The Search For Dakota Thompson

Chapter 3:

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Draft Entry Eleven-
03/06/20
Calissa Thompson
Williamson Co' Publishers
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I thought I saw him today, in the city. But I remembered, he wouldn't be here, he never liked this place, he told me that. He's probably already forgotten everything.

Everything I won't allow myself to.

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I could feel the tingling in my hands as they burned, the hot metal like ice in my palm.

All eyes were on me, staring me down, as if they were lions and my fragile self, the prey. The prey holding the weapon, of which damage was the main concern.

There was a hole already there. Quite a deep one at that. But now, it was deep, and there was no way I was escaping now. And by they way they were looking at me, murder cold in their eyes, I knew, there wasn't meant to be an escape in the first place.

"So let me get this straight. This girl, is related to him? No way, she's a mess." The young girl with deep black hair let out in a laugh.

"Excuse me?" I raised and eyebrow in her direction. Was everyone in here immune to manners?

"I'm sorry but you don't seem like the type of girl to be able to handle herself." She stated simply, as if insulting people was a normal thing to her.

"And you do?" I began my remark, hissing anger through my teeth, until Lykan interrupted "-W-here is he? B-Blake?" He directed towards the guy leaning against the wall.

Lee was hunched over, looking to wall on my right to keep him on his feet. He was barely holding himself upright. He needed help, before he lost too much blood.

"He's somewhere in the back. Oh and Lee, why did you bring-her-here?" The guy-Blake-spat in my direction. Now I was pissed.

"Oh fuck you. You lot decide to drag me ass blind into this shit hole, terrified, shove a gun in my hand and remove me of my fucking sanity?! I just killed a man! I took a life, like it was nothing! And now you say I'm not 'good enough'? That I'm weak. I'm so very sorry if I disappoint you all in any way! That's the last thing I wanna do. " I snarled, tapping the barrel of the gun against the wall slightly. My hands were shaking in anger, the numb pain in my body starting to resurface again.

I couldn't believe the sarcasm and sheer rudeness coming from my mouth. I wasn't a rude, sarcastic person before all of this. I hated rude people, and tried my best not to become one myself. I was raised correctly, I knew what manners were and used them. With right.

It'd been hours since this world engulfed me, and in those few hours, this is what I'd become. I was starting to dread what else the simple influence of danger could make me do.

In that moment, all eyes on my blood stained face, silence fell over them all. I let out a weak sigh, blowing my rain dampened hair from my sticky forehead.

Looking down at my shaking crimson hands, ruined jeans and the dull gray gun, I truly questioned what I had let myself in for.

Seconds later, knowing my thoughts and expressions, he spoke, stepping from the shadows and catching my attention immediately. Voice, as daunting as the day he left.

"You can get in, and looks like you already have. But no one said anything about getting out."

"James? James Westbrooke?"

"Hi Cali."

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8 hours earlier:

"Nice place. I forgot how classy Andy was." I shifted forward in my seat, leaning against the dash, to get a better view off the towering metallic gates and large driveway.