Fixed

Chapter 4

The rush of adrenaline through my veins is extreme and my heart is pumping so fast that the heavy buzz in my chest could be easily mistaken as a severe case of heartburn. I know it's not, though. My heart is racing this fast for a reason, and that reason is terrifying.

Before me, in almost the same state as me, maybe a little better looking at this time, is the one, the only, Daxter.

He too is handcuffed, but not being held back be all these black-veiled freaks. His arms are tied back with wire at the small of his back and looped through a hook on the seat he's slumped across. Oddly, he doesn't seem to fazed or upset about what is happening right now; he seems like he's done this before.

It actually bothers me. He should be afraid, just like me, yet he's sitting there like a lump on a log obviously bored out of his mind.

It really bothers me.

Something jabs me in the center of my spine, and I fly back into the horrific reality that has suddenly fallen down on me. The man holding me pushes me up into the van and ties my handcuffs to the hook on the seat across from Daxter. It's extremely uncomfortable, and I can gradually feel the blood flow to my fingers be cut off.

"They got you too, I see," Daxter says, a careless smirk planted on his face. "I was sleeping and then next thing you know, I was being dragged out of my house by my arm. Ha." Does he find this funny?

My face slightly contorts with confusion. He's acting calm and trying to make this a joke, which really isn't making me feel any better. I bet he can sense my fright, but based on our past encounters, he probably doesn't care one bit about that.

I try to talk but when I open my mouth, only air comes out, along with a a low overtone hissing noise. Whenever I'm nervous or stressed, my throat feels like it closes up and there's no way that oxygen can get in and carbon dioxide can get out. Not only do I want to yell at Daxter for being so carefree, I also deserve an explanation about what happened back at the hospital.

Within a second, his face turns from happy to serious, and he looks at me with solid, wondering eyes. "You okay?" he asks. "You look like you've gone into shock or something."

"I feel like I have," I reply in a whisper, keeping my eyes trained on the van doors. We haven't moved, I believe. The car is overly still, other than the small movements that Daxter makes when he shifts his legs. When I saw him, I thought I was going to be scared, but I'm not. He's restrained and so am I, which makes the danger a big Ø.

Daxter cocks his head a little to the side and his eyes glaze over. "We'll be fine. We're just going to a meeting. It's not like we're going to a slaughter house." He chuckles, and almost immediately stops once he sees the fear lurking in my eyes. I should've pointed out that the jokes aren't making this scenario any better, but I think he's got the hint now. "Sorry."

If we truly are going to a meeting, it must be about our blood types. Well I know I am A+, so Daxter might be too, and this is just for confirmation. Maybe we will get awards for being born from the right bloodline and everything will just be over with. Wouldn't that be nice.

Or maybe this is because we aren't A+.

I highly doubt that, though.

Without warning, the car begins the rumble, and the whole van lurches forward, causing Daxter and I to get pushed towards the back of the car, but still staying bound to the seats. My wrists burn as the metal digs into my sensitive skin that is already being rubbed raw, and I feel small drops of blood run down by hand and to the tips of my fingers.