Saving Nightlock

7. Entertaining Interrogations

September 25, roughly 07:00 P.M.

Unknown Location.

Hopefully still Florida, U.S.A.

IRENE

Moronic or not, Cody and Ivan are dangerous. They were able to corner me, capture me and contain me. Plus, Cody knows about Henry and he probably knows more than just my name. He also seems to be the type of cat that enjoys playing with its food before eating it, which doesn't appeal to me in the slightest. Don't misunderstand - I revel in banter, but I know we're not going to be talking forever.

Two pairs of footsteps walk away in what echoes like a hall. They're leaving. Good. I try to remain cautious and quiet though, wouldn't put it past them to place a guard right outside. Thanks to Cody, I'm at least sitting up, so I take a quick look around. Abandoned is the word that comes to mind. Small and square room, single-pane windows, no exits other than the one in front of me, an empty bookcase in a corner and a desk off to the side. The only light comes in from under the door and the windows.

Slowly, I fiddle around my restraints, looking for loose parts. Smooth plastic, tightly tied. After a few minutes, I find a flaw in the knots and apply pressure to it while pulling one of my hands. The gun slides to the ground without a sound.

It doesn't work.

And, 30 minutes later, it still hasn't worked.

The door flies open, threatening to leap out of its frame. Silhouetted in its skeleton are Cody, Ivan, and the other boy. Cody strides up to me and shoves both his palms into my shoulders.

Story of my life: I crash into the floor. Again. Feeling like I'm part-concrete at this point doesn't lift my mood in the slightest, and the absence of pain at this point isn't heartening. Cody gropes me up and down, then flips me over for his firearm.

"Watch her carefully, she's such a nuisance," Cody spits to his lackey, the same boy with the mop of black hair from before, "Till I get back." He puts me back up, and storms out with Ivan.

I suspect that my guard is the youngest of this trio.

Smiling sweetly at the boy they've left behind, though it may have come out more as a grimace, I slide my left foot behind me. He glances at his wristwatch and shuffles his feet.

"So," I wheeze, following Ivan's line of questioning, "What's your name?" He remains silent, his hand on his pistol, the other adjusting the round glasses on his nose. I note his bruised nose and scarred ear, the scar running up to brush his temple. I know there's no way I can take the guy in front of me head on. Not like this.

"What?" I pout, irked at everything that has happened today, "Too shy? Do you, like, talk, like, at all? Like ever? You don't? Awwww...how cute! You're like, totally adorable. Like, as in, I would date a hot, shy guy like you. Do you by any chance, like, have a girlfriend? Coz, if you do, you might want to, like, dump her, like, straight away, if you know what I mean." My stereotypical girly talk is starting to make him blush a deep red and he looks away for just a moment. His mistake.

I jump out of my chair and pull it up with me, head slamming him in the face. He crumples down to the floor. For the umpteenth time, I fall to the floor, this time to join my sentinel. A silent scream escapes my mouth as nosedive, falling knees and nose first.

After a moment, I'm good to move again. I jerk my chair around, best as I can, and pat the boy over to check him for anything useful. Sadly, he doesn't have any weapons other than the gun he was holding, and a couple of spare bullets in his pocket. I take his wallet and cell phone as well.

I pause. Something has slit my finger. It turns out that he was carrying some sort of disposable razor. A razor isn't much, but it's quieter than a gun. And it just might be enough to get me out of this building and back to the house. I get to work on my bonds. Some chaffed wrists later, I'm free with a gun in my hands. Hurray for me.

The door is locked, but I manage to pick it using the razor and a bobby pin from my hair. As the door clicks open, however, the razor slips and cuts into my hand again. Cursing under my breath, I open the door to find another guard in front of it, his back to me. I shoot him in the back of the knee. Killing someone from behind is cowardly.

Writhing on the floor, he screams and yells expletives in several different languages. No one comes though. Double hurray for me. A barrel in his mouth shuts him up. I nod at him, and he glowers back. A good knock to the temple sends him to sleep.

I'm in a lobby area, roughly ten stories above the ground. There's only one door. I turn the handle and peek out. Nothing but a long, carpet-less hallway. About 6 doors line one side, reminding me of an office building. There's an elevator at one end and a staircase with a fire escape at the other.

I'm curious, so instead of escaping like a sensible person, I head to the first door and try it. It's locked. So are the next 3. The fifth, however, isn't. I glance inside to see a room with dusty computer screens and statistical papers tacked to the walls, with old receipts, and other random papers carpeting the floor. It doesn't look like anyone has been in here for ages though. When I look through the papers in the files all I see are financial records. Which could prove useful to a statistical data and mathematics lover like Scarlett, or even Isabella, but not me. I dislike math. It messes with my brain.

I seem to have hit the jackpot on the last room. It's a large, spacious office with multi-colored files stacked on shelves along two walls. It's obvious someone's been here recently; cheap cologne hangs heavily in the air and a window is cracked open.

I take a few steps towards a plain file cabinet. In my experience, the unmarked ones usually have the most valuable information. The light shows most clearly what's on the wall in front of me. I gasp when I see what's tacked to the walls; pictures of Henry, and of us, the house, even Nightlock Academy. My hand brushes the top of the cabinet. How did they get these? It doesn't matter. All I know is that I need to get the hell out of here.

That's when the doorway decides to explode.

All I see is red. Faster than a bullet train, the heavy door throws itself at me, almost delighted. I throw myself backwards. Something cracks. In fact, quite a few somethings crack. When the smoke clears from my eyes, I notice a painful and irritating cut on my forehead. Still, no one comes.

I make my way painfully over to the fire escape and break the window there; then climb out. As quickly as I can, I slide downwards on a pipe, steadying myself on the wall next to it. As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I limp away, holding my ribs.

I hear a noise to my left, and turn to see Isabella bringing down a baseball bat on my head. Crap.

A/N: Vote/comment if you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!