Mirror, Mirror on the Wall ✓

17 | Abduction

Chapter 17: Abduction

Sanchez soon reached the ominous shop. He spied a lone car parked outside. As he walked in, he could feel himself tensing up. But strangely, there weren't any sentries or anybody of that sort in front of the gate. Glancing around, he tried the doorknob. It gave way without any resistance. Sanchez at once began to doubt the authenticity of what Clark had reported. He went in, passed the office, and began to walk down the stairs, which according to Clark led to the basement. Still, he met no one. After passing the short staircase, he opened the door to the basement and peered in. 

It was stark empty.

Sanchez was bewildered. He looked around. Not a single soul was to be seen. There weren't any illegal items either, let alone any weed. After a minute of not knowing what to do, he convinced himself it was a dead end and turned around to go up the stairs.

But what Sanchez did not know was that someone had slipped in while he faced away from the door. No sooner than he had placed his hand on the doorknob that something heavy crashed into the back of his head with a dull thud. He was sent sprawling on the floor. He let out a cry and cursed loudly. Dazed, he tried to pull himself to his feet, but soon another blow came crashing down from behind, stronger and more forceful than the former, rendering him senseless. He tried to say something, but his words came out groggy and incomprehensible. He felt himself being dragged, not by one pair of hands but two, up the stairs, through the next room, onto the gravelly parking lot. He saw the car, the one he had seen while entering, approach him. No, suddenly he realized with a tinge of terror: they were dragging HIM to the car.

Sanchez's adrenaline level perked up, battling with the dizziness the brought by the blows he had endured. He tried to fight back but his moves were extremely unsteady and disoriented. They easily overpowered him. What could he do? They were two to one, with him trying to fight his drowsiness. They frisked him and took out his handgun from his holster and his cell phone from his pocket. His exploding head registered a crash which he decided must be his phone being destroyed. His hands and legs were being tied with thick ropes, pure movie-style. 

At last, when they threw him into the trunk of the car, he got a good view of the two men. His head was reeling in pain. One he vaguely recognized. Sanders. The other he had never met. But even in his dizziness, there was no mistaking who he was. Short guy. En brosse. Dark clothes. Grim face. Single earring. Skull tattoo. 

Hunter. 

'You...' Sanchez tried to say something, but only jumbled syllables left his throat. As they bumped the trunk lid and revved up the engine, Sanchez was falling deep down in the swirls of his mind. At last, his adrenaline lost the battle, the darkness took over, and all was black.