The Incredible League of Goth Pizza Haters (RH)

Part 65

---Ricky---
The first thing I did when I woke up was check my phone. There were no messages, no missed calls. No anything. I slipped out of my bunk, taking my phone with me. In the front part of the bus, Josh and Angelo were already awake.

I plopped down on the couch next to Josh as he watched tv. I tried texting Via, asking how she was but my message wouldn't send. I thought it might be the signal but I had three bars. I tried calling her and it went straight to voicemail. Her phone is off, I realized. She must've let it die.

I yawned and laid back. I felt the bus tug forward and begin to drive. We had stayed the night at a rest stop about an hour away from where we needed to be right now due to a big car crash that had happened yesterday. That was the final aspect of the crazy day I'd wanted to tell my girlfriend about if only she would answer the phone.

The next few hours passed in a tired blur as everyone else woke up and had breakfast. I tried calling her again as we parked in the venue but it again went straight to voicemail. Sigh.

We were given our schedule and immediately set to getting ready. We changed our outfits and sponged on black paint. I applied makeup to my eyes and so did Chris. Soon after, we were backstage setting up. We were performing at noon, which was only ten minutes away and was pretty early for us. We were used to performing later in the afternoon but our show times are almost never consistent so there was no guarantee and I didn't really have a problem with mixing it up.

***

I set my guitar down backstage and made the mistake of wiping the sweat from my forehead with my painted arm, possibly smearing black across my forehead.

"Shit.." I murmured, pulling out my phone to check myself on the camera. There was nothing and I followed the guys in our normal after-show routine. There was a signing in two hours so in the meantime, we cleaned up and decided to get a late lunch. I ate a sandwich as my mind continued to nag me. Finally, I pulled out my phone and went to Twitter. I scrolled through Via's tweets until I found what I was looking for. Clicking on Mena's profile, I followed her and sent a message to her DM.

'Hey, it's Ricky. Can you do me a favor?'

---Sylvia---
My head hurt pretty badly. Before even opening my eyes, that was the first thing I realized. The next was that my wrists were zip tied together, along with my ankles. I shifted uncomfortably, fear jumpstarting my heart. My movements were slow, every muscle was cramping. Around me, there was nothing but darkness.

Feeling around in the dark, there was concrete. A concrete floor and a concrete wall. My shoes had been removed but not my stockings. My dress was still on and I knew before I even checked that my bag was gone. My phone. My car keys. Gone.

I felt sick suddenly. Violently sick but I didn't throw up. I think it was just from being so afraid. I tried to break or slip free from the zip ties but they were too tight and soon it became evident that my skin was going to split and bleed before I was free. And whatever I'd been sedated with was still in effect. Everything I did was slower, which was painful because my mind and heart were going at lightspeed.

I positioned my back against the wall and got to my feet. Since I was bound together at the ankles I did my best to move along against the wall until I reached another wall. As my eyes adjusted to the dark I could feel and almost see that this wasn't a very big room. Like a storage closet almost, but seemingly empty. And I could make out a sliver of pale light peering through the slit under a door. I crawled over and with my back against it again, inched up and felt around with my hands until I found the knob. Locked. Obviously.

I jiggled it and paused to listen. I heard no one. Not a sound in or out of this room aside from my own rapid breathing. Fear set in hard. I think maybe more of the meds wore off.

My entire body began to shake and everything seemed to catch up with my heart and head. I dropped against the door shakily.

Why was I down here? How long have I been down here..? ...Was I going to die?

Nineteen. I was nineteen. That's too young. Too young to die. There were so many things I hadn't done. So much time I wasted on sadness and depression.

I bumped up against the door again, harder. Maybe I could break it and escape. Maybe I could undo this. Escape and pretend it never happened. I'm good at that. I could do that. I hit the door again.

I wasted my life. Wasted it on school and shitty people and nights spent crying over things that didn't matter anymore. And what would I leave behind? A news story. A missing person case that would turn, months later, into a broadcast to all the news channels about a body found. A body of a young adult female who wasted her fucking life.

I didn't want to die like this. Young and afraid and angry. Something parents bring up as a lesson to their kids not to go to clubs or anywhere I went. A topic brought up at the breakfast table.

"Did you hear they found that girl? So sad."

I slammed my body against the door. Over and over again and again. I began to yell. Yelling for help or police or anyone. My yells turned to screams which broke into sobs but they never stopped. I hit the door so hard I bounced back and fell to the floor. My breath came out in gasps of pain and adrenaline as hot tears made their way down my face.

How did I get here? I was supposed to be better than my mother. Better than everyone thought I was going to be. How could I do this to myself? I wished I'd taken the bottle and bashed it into Philip's fucking skull. I should've. And in some fantasy world where I was more than a young, terrified idiot I guess I would've.

But this wasn't fantasy. And as I struggled back to my feet I heard footsteps.