Agent 9

Chapter 7: New Mission

Now I'm getting into this story. Gosh! I'm so excited when I write this! I hope you enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoy writing it!

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"Don't...Don't move." A familiar voice commands. My brain is so murky I struggle to pinpoint the voice's owner.

I begin to feel tiny, sharp pains across my left wrist. My eyes refuse to open and instead, I lay cradled in the arms of my rescuer. I sense his fingers brushing across my wrist gently. A tug and then a popping sound. My wrist is wrapped in fabric.

Now, I find myself being lifted off the ground. I sway in his arms and grab at the fabric of his woolly shirt to steady myself.

"Thank you..." I mutter under my breath and then pass out again.

***

When I wake, I'm disoriented. All around me are walls. I'm in a building of some sort. I reach out and pull at the fabric of bed sheets. Bedsheets?

Where am I? How did I get here?

Then I remember what happened.

I assume it was last night because the sun is shining through gray curtains that sway as the open window allows in a breeze. I shiver and realize that I'm wearing nothing but my camisole and undershorts.

I sit up quickly but I become so light-headed that I immediately have to lie back down. My entire body aches. I bring my injured wrist up to my eyes and examine what has been done.

It's neatly bandaged. Curiously, I lift the wrappings and check my wound. My skin is swollen and irritated from the bandages, but stitches are holding it together.

My hand goes up to my face and on the once smooth skin, I can feel arrays of slices and cuts that have scabbed over.

Someone...rescued me? I struggle to believe in the security that would mean and jump out of bed. The doorknob turns and I spring back into bed, covering my near-naked body with blankets. When he peeks his head in I'm not sure what emotion to have.

It's the bartender.

"You're awake." He says and comes in. He's holding a bowl with a spoon peeking out of the top. "I hope you're hungry."

I'm suspicious. The bartender walks over to me and sits on the edge of the bed. He sets the bowl on my lap and hands me the spoon. Despite my devouring sense of hunger, I don't eat. For all I know this could be a bowl of poison. A bowl of poison that looks a lot like New England clam chowder.

"My name's Levi." He gestures to himself and folds his hands in his lap. Levi doesn't seem too upset that I'm not eating.

"Bella Nelson," I reply.

"My mother's name is Bella, too," Levi says whilst looking straight ahead at an old dresser.

I nod and sit up straight. The blanket falls to my waist so I pull it up, covering my chest. "Where are my clothes?" I ask.

"Oh, sorry about that. I was fixing them. What happened last night?" He turns to face me and throws one leg on top of the mattress.