Kidnapping Me

Eternity is a long time

The woman peers at me, frowning. "Who are you?"

And those three words are all it takes to practically shatter me to pieces. "You don't... but Mum, it's me. Grace."

She shakes her head, biting her ruby red lips. "No. No, I have four children. Not five. I have four." She shakes her head again. "Right, Donald?"

Amon's father grips her shoulder tightly. "Right, sweetheart. How about you go check on the quads, and I'll talk to this young lady, okay?"

Mum nods, still looking like a confused five year old as she walks gracefully outside. She's just like I remember her- wrinkles from laughing and smiling, full lips, forest green eyes, playful smirk, slim piano-playing fingers.

Donald, Amon's father,steps forward, closing the hall door gently, a horrible mean look on his withered face. "Amon." Donald says darkly, eyeing me. "What have you done?"

"I was...," Amon looks at me. "In the area, is all."

Donald nods. "So you didn't bring her," He shoots me a look of disgust. "Here on purpose?"

 "Dad." He hisses angrily. "Don't do this. Not to me. Not now."

 "Amon, you knew this...thing about Lea. You knew it all. Yet you brought her into our home! Into her life again!" Donald says in a flat tone.

"Dad, don't be stupid. Grac-,"

"Are you still working for Greyson?" Donald interrupts, running a hand over his mantle piece. It's then I realise the other children, Cat and Patrick, are no longer in the room. It's silent.

I feel like I'm in some bad Mafia movie. I can tell there is something that Amon, the Donald knows that they aren't telling me. They know why Mum doesn't recognise me. I can tell. I sink into the leather sofa, just as Amon does. Donald pours himself a glass of brandy from a crystal bottle.

"Dad." Amon says in a warning tone.

"Answer the question, Amon."

Amon grunts in an annoyed tone, crossing his legs in front of him as he leans back on the couch. "Yes."

Donald scowls. "I see." He sips his drink. "And Greyson brought you here, correct?"

Amon remains silent, glaring at the floor like a five year old on time out.

I stare ahead of me. Out the kitchen window, I can see my Mother paying with four black-headed children, three boys and a girl. They all resemble her- resemble me. How does she not see it? How does she not recognise me? I'm her daughter!

The blinds flip shut on the image, and I look up to see Donald securing them tightly, glaring at me like I've just robbed a bank.

It's silent, until the hall door bangs open, and Cat sticks her head in. "They're here."

Donald grins toothily and I shiver as a feeling of dread washes over me. Amon jumps to his feet. "Dad, you don't know whaty you're doing!" He yells, hauling me off the couch and into his arms protectivly. "Stop this, call them off."

"You know I can't do that, Amon!" Donald yells. "It's what they want! It's Martain Johnson's fault! He did this, not me!" His dark eyes lock with mine. "You, Grace Johnson, have made a grave mistake, coming here."

The hall door bursts open and three men, all weilding guns, barrell their way into the room. The sound of the gun cocking fills the air. The leader gestures to Amon. "Hand us the girl."

Amon shifts me behind him. "No." He turns to his father. "Dad, don't do this. It's not her fault! It's not her fault!"

Donald chuckles like a sadistic murderer. "Someone has to take the blame. Someone has to pay the debt."