Hostage

chapter 4

Chapter 4: Michael

                ‘Hey Bro, no need to fret I am going out to get breakfast and coffee. Be back in ten.’

He wrote before he signed his name and taped it to the lamp on the desk. He picked up his coat and smiled as he heard Bronte humming on his way past the bathroom to the door. He loved her voice. Her smooth, velvety but sometimes rough and hard voice. He loved the way her hair was naturally red, curly and wild. He loved the way she was so comfortable around him. He loved how close they were. He loved her.

                Back when they were in high school her hair had been light brown and straight, and he’d always thought that it wasn’t her natural colour. If a kid from their old class saw either of them today, they wouldn’t be recognised. Bro looked so much older and mature and she was forever telling him how much better he looked now than in high school.

                He sighed on his way down to the hotel lobby. She didn’t like him, and even if she did, they could never be together. They had been friends since they were born and he had to keep his head straight so he could protect her. If he had to, he would die for her.

                He walked straight past the car they had rented, down the street until the town’s shopping street lay ahead of him. He started slowly walking down, looking at all the stalls and shops around him and just enjoying feeling so relaxed and normal.

                He still missed being normal. Every day. But he was glad that Bronte had brought him in to her company. He had hated it when she was acting all weird and avoiding him. He was actually just about to pluck up the courage to ask her out when she started skipping school, claiming she was ill and whenever he would go to see her, she would call to say she was contagious or something stupid like that. He shook his head and grimaced. He could always tell when Bronte was lying. It wasn’t because she twitched her left hand, looked to the left of started tapping her foot, he just knew when she was being untruthful. Which she found annoying but he found brilliant.

                He then spotted a bakery about 100 metres away and instantly started heading towards it. Only then did he realise that he was being followed. He stopped by a stall, pretending to be interested in some Island junk so he could look out of the corner of his eye, behind him. There was a tall, heavily built male with dark sunglasses and a suit; just like his own. This could only mean one thing; Bronte was in trouble.

                Dang it! He thought as he bought what looked like a shell necklace from the stall and began to walk towards a dark alley he spotted on the way over so he could basically kill this agent. As soon as he was out of sight from the public eye he grabbed his gun from the waistband of his trousers.

                The guy was rounding the corner, he was approaching. He could hear him whispering to someone; he wasn’t alone. Looking around the bin he was hiding behind he could make out two silhouetted figures. He moved so that he had a clear shot of the taller one and fired. The guy standing next to him had obviously never seen a guy die before as he started shrieking like a mad man.  

                The guy he shot at fell to the floor; dead, as the other guy started talking into his piece that was in his ear, calling for back up. In a few minutes, he would be surrounded and he wouldn’t be able to save Bronte.

                He could see the man running towards his hiding place so he lined up his gun and fired another shot, hitting his right in the head. Using the sleeve of his jacket he whipped the bin clean of any fingerprints that may have been left behind before standing up and walking back to the hotel. He didn’t know for sure, but he could’ve sworn there were lots of people staring at him.

                He didn’t care. Why would he? He knew he wasn’t normal if he had seen himself on the street he probably would’ve stared. Some people would freak out at the thought of people staring at him but honestly, what is the point?

                He rounded the corner back towards the hotel only to find that the rental car was gone. He sprinted towards the spot where it had been parked only to find that it was empty. He casually bent down, as if to inspect the ground, before placing a hand on the road so he could get a look at what really happened.

                Bronte was walking out of the hotel wearing ripped shorts, a midriff and flip flops. He couldn’t help but stare at her, probably along with the hundreds of other men who could see her. She was just so incredibly, stunningly beautiful; you couldn’t not look at her.

                She threw her bag onto the passenger seat and climbed into the car. Why did she have such a sad look on her face; like she just lost something important to her? She was looking at something on the passenger seat. What was she looking for?

                It was then he realised that she was looking at the empty seat. She wasn’t looking for anything; she was upset that I wasn’t with her.

                She thought that Handel had me hostage.

                She was going to turn herself in.