Left Handed

8

It's weird but I don't even remember Manu at the hospital. It's like birth: we live with the consequences of events we have no control over and no memory of.

We arrived at Cristina's house and she stopped the car but left the motor idling. She leaned with both arms on the steering wheel and stared into mid air. As I looked at her I realized that I hadn't really considered her state of mind. Did she feel guilty?

"I was really scared, you know?" she said. "I'm still scared. When I close my eyes I see a tumbling car, blood. Just before I fall asleep I hear screams. Manu says it's common. It will go away. But I'm not so sure."

I wanted to say something but I didn't. I couldn't decide whether she was entitled or not. After all, she lost only her car in the accident.

"Aaaah, fuck it," she sighed. "Let's go in and get you sorted."

I stepped out of the car and walked to the house. It was pretty typical for the area: white walls and a red tile roof. Two stories high. Here in the more rural part of the island people rarely locked their houses and Cristina skipped ahead and swung open the door.

I was in a dim and cool hallway. Family photos adorned the walls. The door clicked shut behind me. I did not hear Cristina so I turned around and she wasn't there. Alarm bells went off in my head. I tried the door and to my relief it opened.

"Hey!" I called after Cristina.

She turned around and said, "Don't worry, go on ahead. I forgot something."

I did worry but I went back inside nonetheless.

They were in the living room. I was about to spin around and run but someone put a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"I wouldn't," he said.

"Ms Ortega," the police lady in front of me said, "we've been looking for you. You better come with us." She was short and round and had black shoulder length hair. She wore a uniform.

"Why?" I asked. I wanted to puke.

"We want to bring you home," she replied. "Your mother is worried sick."

Cristina sold me out. Damn. What did I think would happen? I trashed her car and made her jealous. Stupid to trust her.

I didn't want to run again. What was the point? They knew where I lived and I had nowhere else to go.

"Alright, let's go," I said. I shot Cristina an evil look and she grinned and flipped me the bird.

I got into the back of the police car after the man brought it up from around the corner.

Now we drive and I write this. I'm tired so I'll sleep a bit. I'll tell you what will happen with my mother but I don't think it will be good.

Oh damn. Did I say it would be bad? That was a bit of an understatement, wasn't it?

The first odd thing that happened was that we were still driving when I woke up. Now, the drive from Cristina's parents' house to my house takes about ten minutes. I'm pretty sure I slept at least half an hour.

I knocked at the plexiglass that divided me from my captors.

"Hey! Where are we going?" I shouted and knocked again. My pulse quickened. They ignored me. I frantically tried both doors. Locked.

"Hello!" I screamed. The woman turned around. She smiled. Then she lifted her service gun and pointed it at me.

Holy sock drawer. These guys quit fooling around.

The drive took another twenty minutes. Thankfully anywhere on Minorca is a short car ride and we weren't near the airport or a ferry terminal as far as I knew. That of course didn't rule out private airstrips or military installations.

I came up with names for the two police officers on the way. She was Dickhead and he was Cuntface.

Cuntface stopped the car in front of a wooden barn of all things. They got out the car first and Dickhead pointed the gun at me while Cuntface opened the door and cuffed me.

Who did these jokers think I was? No way they knew about my militarized arm. I hadn't told anyone and I'm certain no one saw me at the back of the restaurant. This was getting very surreal very fast.

I played along. No way was I going to duel a professional police officer with a weapon I discovered today. They escorted me to the barn. Cuntface opened the door and pushed me in. The door slammed and I heard a padlock being locked. Great. I hope for the continued health of these two schmucks that there weren't any spiders or other weird animals in here.

The barn was lit by rays of light coming in through the faulty roof and walls. It was empty apart from a table, some chairs and a bit of hay in the corner.

I sat down heavily in one of the chairs. The one positive note of the day was that I could experiment a bit.

I lifted my arm and said, "Light." Let's Gandalf this shit.

My hand began to glow with a warm, suffusing light. That was better. I heard some skittering and I aimed my hand at the source of the sound. Too slow. Whatever critter got scared by the sudden illumination had hightailed it.

Aaaaand that's where we are. Of course, the second thing I did after making light with my arm was whip out my phone.

Should I call my mom? She won't be able to help me. The police is obviously out of the question. Friends? Apparently not.

Okay, I can't stand it anymore! Why do you write everything down?!?!

Ugh. Now you yeeted your phone. Aaaah. TeCHNoLoGY iS sCaRY!

Uhm. What? Why are you in my phone? This some NSA shit?

Nah. The NSA can't actually hack your phone in real time. And even if they could, why would they care about a high school girl in an allied country?

Who the fuck are you?

Nice to meet you, too. I'm Frzzzbo, your friendly assistant. I came with the arm.