Air Brushed

Next Time...

Next Time...

Prints beams at me, "Ozzie! It's great to see you're back!"

"Yeah," I wheeze excitedly as he pulls me into a tight hug.

Little Man, who is now leaning against the wall, abruptly looks distressed, "Should we tell her?"

Fear instantly, automatically pulses through me, "Tell me what-?"

"Nothing! Well, nothing more than we'll probably have a place for you to make your own room now. Isn't that right, LITTLE MAN," Prints shoots the kid a pointed glare.

"Yup! Sure! Definitely," Little Man nods much faster than is necessary as the older guy drags him away. "Bye Ozzie! See you around!"

I turn to watch them go, but stop as soon as I spot Tats talking quietly to Tommo.

The first man's gaze flicks back and forth between us, "You brought her BACK?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" Tommo's eyes narrow, tone more accusatory than inquisitive.

It isn't what the tattooed guy says next that bothers me, but instead his expression. The smallest of smiles warps his thin lips, his voice quiet, "Nothing."

...

My eyes travel around the room, not really taking in the piles of stuff that I expect to see. He isn't here either.

"Haz?" I call, going back into the entry room of the office building.

There is no response.

"HAZ?" I yell again, heading over to the door. Maybe he is by the fire pit...

My shoes scrape against the small debris that litter my pathway, my anxiety only increasing.

I round the corner of the building and find no one. Beside the empty pit are the filthy, partially broken lawn chairs, each as empty as the next. Their formerly bright white or blue surfaces are decorated in some places by the raindrops, which form small, circular clean spots amidst the film of dirt.

I wheel around. There is only one other place that he may be.

My feet begin to move faster, now carrying me forward at a jog.

Puddles splash up around me, making sure I am completely soaked from head to toe. I don't think there is a dry spot anywhere on my body, the rain has gotten through my clothes, the puddles drench my shoes, but honestly, I don't care.

"Haz!" I call out, desperation seeping through my tone.

My gaze lands on the building where I know he kept Belladonna. He has to be there. He HAS to be. One more time, I yell out his name, attention zoned in on the door. I burst through the metal entry, scanning the empty warehouse. Empty. Completely empty.

It isn't here. HE isn't here.

My voice is weak as I sink to the ground, defeat numbing everything from my heart to my finger tips, "Dimples...where are you?"

...

I had been sitting on the couch peacefully for about twenty minutes watching a movie before two large hands slide into my line of vision to cover my eyes. I give a giggle, "Liam-"

"Shh, he's hiding," the man's voice whispers in my ear, his nose brushing through my hair.

I give an amused hum, "What's he hiding from?"

"Not a 'what,' a who."

"Oh, excuse me. WHO'S he hiding from?" I humor him.

"This beautiful girl, her name is Brooklyn," Liam whispers. My cheeks instantly feel warm upon hearing his comment.

"And why on earth would he hide from her?" I bring my hands up to cover his.

His reply takes a moment and it sounds a bit nervous, "Because... because maybe Liam thinks he loves her and he's afraid to admit it."

...

I spin the piece around in my hand slowly, looking at all its wires, all its curves. A timer is set at the front, the clock reading 00:00 in a clichéd bright red. I haven't set it yet.

Man, this could have been a MASTERPIECE!

But no, Tommo's orders are for a fake bomb.

Anyone with eyes would know immediately that, despite the lovely aesthetics, it can't detonate. There is no off switch. Every timed explosive made by a professional has an off switch. That way, if something were to go wrong, the bomb or plan wouldn't be entirely lost.

I thought it would be best to save materials, so I didn't include one.

However, for show, I had even smeared putty all around the timer, concealing the wires that lead to absolutely nowhere.

She could have been BEAUTIFUL.

Sighing, I set the fake bomb down on my work bench, deciding to turn in for the night.

Going around the offices, I give them each a once over before closing their doors.

I just have to double check that the lights are off and make sure I put the acetone peroxide back where it belongs-

I freeze, my hand on the switch for the room with the workbench.

The light itself is already off by the time I stop, which is the only reason I notice it. My bomb... the timer is flickering.

It can't possibly be. I hadn't touched it.

Had I?

Going closer, I feel my eyebrows knit as I see the number. Seventeen? Already halfway across the room, I decide that going back for the overhead lamp isn't worth it, so I slip the flashlight from one of my many pockets.

Clenching the metal handle between my teeth, I reach out and pick up the metal canister. My eyes see, but my brain doesn't believe.

Fourteen.

There is no off switch, but there is also no putty around the timer, exposing all the connected wires. CONNECTED wires.

Twelve.

My goggles suddenly feel tight on my forehead.

This isn't my fake bomb. This isn't fake at all!

I have to get out.

Ten.

My feet move first, stumbling through the room. The flashlight had dropped somewhere, leaving me in almost complete darkness. The angle of the light leaves the entire floor in shadows, essentially making it a mine field.

Seven.

I have to get it outside, away from the other explosives. There is no way any of us will survive if this goes off in here. The blast radius will reach at least three buildings in every direction-

Six.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

Five.

I sprint blindly towards the front door.

Four.

Outside. Have to get outside.

Three.

Fresh air rushes around me, sweat beading on my hands.

Two.

The bomb. I have to lose the bomb!

One.

Book Two: Whitewashed by magic-kiwibird