Unexpected

Part Deux

            With an extremely painful stitch in his side, Torin’s mindless headlong dash came to a stop. Torin bent over in exhaustion, one hand pressed to his side in an attempt to cease its aching throbs. He looked around in search of clues to his whereabouts. Spotting Ellys Park just up ahead, he stood there for a moment and stared, surprise filling him as he realized that he was halfway between his and Sabin’s home. He had run two full miles from his house in about twelve minutes.

            Too tired to go any further, Torin found himself a cool stone bench in the shade of an enormous oak tree. He sat there for a minute until his limbs stopped trembling from exertion. Torin took several deep breaths in an attempt to expunge his lingering fear. Quitting the futile exercise after a few seconds, he staggered to the nearest water fountain and quenched his thirst. Torin splashed some water on his flaming face, which sent chills down his spine as the cold contact cooled him down.

            Torin knew that he was stalling. He could have left three minutes ago when his breathing and pulse had slowed their frantic pace to a more reasonable one. By now, he might have already reached his destination. And yet, that was the problem. He had no idea where to go from here. His first thought had been to head over to Sabin’s house, but he quickly rid himself of that ill-advised notion. For all he knew, that creepy Voice could be following him right now, and if that was the case, Torin did not want to put his friend in any sort of danger. However, if not to Sabin’s place, then where should he go? Definitely not to his home, the Voice already knew where he lived. Perhaps if he stayed in a public area like the park or at a store he would be safe. There would be too many witnesses for the Voice to do anything, or at least that was what he hoped.

            A reasonable and sound argument, it was probable as well as truthful. All he had to do was follow it and he would be okay. However, it flew out of his head when a little girl who had wandered nearby asked him sweetly, “Is that your friend over there, mister?”

            Torin turned his head in the direction of the girl’s pointing finger and froze. Not two hundred feet away, and closing in fast, was a metallic black Nissan Skyline. Its sleek lines and glossy curves gave it the appearance of speed, even at rest. It was a car of elegant form that would give you a wild ride, a lovely lady with the work ability like any laborer. On any other day, he would have been salivating over the car. He would have looked the entire vehicle over and asked to see what would be undoubtedly a drool-worthy engine, but not today. Instead of filling him with envy, the aura of the car gave an ominous feeling. It was then that Torin knew, without a single ounce of uncertainty, the car belonged to the Voice.

            Spinning on his heels, Torin took off at a speed that would have shamed a track star. The first one hundred yards were pure senseless action, fear controlling his body and forcing him forward. All of a sudden, inspiration came to him and a plan crystallized in his mind. Filled with iron-strength purpose, he ran off towards a half obscured forest trail just as the heavens opened its gates and it began to rain. Torin’s response was a smile of grim pleasure. The rain was a double-edge sword, for though it would get in the way of the car’s progress, it would also make it harder for him. It was a gift and a curse as the drizzle become a downpour.

            The first sensations of relief made themselves known to Torin.  Sabin and he were the only ones who had used the path in at least two years, and they only went back there because they thought of making a secret clubhouse. The road meandered back and forth through the thick shrubbery, the trees making it impossible to see more than fifty feet ahead on the trail. The dirt quickly changed its consistency, becoming a mire under the torrential rain, causing Torin to slow down and almost fall in the slippery mud. He was not too worried, sure that the Skyline would drive into one of the many mud pits that littered the road. If the car got stuck in one of them, the only way out would be by a tow truck or until the mud dried, which would take several weeks. Once the car bogged down, he could escape into the woods and lose the Voice.

            Swerving on the path, Torin chanced a glance over his shoulder. The Skyline, still looking quite pristine even with splattered mud, was not as far behind as it should have been. Instead of falling behind, it was steadily gaining on him, navigating down the lane as if the driver knew it well. There was no visible difference between the solid ground and the mud pits, and yet he had avoided all the previous ones and drove around the remaining pits as if neon orange traffic cones marked every single one of them.

Having paid too much attention behind him and not nearly enough ahead, Torin’s foot landed on the very edge of a mud pit and it slipped inwards, sending him sprawling across the sticky sludge. He struggled to get up, but the suction of the mire held him fast to the soggy ground. Sick with dread, yet powerless to help himself, Torin could only watch as the Skyline slowly came to a stop in front of him. Torin heard the gears shift into park, then watched as the driver’s door eased open and the driver stepped out. Time seemed to move slowly, like molasses sliding out of a jar. Torin’s mind caught numerous tiny details in each passing second.

            1: He was wearing boots, plain yet stylish. Buckles ran across its smooth front, the black leather unmarred by any visible stitching. It was a large foot, a size eleven or maybe a twelve. The driver tested the steadfastness of the ground with his foot, making sure he would not lose his balance. The second foot followed the first, planting itself firmly on the ground as the Voice stood up straight.

            2: He took a step back, moving out of the door’s way, and proceeded to close it quietly. The pouring rain eased into a light sprinkle, making it easier to see his lean, but muscular, six-foot tall frame.

            3: His jeans were a nondescript black, blending harmoniously with the long, basic-black trench coat he wore. It fell all the way down to his ankles. The shirt was a dark gray without any designs, logos, or other decorations breaking its uniformity. Torin lifted his head and raised his eyes so he could finally see the face of the person who plagued him. Despite the rain, the Voice’s eyes were obscured by a pair of opaque sunglasses that rested on his straight nose and high cheekbones. His hair was almost shoulder-length, straight and as black as a void, half-hiding a single silver hoop earring . . .

            A shocked gasp escaped Torin’s lips. “Is that you, Sabin?” he breathed.

            Sabin took off his glasses, his grey eyes glowing with pure mischief. “Of course its me, Tor. Who else did you expect, my evil twin?” he asked amused. His voice, instead of the soothing and melodious ring that it usually had, was still rough from sickness. Sabin reached down and helped Torin to his feet.

            Confused by his presence, Torin inquired, “Why are you here? Should you even be up and about, rather than in bed?” Something about Sabin’s voice tugged at his mind, until he finally made the connection. Sabin was the Voice!

            “I came to show you my new ride. Don’t you remember? I told you I was coming to get you.”