Trigger Kids

Chapter 10

Caution: Unedited work.

Happy reading :)

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he grins from a cushioned chair beneath a window, dog-earring a yellowed novel. The shutters are drawn, only admitting slants of sunlight.

"You," I say groggily, trying to prop myself up on my elbows in the bed. The action took more strength than energy I had in storage. "How long have I been out for?"

"About 36 hours," he says, glancing at his watch. "How's your head?"

Instinctively I reach up, my fingertips tracing along a sensitive patch in my hairline and coming away with flakes of dried blood. "What happened?" I wince.

"It was my fault actually. I banged it on the fire escape door when I was carrying you to safety back at the hotel."

"You make it sound so heroic," I scowl for no reason other than helplessness. I'm helpless because my body hurts to move, and my head hurts to think. Helpless because there's a high-profile missing plane out there that a branch of the federal government's defence force believe I have something to do with. Plus, apparently I'm being hunted by radicals. Why? You tell me.

Agent Rookie makes a face in the chair. He looks like hell though, which makes me wonder what amount of stress he's been under within the last 36 hours.

"I'm sorry," I heave a sigh. "Can you help me up?"

Rookie stands, flashing me the gun tucked into the waistband of his pants- a common hiding place I've come to realise. He's wearing a proper shirt today; it's crisp white, rolled at the elbows. He raises me up gently, repositioning the pillow behind my back for comfort. I'm weak right through to my bones. Sitting up has never been this much of a struggle.

"Are you hungry? You must be," Rookie says, watching me closely. He's inches away, searching my face. The correction of posture has made me lightheaded with effort, I'm suddenly dizzy, and my eyes begin to refocus like a camera lens.

"No, I'm not," I say, pushing him away by the forearms. "Where are the other Agents? What is this place?"

The room is quaint and boring. A brown rug carpets the floor, old school embroided manchestry draping the metal-spring bed. There's a vase of wilting Lilies on top of a small dresser in the corner; white ones with crimson nectar. The warm, late afternoon sunlight stifles the room, magnifying dust particles in the air. The door, shedding century old paint is left ajar. No voices, no noise, slips through from beyond.

"It's a safe house in St. Louis," he says, stepping away from me. "Agent Calder and his partner returned to D.C last night. They had some business to attend to. Apparently, after we'd left, there was an attack near the Capitol. Twelve people were killed; one of them said to be a member of Messiah's."

I glance at the window filtering in sunlight, and swallow. "Why is this happening?"

"What?"

"This. All of this."

Rookie removes his gaze, his lips pressing together tightly.

"I can't say."

"Bullshit! You told me yesterday I'm wanted dead; people are dying out there; and my- Sebastian- he's...I don't know. You have to tell me. Please, I have the right to know."

Rookie bows his head to stare at his shiny, tan leather shoes. The muscles in his jaw feather. "I'll tell, but know it's the bare minimum. I'm sworn to oath here, Miss Price. Plus, I don't trust you."