Year 12 (First Draft)

-Chapter 23-

  It's been an hour since my call with Andrew dropped and I haven't heard anything from him or Anya. I sit with Andrea, my hands shaking as I refresh the message screen, and still there is no new information, no comfort for my hurt nerves. I've avoided Mrs. Porter, not wanting to upset her. The last thing she needs is another person to worry about.

  "He'll call soon," Andrea says, but I can tell even she is starting to feel anxious, her hands fidgeting, her eyes darting to the LR-9 positioned in front of me.

  "Andrea," I try my best to keep my voice even, my eyes stinging too much from all the crying I've done, my throat raw. "I need them to be okay, otherwise it will all be my fault."

  "The Government has probably been watching them for years," Andrea says, "this may have nothing to do with you."

  "So they decide to ransack their house the day after we drop Anya off? The very day she's supposed to come back here with us? I can't believe that's a coincidence."

  "Coincidence or not, it isn't your fault, no matter the outcome."

  I take a deep breath and hit the refresh button again.

  Mrs. Porter sits beside me solemnly, having barely touched her food.

  "You said they'd be back by now," She complains, sounding more hurt than annoyed. I glance to my right, taking in her slumped shoulders, and the pout to her lips.

  "Andrew said there were some complications," I say, hating that I'm lying to her. For all I know they may not be back tonight, or tomorrow. I have no way of knowing, because for the past five hours I haven't heard a single thing from Andrew, or Anya, despite the many messages I have sent to both.

  "There always are," She says, finally taking one bite of her sandwich. Despite the bitterness in her tone, I know she's not angry at me.

  I push away from the table, not trusting myself to stay here and feed Mrs. Porter more lies.

  Andrea meets me in the hall, her eyes wide with worry, her hands trembling, my LR-9 in her grasp.

  My pulse skips a beat, "Did one of them respond?"

  Andrea shakes her head, "No, they didn't, but someone else is sending you a message. It's been playing on every News channel, and in the city, it's plastered to every screen they could get it on."

  Andrea reluctantly hands me the LR-9.

  I frantically begin to read, to watch, and the message is the same in both formats.

  Felisha Martins, are you finally tired of ripping families apart? A picture of the Olsan's burning house comes on screen, and my throat burns with the flames I feel deep within. The voice speaking is the old man, the man who holds Kane captive, and the one who spews lies and hate to all about this great cause. Then more pictures appear, pictures of our failed riot followed by pictures of funerals, of inconsolable family members. You can't run forever, leaving destruction wherever you go. This pain, this hurt is all because of you, and we are no longer willing to play your games. We send you an offer that extends to any that it may concern. If Felisha Martins is brought to us, this can all stop. And Felisha, if that isn't incentive enough, I hope this will be. A picture of Kane, his eye bruised, nearly swollen shut, blood dripping from his bottom lip appears next. My breath catches. If you come in, he will be released.

  I don't need to listen to any more of the message. I look up, my hands shaking. "Andrea I have to go, I have to do this."

  "Fel," She sighs wearily, "Kane would never forgive me, or you for that matter. And they're bluffing, they would never give him up."