The Chaos Accounts #1: Account of Anxiety

2

Walking down his street, Blaine noticed tire marks on the paved road. They were wild, swerving, dark, and... Wait, did those stretch to his house?

He picked up the pace, following the tracks to his driveway. The missing SUV was the least of his worries. The door appeared to be kicked in, and the windows shattered. Without thinking, he ran to the open doorway, calling out, "Mom? Dad? Kayla? Rich-" When he dashed through that opening, he came to a screeching halt. There were people inside his house. He recognized none of them.

And, upsettingly, none were cops.

Right as he was about to flee, a pair of large hands roughly grabbed him. "What d'ya think yur doin', kid?" The rather large man growled.

Blaine's face heated up as his heart pounded. Not sure what to do, he went back into his hidey-hole in his mind and let his instincts and hidden persona do the talking for him. "You feelin' lucky, punk?" Oh, great, his inner Clint Eastwood definitely would help in this situation. He wished he had a desk to slam his head on. A split second later, however, the man at least partially granted his wish by shoving Blaine into a wall. Well, guess it was still made of wood.

"Walker, desist."

The man's eyes widened upon the rather young voice's command. "But, Miss Hunter-"

"Now, now, Walker..." The owner of the voice rounded the wall from the stairwell and turned out to be a girl around his age, maybe a bit older. Her midnight pixie cut gave a sharpness to her appearance, a cutting look only amplified by her bright green eyes. Seriously, he could swear that they were close to neon. "If I'm not mistaken, this is exactly who we need to talk to. Release him."

"But, Miss Hunter-"

Blaine saw her green eyes literally glow as she glared daggers at the man holding him captive, a man who actually flinched at the words of a way-younger female. "Do I need to repeat that?"

Walker shook his head. "No, Miss Hunter! Of course not!" His hands shot off Blaine's shoulders like rockets. Blaine debated running, screaming for the police or 911, but figured better of it upon spotting the pistol on Miss Hunter's hip.

"Good." The young woman gestured toward the couch in the living room. "Come on over and take a seat, sweetie. No worries; I only bite when I'm in a bad mood."

Blaine nodded slowly, approaching the furniture while his brain tried to catch up and calm down at the same time. His nerves were so wired that it made it painful to even sit down on the couch.

Miss Hunter took a seat in the chair nearest him. "That was some pretty spot-on Eastwood back there."

He glanced around the room at the others around him. All of them wore black suits with spandex shirts underneath the crisp jackets. A variety of colors too. The only similarities other than the black dress attire was stitched symbol above each person's heart: a spiral made of straight lines.

"Kid?" His attention snapped back to Miss Hunter, whose sharp look had softened considerably into one of worry and care. "You okay there?"

Blaine rubbed the back of his neck, a habitual tick when he got close to breaking. And, unfortunately... "D-d-define okay." ... his stutter had returned.

"Aw, sweetie, it's okay," Miss Hunter replied, "We're here to protect you, okay?"

Blaine swallowed, which proved difficult with the large lump blocking passage down his throat. "How can I be sure, Miss Hunter-"

Waving a hand at him, she interrupted, "Sweetie, you can call me Val. Valencia if you must be formal."

Exhaling shakily, Blaine nodded. "Okay, Val. How c-c-can I be s-sure you're here for m-my protection?"