Chapter 9: Jack's POV

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Olivia's house was the definition of class and sophistication... and money.

Rebekah and Louise were pouring us all drinks when our phones started to ring. Then we spent the next hour and a half convincing our parents, grandparents and every other relative in the family that we were healthy, unharmed and we didn't need them to take us home. 

"I'm fine, mum, don't worry," Chris went on, pacing up and down the living room with his mobile pressed to one ear, "We are at Olivia's house waiting for a few friends to meet us here... just three of them... I'll be home as soon as possible; I just need to know if they're alright first... okay... I'll see you soon... bye."

He slumps down on the sofa with an exhausted sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger. "I don't know if I can bring myself to face tomorrow," he says simply, "Everyone's going to be freaking out, especially when this is broadcasted on T.V."  

"How many do you think are dead?" I force myself to ask.

Chris just shakes his head. "I saw four bodies outside when we heard the commotion from upstairs," he replies, scrunching his nose up at the memory, "Well, at least four body parts. I hate to think."

We all look up when Louise and Rebekah return from the kitchen with bottles in each hand. "Any news from Amy?" I ask.

Louise shakes her head, worry undeniably wrinkled into her face. "My father has been trying to call me for the last half an hour but I don't want to answer," she says, setting the drinks down on the coffee table that stood in the centre of the living room. "He'll be worried if I tell him I don't know where my own sister is."   

"Don't stress too much," Olivia assures with a small smile, "They're alive."

"How do you know?" Holly argues and everyone looks to her in horror. "I'm sorry; I'm trying to be optimistic here," she defends, "But it's 4 o'clock now and we haven't heard anything from James or the weirdos."

"They're alive," Olivia answers back firmly, before getting to her feet and marching into the kitchen without looking back, "I know they are."

Holly opens her mouth again but I give her a quick glance and she keeps quiet. "Freak," I hear her mutter under her breath. I couldn't bare an argument tonight, although I sensed the heavy silence that had hold of the whole house was making everyone increasingly more restless as the night dragged on.  

"Where's Lauren and Maria?"

"In Olivia's mum's office, making a few phone calls," Rebekah replies, twirling her empty bottle in between her fingers; her eyes hadn't left the window since she sat down. 

"Em's parents haven't called us yet," I state, giving her a look, "Don't you find that strange?"

"Maybe they've already reached her," Rebekah suggests, her eyes finally meeting with mine.

"But if that was the case, surely Em would have called us by now," I argue.

"Paul and Kath may be our bosses, Jack, but I think their daughter will be on the top of their priority list tonight," Rebekah replies; there was something rather hostile in her voice so I decided to drop the subject.

 "Does anyone want another drink?" Olivia asks, peering her head through the door.

"Another beer, please," Chris replies, getting off the sofa, "But I can get it myself. Where do you keep them?"

"In the alcohol cupboard over there," she says, pointing as they disappear around the corner, "But there are some cold ones in the fridge."

"This house is massive," Holly murmurs in my ear and I nod in agreement.

Rebekah smirks, hearing us. "You'll get used to it."

"What exactly do Olivia's parents do for a living?"

"They work for the Government too," Louise explains, "They're a little like accountants. They keep track of vital information, update it and sort it into documents and files." 

"Information on what?" I ask but I already had a hunch.

"Supernaturals living amongst human civilisation," Louise replies, taking a seat next to Rebekah on the opposite couch, "The Government like to especially keep track of Werewolf packs that are living locally. Important information can vary such as territory, the number of members, names and occupations." 

"Do those Werewolves happen to include the Lunar Pride Pack?" Holly asks and Louise nods in reply.

"Everyone has to be registered now," she says with a shrug, "The Government believe that civilians are better protected when they know what category you belong to."

"Is that why schools are being DNA tested?"

Louise nods again.

"I never knew there were different categories," Chris admits, entering the room again with a fresh bottle of beer, "How many types of Supernatural are there?"

Rebekah lets out a scoff. "Oh believe me, there are more than just Werewolves out there, Chris, you'd be surprised."

We all jump when a loud vibration interrupts us, our eyes darting downwards to the coffee table. Louise snatches her phone up and studies the name lighting up the screen. Then her eyes bulge.

"It's Amy!" She shrieks, leaping out of her seat.

"What!?" Olivia rushes in from the kitchen, fresh bed sheets and towels draped over one arm.

We mirror her movements when she presses the 'answer' button and brings the phone to her ear. "Hello? Amy? Is that you? Are you okay?"

After a second or two, relief washes over her face. 

"They're okay," she announces and I release a breath that I didn't realise I was holding. "Where are you now... are you sure... okay... as long as you're safe..." Louise continues to babble on the phone. Half of us have slumped back down on the sofa, running our hands through our hair and feeling the sweat lining our brows.

But we all stiffen again when Louise's face drops. "What!? Are you sure?"  

"What's going on?" Chris demands but Louise simply shushes him. She disappears into the kitchen for a long while, and when she finally returns, Amy had already hung up.

"Well?" I ask impatiently when no one speaks.

"Amy is sleeping over Em's house tonight," Louise informs, "They're both okay; Em has a few cuts and bruises but they think she'll live."

"So what's the problem?"

Louise swallows loudly, her eyes shimmering with worry again.

"No one's seen James."

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