Clarke stomped her muddy boots on the rug before sliding them off, letting out a sigh. "It's cold out there, Nella!" She called.
"I'll bet it is! Too bad my bones are too old to get up and enjoy the weather." The old lady cackled from her seat in the rocking chair. "You didn't miss much." The younger woman leaned down to kiss the elder's cheek. "It's mostly slush and mud." "Ain't no weather like our weather I always say." Nella replied, grinning. "You want some hot chocolate to heat those cheeks up?"
"Oh no thank you. I can make it myself. Besides, you've done a whole lot for me. Least I can do is handle myself." Clarke moved to the kitchen, preparing the beverage and adding a splash of vanilla creamer and some cinnamon to both mugs, the vanilla was Nella's idea, the cinnamon Clarke's. She handed one mug to her and sat on the couch with the other. "How was work today, Clarke?" Nella asked, sincerely interested in her life.
"Oh it's the same old, same old." She shrugged. "I burned a batch of muffins today so that's new. I don't know why I was so forgetful today." That was only half a lie. She'd taken them out of the oven and they looked normal. A second later they were ash. The heat of the oven must have been stronger than she thought. When she finished, she stood up. "I have to go to ballet practice. My show's tomorrow, and you need to rest up to be able to go."
When Clarke arrived at the studio, she was surprised to see her dance partner, Cara, wasn't there. Asking around, she figured out that she was taking care of funeral plans for her father who had died recently. "You should have been here earlier. These two fed agents, Hobbes and Calvin, I think, were asking around about something." Another classmate said. "Forget that, they were hot as hell. I was trying not to drool."
"They went to Cara's house, too. Which is really weird. Even after we told them what she was going through." The first dancer observed. "Enough, ladies, we have to practice for the show," the teacher entered the room, no nonsensically. "Let's warm up and then go through the whole act."
Clarke was too busy pondering the FBI agents who had visited and what they wanted. There weren't crimes committed that the Feds would want to get involved in. "Bellamy! Pay attention. You're the co star! We need you." The instructor barked. "Yes ma'am." she muttered.
That next night, Clarke walked up to Cara. "How you holding up?"
"I've been better," she sniffled, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry about your dad."
"Me too."
"Places, everyone!"
The woman gave her one more pat on the shoulder and ran over to take her place. The music began to play and the dancers began their routine. Clarke kept her eye on her friend as she danced, something seemed off. In the second act, Cara stopped, clutching her head. Everyone else continued to dance, but something was wrong. "Cara? You okay?" She mouthed. "Make it stop!" She screamed. The others halted. Now Clarke heard it too. The horrible screaming. It seemed that only she and the other could hear it. Then, something even more horrible happened. Cara began to bash her head numerous times against a metal support beam. Despite the fact the screaming was making her ears bleed, she ran over to her friend and pulled her away.
The audience gasped, one screamed abruptly. "Close the curtains!" Clarke bellowed. Two men in suits ran on the stage. "Hey! You're not supposed to be on here!" She said while struggling with Cara who was still trying to bash her head open. "We're trying to help here!" One growled, knife open. "Stay still
The noise and cacophony going on had finally made Clarke reach her breathing point. She started yelling incoherently. Everyone froze, even Cara. The screeching stopped. It was quiet now, save for the ambulance sirens blaring outside.
The 'agents' stared at her, incredulous. They looked at each other, then back to the girl. Clarke didn't pay attention. She was too busy trying to calm down the distressed Cara down. Her face was bloody, mingled with tears and snot. "It's okay. You're safe now. You're fine." She whispered. Her own breathing was shaky. Clarke repeated this over and over, mostly to calm herself down.
The feeling of cold metal on her wrists snapped her out of her trance. "What the hell?" The young woman demanded angrily. "Taking you in for questioning." The taller one said, a stern look on his face. "Then why the handcuffs?!"
"Just to make sure you won't resist." The shorter agent yanked her up by the arm. Thankfully the paramedics arrived when they did.
She was just incredulous. "You're not agents at all. You're psychopaths!" Clark spat. "Shut up and get in the car." 'Agent' Calvin shoved her in the backseat of an old car. To add insult to injury, he put a bandanna over her face. "Can't have you ratting our secret location out, can we?" He chuckled. "Fuck you both!"
"Yeah, I get that a lot."
