our options here?”

“We could run.” Aleta shrugged, “Or hide. We might even-”

                She was interrupted by a clang of metal coming from farther into the house. She shot me a look of pure terror as I reached for the dirty steak knife in the sink. The yellow glow of kitchen tiles and dim bulbs intensified the already extreme mood; I hoped to God that my heart wasn’t beating as loudly as I thought it was.

“We could fight.” I whispered before slipping through the arch way leading into the family room.

                My eyes adjusted to the darker setting very quickly, and I scanned the room, grateful for the gray drab of a dress I had worn. At least it serves as good camouflage. I gripped the knife handle tighter than before, not bothering to hide the shakiness in my hold.

“Who’s there?” I called out foolishly.

                I heard a thud and could barely constrain a smile. Yet another person to stub their toe on the newspaper rack. I heard someone curse under their breath, and another person shush them. I was about to lash out with my weapon, but a blinding white glow filled the room, stopping me mid-swing.

                I had expected burly thugs, blood-thirsty murderers, maybe even the Grim Reaper himself. Instead, I stood face to face with two teenagers clad in leather. Hats covered their hair and shadowed their eyes, making them nearly impossible to make out, but there was no mistaking their arrival. Swallowing the sour taste of fear that threatened to bring about my submission, I lifted the knife higher.

“Where are my parents?” The question came out before I could stop myself, “And my brother?”

“You mean they’re not here?” The black-clad girl still had her hand on the light switch.

“No.” I stated coldly.     

                The duo gave each other a startled glance before pulling the baseball caps off their heads. A boy and a girl, just as I had guessed. The boy stood taller than the girl, his auburn curls a tangled nest and his brown eyes narrowed. He was intimidating, and that much was sure, but the girl stole the show. She was long-limbed and willowy, sporting a short cropped head of black I knew I’d never be able to pull off. A person not to be taken lightly, I finally concluded, But why is she staring at me like that?

                 The girl was indeed scrutinizing me, and was making no effort to hide it. The boy settled onto the couch behind him and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

“We’re too late.” He finally stammered, “This shouldn’t have happened.”

                The girl stepped in my direction, ignoring her partner’s pity speech, “You must be the girl we’re looking for. I’m Anya, and that’s Fain.” She paused, “You can put the blade down by the way.”

                I blinked in response. Should I put my only weapon down? Or keep hold of it? I decided on neither of the above. Mustering all the strength I still had in me, I closed my eyes and hurled the steak knife in her direction. Instead of the ding and possible crack I was expecting, a vibrating clang echoed through the room. I opened one eye tentatively. The knife was in her hand, piercing tip pointed at me.

                She had caught it. And I was screwed.