The Rendezvous // Thomas Sangster

Got You

"Got you." Slate whispers with a wicked grin that makes his bruised face look even more grotesque than it already does.

I want to scream, but I'm having trouble breathing as it is.

My eyes turn to the second person. He offers me an apologetic smile.

"Hey, Stephanie." Jacob says.

"Stephanie is such a pretty name by the way." Slate mutters, stepping threateningly closer to me, "Have I ever told you?"

"That's enough, Slate." Jacob snaps, pushing him off me, "We got her already, you don't have to scare the crap out of her."

Slate scowls at Jacob, the purple that's tinted around his eyes makes them look darker, "Yes, we do. That's why we're here, Jacob. Don't go all soft on me now, we've got a job to do."

"We can do the job perfectly well without you being a maniac." Jacob mutters harshly, "Stephanie won't give us a hard time. Will you, Stephanie?" He looks to me.

I reply, stuttering, "W-what do you want?"

Slate glowers, taking a wary step toward me, "What did he tell you?"

"Who?"

Slate rolls his eyes, mimicking, "Who? Thomas, of course. Don't act like you don't know anything, Stephanie. You can't fool us. What did he tell you?"

"Thomas? Thomas Sangster?" I repeat, mouth gaping.

"Yes, Thomas Sangster. You heard me."

"He hasn't...he hasn't told me anything."

"Stephanie," Jacob says, quietly, his eyes pleading, "Just tell us and we can let you go. Lying isn't going to get you anywhere."

"He hasn't! He hasn't told me anything!" I exclaim, staring desperately at Jacob. I furrow my eyebrows, staring at him, "Jacob, what's going on?"

Slate snaps, stepping forward menacingly, "We'll be asking the questions here."

I turn my eyes to Slate, glaring, "What do you want?"

"Ah, now that is a question I like to hear." Slate smirks, "We need to know what Thomas told you."

"And I said he hasn't told me anything." I repeat, hotly.

"Really? Not on the car ride to or from poker the other night? Not at the picnic? Not during any of the other countless times you've been together?" Slate snarls, "I find that very doubtful, Stephanie."

"I swear, I don't know anything." I repeat, my voice surprisingly firm, "I barely know Thomas. I don't even like him. I hate him."

Jacob furrows his eyebrows, "You hate him?"

I don't know what made me say it. I really don't. But I don't deny it.

I nod, "Yes."

"Then why did you let him sit with you that day at lunch? Why did you go with him to poker? Why did he leave work early a couple weeks ago to go get ice cream at your job?" Jacob questions.

"He..." I falter, "I don't know. He just likes to get on my nerves...but how did you know that?"

"We know a lot of things, Stephanie." Slate mutters lowly, "But, I will tell you this: we can do this the easy way or the hard way. At least, it will be hard for you...I'm quite accustomed to doing things the hard way..."

I stare at his face and wonder for the hundredth time where he got those bruises. Part of me wonders if I want to know.

Trembling, and feeling all the bravery seep out of me, I whisper, "I don't know anything. Just let me go home."