Noble (Watty Awards 2012)

Chapter 5

Dedicated to LauraRadwill, she's like my own little personal editor! She makes sure that when she catches a spelling error or something of the sort to comment and inform me about it! I really appreciate all her help and support. :)

ALSO, check out her book "Hunter Of Time"! It's AMAZING. Very descriptive and gripping!

PS: I changed the name from Prestige to Noble . . . I've been wanting to change it for a long time but wasn't sure if I should. The direction is slightly changing, therefore Noble makes more sense. To me at least, you guys will understand when I'm done writing the book. :)

-x-

We've been driving for about an hour now, and my eyelids feel like heavy drapes. I lean my head against the cool passenger side window as I slip in and out of consciousness. I feel a warm hand lightly shake my right shoulder. "Don't fall asleep, you could slip into a coma."

"Actually," I say, pointing a finger up, "I've Googled that and it says that you can have 30 minute intervals of sleep."

Thomas furrows his eyebrows at me, shaking his head. "I'd rather not take the risk. We're almost at the hospital, they'll help you with that hand and wretched gash on your head." I snap my head in concentration. "What are you going to tell them? That you kidnapped me and some crazy lady shot your friend?"

Thomas' hands grip tighter onto the wheel, his knuckles unnaturally white. A muscle pops in his cheek, and it looks as though he is trying his best to restrain tears. "I'll think something up," he mutters.

Thomas stops in front of the emergency entrance, and rushes inside for the paramedics. In less than a minute, a swarm of nurses are scrambling outside towards the car with a stretcher. One of the nurses, an attractive male with a strong build, tears open my door, and pulling me under the shoulders swiftly places me onto the stretcher. Now that I am in good hands, I let my mind fade into oblivion.

I open my eyes and I'm in a baby crib. Two hands pick me up, and cover me in an itchy blanket. I start to cry and the woman puts a finger to her lips, and begins to hum. She strokes the small amount of hair I have on my head, and I am instantly soothed. The woman smells of vanilla and old leather, and her face is unidentifiable. She looks vaguely familiar, but her face is clouded by years of forgetting. It's like someone took it, and put a blur effect. I hear footsteps approaching, and the woman rushes us out the open window and into the cold night. I start to wail from the sudden change of temperature and she scolds me, picking up pace. We stop in front of a dark, sleek car, and the driver pokes his head out the window, examining her. When his gaze lays upon me, he rolls his eyes.

"I can't believe you! This is far too dangerous, I'm not going to be the getaway car to the most tragic and not to mention illegal crime in the history of Metia!"

The woman grimaces, and slides into the back of the car.

"Just drive," she says.

 I wake up with the feeling that somebody's watching me. I open my eyes, but it takes a minute for them to adjust to the tall figure standing before me. Once they do, I take in the sight of Mike. He looks terrible. His eyes are bloodshot, worry lines embedded into his forehead. His dark hair is tousled, as if he hasn't showered for a couple of days. Once he realizes I'm awake, he rushes towards me, almost pulling me into an embrace, but hesitates. He gently squeezes my hand and sits down at the foot of my bed. 

"Mike, what's wrong?" I ask him, still taking in his presence. The only other time I've ever seen him like this is when his older sister, Elaine, died in a car accident when we were 12. It was the most calamitous thing that ever happened to our dinky town of Hollendale, Louisiana. She drove a small, red convertible and she absolutely loved that car. She would take me and Mike everywhere, just so she could drive it. She had such a kind spirit, I used to think Mike looked more like her than he did to his own mother and father. She had the same dark brown hair, but it came down to her waist and was perfectly straight, naturally. The same grey eyes, only her left eye was always strikingly blue, and the other dulled in comparison. But she was still eminently beautiful, and her death struck Mike where it hurt the most.