Fugitive (ON HOLD)

V

When I wake, I hear muffled voices but I see nothing. What happened? I don't remember. All I know is that I'm either having a nightmare or I'm hallucinating. There is no way that I've just been kidnapped.

"What do you mean they're all booked? We need to get out of here tonight, dammit!" A voice growls.

I hear a different voice sigh and say in an irritated tone, "What do you think I mean, idiot? I mean that our asses have to stay here until tomorrow!" I instantly recognize the voice as Ashton's. The voices become clearer the harder I listen.

"Don't you mouth off to me, Irwin. Remember, I can easily blast your foot off," the first voice threatens. Clifford. Oh no. That's right, I remember now. I have been taken hostage by a mentally unstable criminal and two of my friends are working for him.

Ashton doesn't say another word but Luke does. "Look, Mike, we've tried but we just aren't going to get a flight tonight. Tomorrow, though, we can leave. There's a flight from here to the UK tomorrow at 2 pm. We can leave then," he says.

I frown. The United Kingdom? This maniac is taking me from Australia to Wales or Scotland or something? I start to panic. I want to go home. I can't leave, he'll kill me, I just know it, I blink and realize there's a blindfold around my eyes. I sit up and yank it off and what I see surprises me. I'm not in some torture chamber. I'm in a basic looking bedroom. One small bed, which I'm sitting on, one window which is boarded up, and plain white walls.

The door is locked but I still hear the voices of Luke, Ashton, and Michael. "Hey!" I shout, hoping for someone to hear me. "Ashton! Hemmo!" I call out, getting up from the bed and going over to the door. My legs are a bit wobbly but I don't care. I pound on the door a few times before I hear a small click and it opens.

The same tall figure from my last moment of consciousness stands in the doorway, a superior and knowing smirk on his pale lips. They have a slight tint of red in them and I wonder if they're that way because he drinks the blood of his victims. "About fucking time," I mumble.

Michael laughs and rolls his eyes. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty. About time you woke up," he retorts. He brings out a pack of cigarettes and pulls one out, sticking the deadly thing in his mouth.

"What? You aren't going to light it?" I ask, glaring at him. He laughs again, walking past me to sit on the edge of the bed. He takes out a lighter from the opposite pocket and he held it up to the cigarette, clicking it a few times.

"Don't be stupid, Claire. You're a straight A student, aren't you? Of course I'm gonna light it. This isn't any Fault in Our Stars shit," Michael says, grinning when a flame erupts from the lighter. He lights the cigarette and I watch as he pockets the lighter, inhaling from the tar filled stick. I scoff, wondering if he even knows what's in the thing. Michael stares at me as he exhales smoke through his nose and he takes the cigarette out of his mouth, extending it to me. "Want a smoke?"

I back up a few steps, still glaring at him. "Don't make me laugh. Do you even know what you're doing? You're inhaling carbon monoxide, tar, hydrogen cyanide, arsenic, and especially nicotine," I list. "There is no way I'm putting that in my lungs. But then again, being here with you is worse than all of those things."

Michael raises his eyebrow and his lips curve up into a smile, as if he'd just been reminded of some inside joke. "So," he starts. "What you're saying is that I'm worse than nicotine."

I scoff, getting his attempt at a joke. Under different circumstances, I might actually have laughed. However, in reality, I am not laughing. "Oh, very clever," I say, sarcasm dripping from my every syllable.

"Thanks. Just a bit of Panic at the Disco humor. You still like that band, don't you?" He questions, making his way to the door. I frown a little at his question. Still? When did he ever know that I like Panic at the Disco? I've never spoken to him in my entire life except for now.