[Chapter 15: Feels Like Mood Swings, and I'm Dizzy]

     I can't stop screaming. There's blood on the floor and walls from hitting my head and hands all over the place.
   

     Tate wouldn't kill me. He couldn't do that, could he?
   

     Blood and tears cover my face, and my throat is close to raw now.


     The voice hasn't talked to me for over two weeks, and I am starting to wonder if anything is real anymore. Maybe I am currently in a coma at some hospital in the capital. Maybe I'd gotten in a car accident while driving to school. Tate and Olivia are safe, at home, watching TV or playing Wii.


     I could settle with knowing that, if my body weren't on fire with pain. At least the red on the walls and floor add some color to the room.


     I wail and hit the wall again, my bloody hands screaming in pain.


     "That's enough!" Marcus' voice bellows from the alcove, but I ignore it and continue to batter myself.


     The cell door clangs open, and two men dressed in black barge in, followed by Marcus, who is dressed in red.


     Both men have surgical masks on, which is an instant red flag.


     Hit them, the voice tells me.


     Excited that the mysterious voice is back, I get up, poised to fight.


     The two men stop suddenly, hands up.


     I start toward them, but they back up. Huh... What's going on here?


     Don't worry about it. Just hit them.




     I shrug off previous ponderousness and launch myself at the men. Both gasp and shield their faces with their hands, so I aim for what they're protecting.


     The one I attack first stumbles to the floor, and his glasses fall off, revealing reflective gold eyes. I'm lulled into the gold again, only to be scolded by the voice.


     Face, now!


     I press my hands to his face to position myself, but I'm thrown off the masculine man by Marcus. He's barking at me, but the ringing in my ears drones out all the noise that seems to be going around the room.


     Ignoring Marcus' tomato-red face, I stare at the screaming guy on the floor. His face is smoking, and his fingers are clawing at it like an animal. My stomach threatens to burst when I see the burning flesh on his skull.


     The second man is clawing at the back of his head, hair and skin falling to the floor. His gold eyes scared, searching for help, but of course nobody is paying attention to him.


     Several men dressed in black rush into the room, not bothering with the masks this time. Two hold my arms, and two watch my legs. They watch my legs, as if I can't kick or something. But when I try, my legs don't budge. Nothing does. Not my toes, not my ankles, nothing.


     Marcus is flicking something, and a little "tink" noise is the only thing I hear. My heart rate instantly accelerates, and my eyes probably look like that of a wild animal in a trap. Fear attacks every single organ, tissue, cell in my body. And I have nowhere to go.


     The smile on Marcus' face is definitely one that will haunt me for the rest of my life. He wastes no time crossing the room, and the needle glints in the light.


     My mouth is in a thin line, but if I were able to move, it'd be gaping in horror. The liquid in the needle looks like a nasty, thick dark purple pile of gunk.


     The room smells like burning plastic and rotten eggs. I almost throw up, but sadly, nothing pertaining to my body is working. Nothing. My eyes are itching to blink, but they won't.


     My throat is burning, closing up. I don't know if I pass out or not before Marcus even has the chance to shove the nasty, think needle into my neck.




     I sit up, gasping. My breathing is fast, wild, and useless. I start clawing at my throat.


     "I'd stop that if I were you." Micah's sitting with his back against the wall. His legs look like he just threw them in random spots on the floor, his hands in his lap.


     His right eyebrow is split, dried and fresh blood smeared down his face. His gold eyes are watching me carefully.


     "Rue," his voice is hard. "Stop."


     I continue clawing at my throat, but the burning is only getting worse. A loud clanging sound doesn't even make me stop.


     A girl dressed in white scrubs struts in, a smirk on her face. A needle is in her right hand. Her eye makeup is thick and dark, her lips blood red. She sort of blends in with the walls and floor except for her lipstick.


     She admires the needle with a grin on her face. I hated her before I even saw what she was holding.


     "Come--"


     I stand up abruptly, and hit her in the face as hard as I possibly can. A loud crunch reverberates off the walls before she hits the ground, echoing in my head.


     Micah's eyes are wide, as I'm sure mine are too. My hand throbs violently; I don't know if I broke her nose or my hand.


     She doesn't get up after a couple of seconds, so I take the needle. The purple liquid is hard to force out of the needle and into her neck after I shove it into her skin. I only use a little bit, I have other plans for the rest.


     "Rue, what are you doing...?" Micah's eyes are darting around, still, if not more, wide as hell.


     The voice coming from my throat isn't my own, "Rue isn't here."


     Whatever was in the needle Marcus shoved in my neck; it's doing something to me. I feel faster, more aggressive, fearless.


     Another loud clang; men charge in with full-face masks and suits and gloves covering their skin. All of them wield a different weapon, but I don't see a gun.


     We sort of stand there like a Western showdown, staring. I probably look like some demon-chick off of a horror movie; I can tell blood is seeping from the scratches on my neck, and my face is sort of tilted down in a demented look.


     Out of the corner of my eye I see Micah stand up. That's when the first man charges at me with a taser.


     I move at an inhuman speed, twisting the man's wrist, snatching the taser from his hand and using it on his stomach.


     I block a hit from a baton, and tase the next guy in the throat. He joins the other man and woman on the floor. My elbows, fists, and knees connect with several other people, and by the time my rampage is done, Micah and I are the only ones standing in the room.


     "Thanks for helping," I squeak. It's my voice this time, scared.


     Micah looks scared and shakes his head, "I didn't help you."


     I look down at almost ten bodies on the floor. Some are bleeding, and some are just covered in blood. There's a knife in my hand.


     My breathing is stressed, panting. I want to sit down and cry. What have I become? First of all, how did I even manage this?


     My white clothes are splattered with blood, so much that the fabric is sticking to me in some places. I ran to the bathroom and threw up in the toilet.


     I can hear faint shouts from down the hallway. Fear seizes me.


     "Micah, they're coming," I choke on a sob. "They're gonna kill me, Micah. They're gonna kill me."


     He only shook his head and pointed to the needle, "Take a little. Not all of it. Obviously the effects on you are different than on us."


     I don't ask for an explanation. I don't ask him if it's safe, or if he's lying. The voices are coming, and I don't think twice before pushing the needle into a vein in my wrist and squeezing nasty purple into it.


     My wrist starts burning just like my neck, but I ignore it as best as I can. The people are getting close to the door, their footsteps echo and clang noisily.


     Fear is replaced with rage, and my vision goes red.

[Chapter 14: About as Useful as a Flightless Bird]

     "Marcus..." I whine.

 
     "Awh," Marcus coos, crouching in front of my cell doors. "Yes?"


     "Stop being a tool." Despite how much I want to sound tough, my voice is weak. I'm weak.


     He chuckles and hangs his head. I want to break his nose again.


     Marcus stands up abruptly and salutes me, "See ya later, Birdie."


     "Marcus," I pause. My dignity is nowhere to be found. "Please."


     My now tears are running down my face. He's breaking me, and he knows it.


     "Please what?" He smirks and kneels down again.


     I'm leaning on the wall next to the cell door, as I have been for maybe the past five hours. I shake my head at him, choking back a pathetic sob.


     "Please stop doing this to me," I whisper.


     "Doing what?" The asshole plays coy. "You're doing this to yourself, kiddo."


     "Marcus, what do you want from me?" I swipe at my eyes with the back of my wrist.


     "Baby girl," he leans so close it looks as if his face is through the cell bars. "I want your soul."





     "Rue."


     The familiar voice confuses me. I ignore it and turn around, trying to fall back to sleep.


     "Rue, let's go!"


     I'm suddenly roughly drug out of the bed, and picked up.


     "What are you doing? Who are you? Put me down!" No matter how hard I try to throw a punch or deliver a kick, my limbs fail to move.


     "Shh," a mouth is right against my ear. "I'm getting you out of here."


     My heart's in my throat, but I'm too weak to do anything but nod. I've been waiting for this for two and a half weeks.


   


     I sigh contently, stretching my arms under my soft, clean pillow. My eyes stay closed, but I'm awake, thinking. Wait--Soft, clean pillow?


     My body shoots straight up, and my eyes snap open. The room is all white; white walls, white tile, white sheets, and white clothes. My eyes burn, not used to this much light. I shake off the uncomfortable feeling of someone other than myself changing my clothes.


     A white wooden door catches my eye, so I carefully and quietly tip-toe over to it. It silently opens and reveals a breathtaking bathroom, complete with a spotless porcelain toilet, sink, and best of all: shower.


     My clothes are off faster than the speed of light, and I hop in the shower. With the water on steaming hot, I take inventory of soap, shampoo, and conditioner. I greedily dump a giant glob of shampoo into my hand, and slap it onto my head.


     I'm probably in the shower for over an hour, but I take advantage of the razor and shave my legs (and armpits), and lather myself in soap about five times. I wash my hair about six times before it's soft and smooth.


     I bask in the steam before drying off in a big, fluffy towel. There are clean clothes--still white--in the cabinet closest to the sink, so I change. You have no idea how good it feels to be clean.


     Hair up in a towel, I jump back into bed, snuggling under the big comfy comforter. This time, I take pleasure in sleeping.




     The smell of fresh bacon makes me shoot up out of bed. A tray of bacon, eggs, pancakes, strawberries, and orange juice sit on the side table next to my bed.


     Not caring whether or not the food is poisoned, I snarf down as much as I can. Surprisingly, I can't eat as much as I'd like to. My stomach shrank after all that time without food, and it'll probably take a while for it to get back to normal.


     Curiosity seizes me, so I creep around the room. I had already checked out the bathroom, and under the bed. A small alcove catches my attention, so I tip-toe over. My heart and stomach drop when I find another barred doorway instead of a plain door.


     Emptiness crowds my insides; the need to be anywhere but here closes around my heart. I long to be at home with Tate and Olivia. Oh Olivia... My darling little sister. What have they done with her?


     I slump next to the bars, bawling. Deja vu hits me like a truck; I do this too often.


     "Stop crying."


     I glance at Marcus, but continue crying.


     Like always, he kneels down next to the bars. But this time his face isn't hard; he looks general perplexed.


     "I don't understand how Jaeger was planning on using you."


     I scoff, "Do you expect me to know, or something?"


     "No, not really." He looks me up, "You honestly have no idea what's going on, do you?"


     "Sure I do." Marcus' eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "You kidnapped me and my sister and my... Roommate-person, and plan on killing us for no reason."


     He chuckles, "It wasn't for no apparent reason, birdie. Your boyfriend was going to use you against me, I just don't know how."


     "Ha! Boyfriend. What a funny word. I just met Jaeger about... How long have I been here?"


     What am I doing? How am I carrying on a conversation with this monster?


     "About three weeks. Hmm.." He rubbed his chin and scratched the back of his head.


     "Look, Marcus," I grip a bar in each hand and lean closer. "I really don't know what is going on. Just... Let me go. Please."


     Marcus shakes his head, "I can't do that. Jaeger will find you, and if what he's planning works, then all I've worked on will fall apart."


     "Surely you can take me somewhere far away, with Olivia and Tate. And we can pretend this never happened."


     "Oh birdie," he breathes, also leaning close. "Life doesn't work like that."


     "But--"


     "And have you forgotten?" He wipes a tear from my cheek. "Tate's going to kill you."


     I gasp and clamber away from the bars. My mouth is gaped open like a fish, continually opening and closing, as if I'm going to say something. But of course I can't say anything.


     Marcus winks, "I'll catch ya later, birdie."

[Chapter 13: Intruders Keep Me Company]

     I shift uneasily at the sound of a soft tapping noise. Ignoring it, I roll over in the creaky and uncomfortable bed. Staying unconscious wasn't the hard part; it was sleeping that was tough.


     What? Think there's no difference between the two? Ever got punched so hard you blacked out? Ever passed out from lack of the ability to breathe? It's easy to fall unconscious. You really don't have a choice.


     Sleeping, on the other hand, requires exceptional comfortableness. When you're sleeping on a thin, worn-down mattress with paper-thin sheets, you have no physical comfortableness.


     When your eyes are closed, but your ears have no choice but to hear drip, drip, drip; clang!; and random scuttling, you have no mental comfortableness.


     When you're scared shitless that you, your sister, or your friends are seconds from being brutally murdered, you have no emotional comfortableness.


     The soft tapping noise turns into a loud tapping noise. I pull the sheets over my head as if the thin material could silence a gunshot. The annoying, now-loud tapping noise turns into a 0.3 second delayed clink! that ricochets off the cement walls.


     I sit straight up, flaming pissed. Despite my misused abs screaming, I hold that position, staring into complete darkness towards whatever is making the stupid noise. Whoever--or whatever--is making the noises obviously doesn't care that it's bothering me, so I jump off the bed, slosh into a puddle of nasty, and yank the cord for the light bulb.


    My pupils have an issue with the sudden brightness, but I ignore them and stare coldly into Marcus' own deadly eyes. A smirk is played on his face as he continues to drag a spoon across the bars of my cell.


     My stomach growls, and even though I try to ignore it, it's very loud. Marcus grins.


     "You hungry?" He taps a bar twice.

   
     "No, dumbass," I lie. Mr. Stomach growls again.


     "Ah, I see," he paces back and forth slowly. "Well, we'll give you appropriate accommodations as soon as you learn some manners. And until then, you won't be eating. You also won't be seeing."


     "What?" I step towards the cell door. "I won't be--"


     My words are cut off as the light goes out. I hate my life.





     Staring blankly into the darkness, I fold my hands over my chest. I have no idea how long I've been down here. I don't really care. All I'm concerned about is how long until I get out.


     My throat is raw from screaming things at Marcus. Excuse me, screaming very rude and inappropriate words at Marcus.


     Micah will poke around every once and a while with a candle, and that's the only light I ever see. He never says anything, just quietly rattles the cell door to make sure it's still locked. Every time he comes to check it, I remind him prior to the shaking that it hasn't been touched.


     I'm still beating myself up about the fact that I have no boo-boo's on my stomach. There are no claw marks, no scratches, nothing. But considering everything that has been going on lately, it's not that big of a deal.


     Boredom is almost some sort of a hobby now. It's basically just like breathing; it happens all the time.


     In all honesty, most of the time I lay back in bed and create stories in my head. Almost all of them are fantasies, though.


    Actually, I can't tell the difference between my fantasies and my dreams anymore. They're basically all the same; getting rescued; saving Olivia; finding Tate.


     I'm constantly wondering where Tate is, wherever he is, whatever had happened to him. I miss seeing his chestnut hair, wide smile, and chocolate brown eyes. I miss his comfort when I have bad dreams.


     I haven't seen Olivia in what feels like a month, but in all reality is probably a couple days. I don't cry about missing her anymore. It doesn't do any good for her or myself.


     Hunger gnaws at my stomach, and I sigh. I haven't eaten in about three days; Marcus hasn't been here for two days, I think. Hell, it could've just been yesterday that he shut off my light privileges.


     Micah's light shines down the corridor; he's on his way down here. His footsteps don't make any noise, not even a little tap. There's no sloshing sound when he walks through the puddle in front of my door, and I know there is a puddle there. Candlelight glistens off of it.


     Instead of laying in my bed like I usually do, I quietly hop off and pad towards the door. My feet have already grown accustomed to the nasty dirt and grime on the floor, but I still gag when I step in something squishy.


     Micah grabs the door, but doesn't shake it. Instead he stares at me closely, not patronizingly or rudely, and watches carefully.


     I cover his hand with mine, and he stiffens, but I loosen my grip so he knows that I'm not going to do anything to him.


    Leaning closer to the bars, I whisper, "Micah."


    He closes his eyes and leans on a bar, "Yes?"


     "Why is Marcus keeping me down here?" My voice wavers a bit.


     Micah shakes his head, "I don't know. "


     I abruptly grab his face through the bars, and his eyes are wide open. Tears are running down my face.


     "Please," I whisper-beg. I never beg. "Get me out of here. At least into a cleaner cell, just please..."


     He stares at me for a couple seconds before nodding, "I'll talk to Marcus. Are you hungry?"


     It was my turn to lean my forehead on a bar, "Oh, God yes. It's been a couple days since I've eaten... Wait--how long have I--"


     "You've been here for five days."


     He kept it simple, but it felt like a lot longer than five days. I almost didn't believe him.


     Micah clears his throat, "I'll be back in a few minutes with your food."


     I give a nod and release the bars.


     His candlelight travels down the hallway, fading into the darkness.


     Just as soon as he's gone, footsteps clomp over to my cell. I figure it's Micah back already, but I don't think there's a magical kitchen down the corridor.


     Keys jingle and clink, but I can't see who's there. The candlelight isn't in the area it had been when Micah was standing there. The cell door rattles open.


     There's nothing but silence. Not even a drip from random water somewhere. No jingling keys, no rattling doors, no sloshing footsteps.


      An uneasy feeling settles in my stomach, and I scuffle backwards two steps.


     "Marcus?" I call out. My voice falters, so I clear my throat. "Marcus, leave me alone."


     Definitely is not Marcus.



     Who is it?


     
     No answer.


     "H-Hel--" Soft fingertips on my right cheek cut me off. I instantly hold my breath, frozen.


      The scent of cinnamon fills my nostrils, but it isn't too strong. The smell is almost familiar.


     Warm breath is on my throat, and my heartbeat races. The soft fingertips move into my nasty, gnarly hair, and a palm rests on my cheek. Who could this possibly be?


     Marcus would not be able to be soft and sweet like this. Micah is gone for all I know.


     Whomever this is is completely different then the people I've been around lately.


     Another hand cups my other cheek, and what I'm guessing to be a nose is touching the side of my own. A low moan escapes the lips of my intruder; the deep tone relieves me from thinking I had some freaky chick in my room.


     His lips are insanely close to mine, breathing calm. I wish I could be that cool. Instead my lungs are screaming from lack of oxygen, and my heart is bustin' a move inside my chest. My thoughts are swarming and running around the small room we're in.


     I finally take one shakey breath before the stranger's mouth presses against my own. It's a sweet kiss at first, but he presses harder before pulling away. My closed eyes open to find darkness, but the guy's hands are still on my face.


     Mr. Intruder suddenly presses soft lips upon my own again before running out of the cell, leaving the door wide open.


     I don't think twice before running out after him.


     I don't hear his footsteps or anything else. It's almost as if he vanished out of thin air. Actually, down here, it's thick air.


     My stomach rocks like an earthquake, so I stop running. It's no use anyway. He is long gone.


     "I suggest you get back into your cage, birdie."


     Marcus's voice makes my veins flow cold. Yet instead of passing out from fear, I collapse from lack of energy.

[Chapter 12: Takers]

     Gun in my hand, I look up at the sky, "If we're going to go, we need to go now. If we wait until it's dark, we'd have to use flashlights, or stumble around. They'd be able to see the lights, and let's face it: We wouldn't stand a chance stumbling around in the dark."


     Jaeger and Warren exchange surprised looks.

     "I'm not stupid," I furrow my eyebrows.


     It was like this when Olivia and I left. We couldn't use the flashlights, or they would have caught us. Stumbling around would have been useless.

     After walking to the trunk of the car, I grab a thin-but-sharp knife. I place it in my right thigh pocket.

     I'm stronger than they think, I know I am. I can fight.


     Confidence surges through my veins and I'm ready to go.



     "Do you think you can do this?" Jaeger's hands are cupping my face, worry written in his expression.

     I exhale sharply and nod. "I hope so," I whisper.

     I glance around, noticing that there's not a building in sight. Nothing but dark trees and vegetation obscure my view. Where could they possibly be?

     Look.


     Look where? Around? Yeah, all I see are trees.


     Focus. Look at the willow tree to your left. Put all your attention on that one tree. 

     In my head I scoff, but I do it anyway.

     The old willow looks so lonely, all by itself. Its branches sway in a small breeze that travels to ruffle my hair. The branches move violently as a stronger wind unsettles it, allowing me to see the gnarly bark covering itself.

     The violent wind reaches me, and my hair whips around, causing me to clench my eyelids tightly.

     Just as soon as it came, the wind stops, and everything is deafeningly silent.

     Jaeger and Warren shift uneasily, snapping twigs and crunching leaves under their boots. The sounds sound foreign, like they're not supposed to be occurring in this forest; I don't like it.

     My eyes dart from Jaeger's worried face back to the willow tree, pinning themselves on a glowing red object in the tree's wrangled bark. It looks as though the tree doesn't like the crunching and snapping noises, either.

     "Guys..."  I whisper, backing up so we're all grouped together. "There's so such thing as an enchanted tree, is there?"

     Just then a deep groan comes from the forest, and hundreds of birds leave the tree tops, screeching. Too many sounds fill my ears at the same time; the rush of wings, screeching from the birds, snapping sticks, and more groaning.

     "Guys?" I spin around; they aren't anywhere to be found.

     Yelling wouldn't be a very smart idea considering I don't have a damn clue what the hell is going on. Crying wouldn't help anything, and standing here would probably only get me killed.

     As soon as the ground starts shaking, my feet are moving. I don't know where I'm going, but I know I have to get anywhere away from that tree.

     Tree branches are scraping my face and arms, and hurdling over giant logs seems as easy as stepping over a crack in the sidewalk. My boots slide on moss, slosh in puddles, and have probably crushed a mouse or two.

     There, that collapsed tree. 

     My darting eyes find the one the voice is talking about; a fallen tree about 150 feet to my right. My body shifts to head in that direction, but my feet completely stop when my eyes notice the ground; it's moving.


     Something catches my foot and drags me to the ground, retching me ankle in the process. I hit the ground hard, and the wind is knocked out of me.


     Gasping for air, I turn onto my back to look up at my attacker. My heart stops at the sight of Tate.

     And he took me. Just like they took Olivia.

Jaeger's POV


     Gasping behind a rotten log, I come up with a plan, "Okay, Warren, you take its left flank. Rue, you--"


     I swivel my head around. No Rue.


     "Rue?" I pop up over the log, scanning the wilderness. Still no Rue.


     "Warren!" I bark. "Where'd she go?"


     He throws his arms up, "Hell if I know!"


     Another growl ripples through the forest; Warren and I tense.


     Marcus was after her. He was playing his mind games, I could feel it. His games leave a sour after-taste in the back of my mouth, and I'm sure Warren is having the same problem.


     Nothing was going on in the forest that we could see, but to Rue; who knows what she was seeing/feeling/hearing? For all I know, she could be thinking that the trees were on fire, and her lungs could be burning from the non-existent smoke.

    
     We need to find her. Before Marcus gets her.

 
      "Warren..." I look up at him, worry written all over me.


      He nods.


      "We need to find her. Now."



Rue's POV


     A loud clanging noise jolts me to consciousness. My nose wrinkles as foul, rotting smells fill my nostrils. It takes a couple seconds for my eyes to adjust, and I realize I'm staring at the ground. Duct tape over my mouth prevents me from screaming.

     
     Strong arms are wrapped around my stomach, which would explain why I'm facing the ground. My feet helplessly drag across the dirty cement floor.


     Looking around discreetly, I see that I'm being carried down a damp, dark, and dirty cement corridor. Moss, or mold--I don't know which--covers the walls and floor, giving them a slimy appearance.


     I groan weekly as the strong arms adjust on my stomach, twisting my skin in the process. I try to struggle, but I find I can't move. At all.


     Panic in my stomach escalates, and my legs beg for a chance to kick. Defeat settles in as I realize it's no use.


     Another loud clang rockets my eardrums, announcing that a metal door is now open. My boots run over something, as we enter the cell.


     He's going to sit you down. On the count of three, I want you to punch him in the throat, kick his knee, and knee him in the face.


     I can't move. How can you expect me to do all that?


     You can do it. Just try, Rue.


     Fine.


     Just as the voice said, the man sits me down in a stiff chair. He picks my face up, but I can't see anything in the dark. How can he see?


     One...


     The man gets up to turn on the light bulb.


     Two...


     His arm quickly reaches up to pull the string.


     Three. Go.


     I'm up and moving, and my fist connects with his throat just after the light turns on. He stumbles back, clutching his throat.


     Tate's eyes are in a panic.


     Now his knee. Go!


     But I can't move. I'm glued to the spot, watching Tate choke on nothing. The more he gasps for air, the less he starts looking like himself. His chestnut hair falls out, and the short hair left turns black. Stubble pops up on his now-scarred chin.

   
     Rue! Now!


     I move quickly, dodging his weak attempts to fend me off. I viciously attack his left knee with my right foot, and I wince at the audible crack! it sends out. He falls to the cement, landing on his good knee.

 
     I grab his head, look into those cold blue eyes, and shove his nose into my knee. His body falls backwards into the wall, and he slowly slides down the grime.


     Running out of the cell, I pause at the T-section.


     Turn Left.


     Obeying, I turn on my heel sharply to the left, running at about a 75%. Full out sprinting would be stupid, especially if I fell, or ran into another man.


      My boots slosh in the standing water, and my footsteps echo down the corridor.


     Slow down; turn right into the next cell. Someone's coming.


     I slow down, but I can't see anything.


     Turn now.


     I roughly turn right and almost trip over the doorway. Slamming myself against the wall, I gasp.


     Stop breathing.


     Are you kidding?!


     No.


     Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold my breath. My lungs scream in protest, but I don't give in. My head gets light, and I feel like passing out until I hear their footsteps.


     "Do you think we should check up on Marcus?" I can tell it's Micah; his worried tone, but his smooth voice.


     "No. Knowing him, he's probably having his way with her. C'mon, Micah, he's your brother," this voice belongs to a girl. She sounds like a smartass.


     "True."


     Their footsteps stop in front of my cell. How can they see in the pitch black?


     "Shh," the girl quiets. "Do you hear that?"


     My heartbeat gets close to completely stopping, and my lungs feel numb. I feel like I'm drowning again.


     "What--"


     A rippling scream from Marcus cuts Micah off, and both of them take off sprinting to Marcus' cell.


     Go, now.


     I trip over the doorway this time, gasping. Falling into a nasty puddle of grime, I scramble to continue running. Tears travel down my face as I run.


     What the hell is going on? Where am I? Where are Jaeger and Warren? Where's Olivia?


     Rue! Behind you!


     I dont have any time to react before I'm roughly tackled to the ground from behind. I brace myself this time so the wind isn't knocked out of me. My face scrapes across the cement, and stops in a puddle of nasty. By now I'm bawling, choking on sobs.


     "Shh," Marcus' voice coos in my ear. His breath is hot and sticky, "Stop struggling before anything else happens to that pretty little face of yours."


     I go limp, mostly because this guy weighs about two hundred pounds more than me, and my chest is starting to hurt from the pressure. How the hell is he here right now? I clearly broke his knee and smashed his nose in!


     He roughly picks me up, and pushes me forward. "Go."


     I refuse to move.


     Marcus shoves me, and I fall to the ground.


     "Now I'm definitely not moving," I state and stay there on the ground.


     He sighs and leans down, "I'm going to kick you if you don't get up."


     "Go ahead," I say with a smile.


     He bring his leg back to kick, and just before his leg kicks me, I swing my own leg out and swipe his standing ankle. He crumples to the floor, and I'm running.


     A low growl like the one I'd heard in the woods comes from Marcus, and a leathery-snapping sound echoes through the corrider. A rush of beating wings sounds behind me, and I push myself faster.


     It's when the claws dig into my flesh that I scream.

[Chapter 11: G.I. Joe]

 Warm sunlight kissing my eyelids wakes me out of a deep sleep. Yawning, I rub my eyes and roll over onto my stomach. Prying my eyes open seems impossible, but finally I get them to cooperate.

     My alarm clock is pink and bubbly, its purple numbers announcing the time: 9:42 in the morning.

     Replaying that crazy dream in my head, I chuckle to myself. What a nightmare that was. I've got to stop eating after seven at night.

     I swing my legs over the bed and onto the floor, then duck out of my bunk bed. As I shuffle through the hallway, I step on a McDonald's toy and yelp.

     Squeezing my foot with my hands, I fall into the wall, trying to fight off tears. I know that all I did was step on a toy, but that really hurt.

     Tate must be at work, because the coffee in the coffee pot is cold. I grab a skillet from under the cupboard, yawning. I still feel groggy and rub my eyes as I grab the carton of eggs from the fridge.
    
     As soon as I have two eggs cooking in the pan on the stove, I go around picking up all of Olivia's toys. Several Barbie's, McDonald toys, and Polly Pockets later, I dump all her toys into her toy box.

     "Olivia," I say quietly, walking toward her bed. "Wake up, honey."

     I reach up to gently shake her--

     "She's not here," a smooth voice says from my doorway.

     I swing around, "Jaeger? What are you doing here?"

     He unfolds his arms and stands up from having been leaning on my doorway, "Look, you need to go check on your eggs. When you're done, we need to leave."

    An uneasy feeling creeps into my stomach, "Where is Olivia?" Unconsciously, I glance to the upper bunk.

    "I'll explain later," he shrugs. "Your eggs are gonna burn."

    Did Jaeger take her? Would he do that? "Did you touch her?" My voice rises, and I take a menacing step towards him.

     Jaeger holds his hands up defensively, "No! You know I wouldn't do that!"

     "I don't know anything anymore," I reply. Maybe last night's dream wasn't a dream after all...

     "Do remember anything from last night?" he asks as he walks out of the room. I closely follow him.

     He's wearing a black v-neck, leather jacket, and baggy-ish jeans. Even his cologne smells badass.

     Remnants from the dream flood my thoughts. I look at my fingers. Sure enough, bandages cover them, and my neck is kind of sore. My collarbone stings as I lift my left arm. Pulling my shirt down, I gaze at the gash stretched across my skin.

     "Yeah, I was wondering; when did that happen?" He was stopped in front of me, staring at my wound.

     "A couple minutes after you killed yourself by jumping out of the back of the van," I stare at him.

     "About that--"

     "I don't want to know right now," I stare at my grey t-shirt and sweats. "Did you change my clothes last night?"

     His eyes light up, "I couldn't let you sleep in clothes covered with blood."

     "Maybe I wanted to," I lie and push past him. My eggs are burnt, and smell terrible. I scrape them into the garbage and discard the skillet into the sink.

     "Ready?" Jaeger's sitting at my table with his arms crossed.

     "Nope," I mumble on my way to my room.

     Olivia's gone. My baby was taken. She could have been killed! They could be torturing her right now!

     My heart rate accelerates, and panic sets in. Soon I'm grabbing my head and leaning against the wall, terrified that my little girl is in trouble. And I need to save her.

     Filing through my jeans, I choose a pair of worn out cargo pants. I shuck off my sweatpants and tug on my jeans, almost tripping over something metal and black. I end up accidentally kicking it under my bed.

     After buttoning my jeans, and figuring out that I need a belt, I get down on my hand and knees and peer under my bed. Breath caught in my throat, I pull out a hand gun.

     Uh? This wasn't here earlier. Where the hell did this come from?!

     You're going to need that.


     For what?!


     You want Olivia back, right?


     Of course I do. I don't have to kill anyone, do I?


     The voice doesn't reply, and I'm seriously scared shitless. The closest thing to a real gun that I've had experience with was a B-B gun...

     "Deal with it," I exhale and gently set the gun on my bed.

     I exchange my grey t-shirt for a white tank top, and a leather jacket over it. Whipping my belt off a hook in my closet, I loop it through my jeans and tighten my waist.

     I grab the gun and exit my room. Hoping I don't run into Jaeger, I lower my gun as I enter the kitchen. He's suddenly off the chair with his hands up.

     "Look, Rue, I didn't take Olivia, okay? I had nothing to do with her kidnapping," his eyes are wide and scared. His voice trembles.

     "I know," I admire the gun.

     He slowly moves toward me and reaches a hand out for the gun. I move to hand it to him,and he cringes back. I grab his hand, and set the gun in it.

     "Where did you get this..?" Jaeger eyes me, pressing the safety on the gun. Jesus. I didn't even have the safety on.

     "Found it. Let's go."

     "This is gonna be dangerous, Rue. I'm having second thoughts about letting you come..." He shrugs and puts a hand on my arm.

     "She's my little sister. I can handle myself," I stick my chin up.

     "Just like how you got cut?"

     "I know what to expect now." I start heading toward the door.

     Jaeger scoffs, "If you say so, cupcake. We have to go pick up Warren."

     I stop, "Why?"

     "I told you I have a lot to explain, babe," he winks and ushers me out the door.

     "Then start talking, Mr. Mystery."

     "It's not the right time yet."

     "I don't enjoy you leaving me hanging," I pout. The sky is pale again, and clouds rolling in suggest rain.

     He squints in the light, and looks at me, "I don't either."

     I quietly follow him to his car. Why don't we just call the police to get Olivia back?

     "This is all happening too fast," I sigh and open my door. The seat doesn't look as inviting as it had before, but I sit in it anyway.

     "I know, Rue. My advice?" He clicks his seatbelt and starts the engine. "Roll with the punches."

     He winks at me and peels out.




      "Wake up, kid."

      I inhale, and stretch, eyes peeling open slowly. The sun looks a few hours away from setting already. Funny, I thought we'd left sometime in the morning. I don't remember eating lunch. Or dinner.

     "Get up," Warren kicks my boot. "Time to head out."

     "Out where?" I yawn, stepping out of Jaeger's expensive car. There are no buildings. There are no roads. Or power lines. Nothing besides a cornfield that hasn't been harvested, fields of tall grass, and a forest with a small creek running through it.

     "They're in there," Jaeger makes a gesture to the forest. He'd changed into camouflaged army pants and a black tank top. There is a gun strapped to his thigh, and a knife in his left black boot. I feel I'm standing next to the leader of the G.I. Joe team.

     Warren's dressed the same, but his muscles bulge more. Maybe he'd put on a tighter tank top to look like a babe. He succeeded, but I am not about to admit it. I don't like potheads.

     Jaeger's loading what looks like an assault rifle, and this is when I go off.

     "Excuse me? Are we attacking Iraq or something?" I throw my hands in the air. "Po-lease! These kidnappers cannot be that dangerous!"

     "I told you we should have left her in the trunk," Warren glares at Jaeger.

     Jaeger shoots a disapproving look back at Warren, then turns to me, "They really are, Rue. We can't underestimate anybody right now. Especially when Tate's in there."

     My stomach drops and my voice is barely a whisper, "Tate's in there?"

     Warren scoffs, "You didn't wake up thinking he went to work today, did ya?"

     Of course I did. I didn't even think there was a possibility that he had been kidnapped too.

     I replay last night in my head again, recalling waiting for Tate to come home, and being bombarded by two enormous twins instead. Then I remembered what Micah had said about Tate. Tate was going to kill me.

     Should I tell Jaeger? Would he understand it? Warren would just mock me, calling me insane. I'm starting to wonder if I'm sane at all.

     My heart was beating faster with every thought invading my mind. Would Tate already be dead? Did Micah just decide that it'd be easier to kill me himself instead of trying to force Tate to do it? I know Tate would never do anything like that, didn't I?

     I quietly stepped over to Jaeger, well out of earshot concerning Warren. He's slinging his enormous gun around his back, tightening the straps. His eyes are focused, concentrated on that tiny task.

     "What should I be expecting when we get there?" I exhale, still trying to figure out if I'm even ready for any of this.

     What should I be expecting? Some kind of war? Over a five-year-old? Well, and Tate too.

     "First," Jaeger said, eyeing me. His eyebrow was almost healed already, and his supposed-to-be black eye was almost faded into perfect skin. "You won't know when we get there. They hide like a snake, ready to strike at any time. But, they hide right in front of your face.
     Second, this basically is a battle. They're ready to end my revolution before it even starts."

     My mind reels, "You're planning on starting a revolution? How can they stop it?"

     Jaeger's eyes are wild, scared, almost. "By taking you away from me."

     I scoff, but on the inside I'm terrified. "They already took me once. You came and got me. You can do it again, right?"

     "Rue," Jaeger's voice is small, quiet. His eyes soft, sad. "I can't come get you if you're dead."




     I lift my arms up obediently and grunt as Jaeger pulls the small but hard vest over my tank top. I silently watch his face as he pulls the straps tighter, velcroing them to the vest. He works quickly, but makes sure everything is safe and secure.

     He faintly smells crisp, fresh, of mint. Chin freshly shaven, hair shorter than I remember. The tattoo on his neck has another line, and I wonder when he possibly could have gotten that, considering I've been with him almost constantly for the past few days.

    His lips are cracked, dehydrated from the looks of it. They're a soft pink, inviting, almost. I blush just looking at them.


     "What?" Jaeger looks straight at me.

     I blush and shake my head. "Nothing."

     "Why are you blushing then, sunshine?" Thanks for calling me out.

     "I'm not," I lie. "I'm just... Really scared.."

     "I know," Jaeger kisses my forehead. His lips are soft, not cracked. "We'll get out of here. You want Olivia back, right?"

     I nod vigorously.

     "Then, Rue-baby," he looks up at the fading sun, squinting before putting a cigarette in his mouth. He quickly lights it and takes a drag. "You've got to give it all you got, and I'll have your back when you don't have anymore to give."

     I snatch the cigarette from his mouth and take a quick drag before exhaling the smoke into his face. "Jaeger-baby..."

     He cocks an eyebrow, waiting for a response.

     "Give me my gun."

[Chapter 10: Pop Goes the Weasel]

Jaeger's POV

     NO! Damnit!

     I slide down the ladder with the insides of my boots and hands, not caring whether or not my skin gets burned from the rusting metal. As soon as the soles of my shoes hit the wet pavement, I'm sprinting around the building toward Rue's apartment building.

     It was definitely not Tate who stepped out of that Wrangler. It was the Riverton Brothers. And they are here for Rue.

     Why? I don't know, maybe because--

     An arm the size of a tree trunk hooks around my body and throws me to the ground. The back of my head cracks on the edge of the sidewalk, and a grunt escapes my lips as pain ricochets around my skull.

     Malcolm Riverton smirks down at me, all 6' 7" of him, glaring down like a jaguar in a tree. His neck alone could probably crack someone's head open.

     "I didn't know people like us could take steroids," I roll onto my feet and brush off my shirt, sighing.

     He cracks his neck and pops his knuckles, "You're about to know what it feels like, Reynolds."

     "I was wondering when I was going to get the chance," I ponder out loud, flicking a firefly off my sleeve. "I just didn't know how to, you know, pop the question."

     Malcolm cackles, "She's ours, buddy. Your little revolution? Kiss it goodbye."

     I scoff, "After I kick your ass, I'll be welcoming it with open arms."



Rue's POV


     Lolly pop, lolly pop, oh lolly, lolly, lolly, lolly pop---POP!

     My head cracking on something hard jolts me awake, and I give a low groan. The old song is blaring, and annoying the hell outta me.

     "I call her Lolly Pop, Lolly Pop, oh Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Lolly Pop---POP!" Men sing in the front, probably only about two.

     Wait, sing in the front of what?

     I struggle to sit up, but all that really happens is my face attacking the floor once I realize my hands are bound behind my back.

     "COOL!" I cry frustratedly. Obviously I'm in a vehicle. Probably a van, but maybe an Excursion or something big like that.

     "Hey," a soft voice comes from the corner on the other side of the car. "Don't be so loud."

     "Jaeger?" I use all my abdominal muscles to slowly pull myself up.

     He's really beat up. Bruises cover his arms, his lip is split worse than before, and his left eye is swollen. Blood covers most of him, 'course some of it is from earlier in the night.

     He hesitates before answering, "Yes."

     "What's going on? Why are--" I'm suddenly thrown onto him when the vehicle makes a sharp turn to the right.

     I pretty much dig my chin into his chest, and we both groan. When I peel my face off him, it feels like something wet is on my face, and there's so much that it drips off my cheek and back onto Jaeger.

     I hiss at the smell of iron, and start crying when I see all the blood in the dim lighting.

     "Jaeger," I blubber. I hiccup in the middle of it, so it sounds more like, 'Jae-GAH-er!'

     "Shh," he winces as he sits up, struggling against the movement of the truck. "Stop crying."

     "You're bleeding!" I cry. The music up front turns down a little, like our kidnappers are listening.

     "It's not my blood," he gives a wry chuckle. "Well, a little bit is."

     Instantly, I suck up all my tears, and grimace at the thought of having the blood of someone besides Jaeger, or Tate, all over me. I ungracefully try to balance while I rub the blood on my face onto the back of the row of seats.

     Having my hands behind my back is really starting to bother me, so I fall to my side and maneuver so I'm laying on my shoulders and legs pushing my body up as much as possible. Carefully, I slide my wrists under my butt, lay down with my legs curled, and pull my arms over my legs.

     "They bound you?" Jaeger's voice doesn't seem very surprised.

     "They kidnapped me..." Wait. "Us," I correct.

     "Guess you pose too much of a threat to other people in the van."

     I stare at the ceiling of the van, a very pissed off feeling bubbling inside my body. Why the hell did someone kidnap me? Of all people? Are they bounty hunters for the orphanage? And instead of getting people for money, they're just getting people to get people?

     "Wait," I sit up. "Aren't your hands tied?"

     He smirks and holds up his hands. I frown at the dried blood on them.

     "They were. It's not that hard to untie something with your mouth," he states as if it's obvious.

     I shove my hand into his bloody stomach, "You untie them. I'm not putting somethign in my mouth that has another person's blood on it."

     "What if you'd die if you didn't?" Jaeger asks quietly as his nimble fingers untie the knot.

     "I'd figure it out then."

     The need to know why I was kidnapped and where we are going is nagging at me, but the panic hasn't started yet. I guess this is just how I deal with things. Instead of panicking, I wait to see how things turn out first.

     Plus, given the situation, I'm pretty sure we'd be able to escape. I mean, my hands aren't tied behind my back, I'm not gagged, and my feet aren't chained together. Although, I'm sure if I was tied up, gagged, and chained, I'd still be able to make it past the seats and knock out the driver.

     Of course, that probably wouldn't be the smartest idea considering I wouldn't be able to stop the van from hitting something, rolling, and killing us all.

     "Who's blood is that?" I ask while gingerly rubbing my wrists.

     "Their brother's," he coughed, nodding up to the twins.

     "Why--"

     "I'll have to explain later," he shuffles next to me. Suddenly his hands are on my cheeks, his face close.

     "Jaeger--"

     "Shush," he whispers. "I need you to distract them."

     "For what?" I whisper-shout. What could he possibly need me to distract them for?

     "Just trust me, okay? Try to... Try to distract Micah. He's not driving, but I need you to try to get him back here."

      "You aren't killing him," I state firmly.

      He shakes his head, "We're going home."

     The panic is stating to set in, and just in the wrong moment.

     "Where are we? Where are they taking us? Jaeger why did they kidnap us?" I start shrieking, and the music is turned down lower.

     "It's your cue," Jaeger winks and opens the back door---I don't know how, but he does---and jumps out to his death.

     "What's going on back there?" A gruff voice calls back.

     "No!" I shriek and kick the door. It doesn't budge.

     "Hey!" Micah yells back at me. "What are you doing?"

     I kick the door again and again, but all it does is jar my legs. Soon I'm shrieking and flailing around like a banshee on crack.

     "Hey!" Micah screams, tumbling over the seats to get to me. "Why are you screaming?"

     "Shut her up!" Marcus shouts back. "Hurry up, or I'll stop the van to get the gag!"

     Micah reaches for me, but I shudder and scoot away. He reaches for me again, but this time I grab his wrist and yank him in the back with me.

     He gives a yelp of surprise, and I quickly clap my hand to his mouth.

     Micah about crushes my wrist, trying to get my hand off his mouth, but I slowly dig my fingernails into his cheek. The harder he squeezes, the harder I dig.

     "Now, listen to me," I whisper into his ear. "I want to know what the hell is going on. I may not be much of a threat, but my friend sure is."

     I see his eyes dart around, and they widen when they find that Jaeger just isn't back here. Suddenly he's chuckling.

     I feign a moment, wondering what could be so funny. Micah takes the opportunity to wrestle me over. Under five seconds I'm pinned, and I hear the knife slide out of its sheath.

     My stomach drops. How could I have pulled off what I'd just tried anyway? Jaeger didn't give me any warning before he went and killed himself. Which is absolutely not like him. Why would Jaeger kill himself? Right in front of me?

     Cold metal tickles my neck, and fear spikes my veins. I failed.

     "Go ahead," I whisper. "Follow through."

     Micah hesitates, "What?"

     The van swerves, and Micah's blade nicks the skin on my collarbone. I let out a hiss, and tears threaten my eyes from the pain of the gash.

     I grab a fistful of Micah's shirt and yank him to me, "Kill me. Do what you were planning this whole time."

     His breath is hot on my face, "I'm not going to kill you."

     Hold up. "What?"

     "I'm not going to kill you." There is no humor in his voice. If Marcus were saying this, he'd definitely be all smiles.

     "Who is?"

     "Tate Williams."

     The front windshield shatters, and we screech to a halt. Marcus groans, and suddenly the back doors open.

     Jaeger yanks me out from under Micah, and sets me on the ground. His fist rockets across Micah's face before he closes the doors.

     I struggle on the gravel as I try to scoot away from Jaeger. How is he alive? He ducked out of a moving van! We should have at least been going somewhere around sixty-five miles an hour!

     Jaeger kneels beside me, a wicked smile on his face. "Let's go home. I have a lot to explain."

     I take this chance to sit up, turn to my side, and puke.

[Chapter 9: Peeling the Paint One Wall at a Time]

     "I can take you to my house. You and Olivia can stay with me."

     I sigh, pulling my blanket around me. We are sitting in the living room watching TV. Well, just watching it. It's on mute, and on a commercial right now, so we aren't paying any attention to it.

     I don't know where Tate went, and I'm starting to get anxious. He'd been gone for over an hour and a half now.

     "I can't ask you to do that." I shake my head.

     Jaeger scoots closer to me, "But you're not asking, Rue. I'm telling you."

     "Shouldn't you be going home? We have school tomorrow, and it's like 12:30," I furrow my eyebrows, averting my attention to my fleece blanket.

     Jaeger chuckles, "You really want me out of here, don't you?"

     "Not really," I mumble.

     I mean, yeah, he probably shouldn't be here when Tate gets back, but I don't really want to be alone until then. It's probably the best for him to leave, though.

     "But," I continue, standing up. "You probably should go home and get some sleep. I'll most likely be asleep by the time you get home, anyway."

     Jaeger stands up, but a frown is on his mouth.

     "Don't worry about me," I give a small smile.

     Jaeger returns my gesture with a lopsided smile, and butterflies fill my stomach. He's suddenly hugging me, which doesn't help the butterflies in my stomach at all.

     "Be careful, okay?" He whispers into my hair. "Don't do or say anything that'll get you hurt."

     I instantly know he's talking about Tate. Tate won't do anything to me, will he?

     When Jaeger lets go, I notice his lip is bleeding again.

     "Your--"

     "Left-handers hit pretty hard," he chuckles again, his tongue swiping most of the blood off his lip..

     Again on the topic of why they hate each other so much. I'm not in the mood of arguing again, so I ignore it.

     "See ya later," I open the door.

     "See you tomorrow." Another lopsided smile. "I'll pick you up around 8."

     I nod and smile, "Thanks, pal."

     He chuckles as he leaves, and I wait until his footsteps are up the stairs and gone before shutting the door. The apartment is silent and dimly lit only in the living room with a floor lamp.

     I turn it off with a click of the knob, and head to bed. The bathroom light is still on, so I open the door to reach in to turn the light off.

     There are wrappers strewn all over the floor. Huh, that's weird. I thought I'd thrown those away.

     I grunt as I bend down and simply toss them into the trashcan. I look at myself in the full length mirror hanging on the door.

     My plain light blue t-shirt is covered with blood from both men, and I even have some on my cheek. My hair is a mess, and I barely have any makeup left on my face.

     The doorknob catches my eye, and soon my heart is racing. The metal is crushed, ridges on it from Tate's fingers. He couldn't have done that, could he? A regular person couldn't do that...

     They aren't human.

     Who isn't?

     Your friends.

     I scoff aloud, Yeah, and hippos are microwaves.

     They aren't from here, Anastasia.

     Neither am I.

     They aren't of this world.

     And then the mirror in front of me shatters.

Jaeger's POV 

     She basically pushes me out, but I leave. It isn't easy, but I leave her apartment.

     Instead of going home, though, I get in my car and park it a block away. Walking back, I spot Tate's ugly Wrangler down the road. Picking up the pace, I hurry to the building across from their apartment.

     The initial plan is to just stake out across from her apartment to keep an eye on her windows. Knowing Tate, he'd try to start something.

     I find the fire escape ladder hanging a good four feet above me. It's an easy jump to it, and I lug myself up to the roof.

     Hunkering down, I prepare to watch for the rest of the night.


Tate's POV

      I can't believe I said that. I've driven her right to Jaeger. I've pushed her away. I had to leave. Things would've gotten ugly between Jaeger and I if I hadn't.

     It's almost too much to be able to stand in one room without hitting him. The hate grows every time I see him with Rue. I'm supposed to be taking care of her. Not him.

     I pull to a stop in front of Falcon's Perch, the local bar, and sigh. Drinking usually makes the itchy feeling between my shoulder blades go away. It makes all the bad thoughts disappear. It keeps hell at bay.

     A tap on my window makes me jump and knee the wheel. I groan until I look up and see Mitchell peering behind the glass to me. His gold eyes gleam even though there isn't any light on his face.

     "I was wondering if you were going to show up." His heavy British accent coats every word.
    
     "Who knows what would've happened if I hadn't," I mutter as I get out, then slam the door behind me.

     I know I probably shouldn't be leaving Rue alone with Jaeger, but I know he isn't going to try anything with her yet. Not until she falls in love with him. Then he'll have her wrapped around his finger, and keeping her safe will be the hardest thing to to for me.

     Mitch claps a hand on my shoulder, making me wince.

     "Oh," he sucks in a breath and raises his eyebrows. "Judging by the look of your face, clothes, and body posture, I'd say you're here because of Rue."

     "Is it that obvious?" I squint up at the moon, shoving my fists into my jacket pockets.

     Mist has started to settle in, and a sick, musty scent of a forest green blows past us. The moon, large and full, shines down at us with an eerie blue tint. Shit.

     "Well--"

     "Shh," I cut him off with my left hand. "What's the date?"

     Mitch scratches his black hair and sighs, "The eighteenth."

     "Oh no," I murmur. "No, nononono."

     Mitch checks his watch as I pace, "Ten minutes until one, chief. I don't know how you're gonna do this."

     "Trust me," I come to a halt in front of the door. "If I can handle all God's children, Satan's shouldn't be much worse."

     "Tate my friend," Mitch says, opening the door for me. "You're in for a treat."

     Clattering glass and scooting chair-noises hit me as soon as I step in, and the cigarette smoke makes me wrinkle my nose. Gruff laughter comes from a table in the far back, but the tables around it join in, too.

     "Table for three, please," Mitch says cheerfully to the waitress.

     She bobs her head, making her black hair bounce. Her eyes are golden, like Mitch's, and they glow like cat eyes in the dim light of the bar. The vibe she gives off is annoyed, but she smiles almost genuinely as we make our way to the table.

      She's a demon, nonetheless, but she isn't a corrupt one.

     "Tate!" My name ricochets off the walls.

     By the Angel, I pray. Let me walk out of here alive so I can get home.



Rue's POV

    
     I jolt awake when I hear the door close. Tate's finally home?

     The time on my alarm clock reads 2:35 AM. Why the heck is he home so late?

     Gingerly, I remove the covers from my legs. I have little cuts on my fingers from picking up glass, and all my fingertips are covered in Band-Aids.

     "Rue?" Tate's voice is just a croak coming from the living room or kitchen.

     I open my door, "Tate?" I keep walking, "Why are you home so--"

     Suddenly a hand is at my throat, and I'm shoved against the refrigerator. The face staring menacingly at me is definitely not Tate's. This man's eyes are gold, reflective like a cat's, and they almost look like liquid. It's hard to look away; I feel drawn to them like a moth to light.

     He has stubble on his chin, trailing up his jawline. His hair is black and cut short, probably so he can show off all of the scars on it. The man's nose is prominent, but doesn't stick out like a bird's beak. If not for the situation, I probably would find him attractive.

     Choking, I grab his hand to try and pull it off. It doesn't work, and he seems to just be squeezing harder, so drive my fist into his face as hard as I possibly could.

     Instantly his hand is gone, and the pressure's gone, too. As soon as my feet hit the carpet, I'm scrambling for the door, coughing and hacking.

     The door swings open by itself, and I run smack into a rock hard chest. I back up, finding a guy exactly like the first staring at me. At first, I think it's the same guy, but this one doesn't have stubble. Apparently I just ran into a lovely couple of twins.

     He smirks down at me as I back up, only to bump into his twin's chest. I slump, defeated with the fact that there is nowhere I could go. The one behind me grabs my elbows, and I don't fight.

     "Go get the little one," Mr. I'm-Going-To-Grab-You tells the guy in front of me.

     Fear spikes my veins, "No!" I whisper-hiss. I lunge for the guy. Surprised, the man holding me lets go, allowing me to tackle the guy who was supposed to get Olivia.

     "Leave. Her. Alone," I hiss into his face. His eyes are probably as wide as his brothers, but the golden color isn't as lulling as before. Apparently when someone is über pissed the hypnotizing eyes don't help much.

     "Marcus..." The man's voice raises, his eyes still wide and staring at me. It's almost as if he's afraid of me.

     I point a finger close to his face, "Do. Not. Touch. Her."

     "Micah, she's like two pounds. Push her off," Marcus's voice gets quiet as he walks away.

     Desperate to keep Olivia safe, I sprint after Marcus and push past him. Guarding the door with my body, I stand strong.

     "Why are you still in here?" He asks, annoyed.

     "Excuse me?" I scoff. "I live here."

     "Micah! Take her outside!" He shoves me to the carpet and stalks into my room.

     I land roughly on my chest with a huff, and the wind is knocked out of me. I stumble into the kitchen, thinking maybe a glass of water would help the burning in my throat.

     "What's wrong?" Micah grabs my shoulders.

     Huh. How weird that one of my kidnappers would be concerned about my well being.

     No breath fills my lungs, and suddenly I'm plunging to the floor.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Sorry it took about a million years for me to post. My writer's block was almost as bad as my other.
Crazy twist, eh? ;)

[Chapter 8: Taking Sides]

     Exhale. Inhale. Open the damn door. Why can't I open the door? Oh, maybe because the guy behind it could kick me out of his apartment and threaten to take my little sister away. But why would he do that?

     "Tate?" My voice cracks as I softly knock on the fake wooden door.

     All the doors in this apartment are fake wood. Well, in a way it's still wood, but... You know what I mean. The outside of it is plastic and the inside is just layers of pressed plywood, blah, blah, blah. If you can't tell, when I'm really nervous I get out of hand.

     A muffled reply comes from behind the door, so I slowly open it.

     Tate's sitting on the toilet (lid down, of course), already wiping the blood off his knuckles and face (apparently Jaeger knocked him a good one in the nose). His chestnut hair is all screwed up, making him look like a scruffy puppy, almost. His cheek has a gash just on the bone, and the bleeding seems to have gone down just a bit.

     The stained, and ruined, white wash cloth sits in the bathtub, so I decide to leave it there. As soon as I get up to throw all the garbage from this--wrappers, wipes, anything else--I'll be sure to grab it.

     "Oh... Darn," I bite my lip and shuffle around in the tiny bathroom. There wasn't a chair for me to sit in.

     Tate must know what I'm thinking about, because he sits on the edge of the bathtub, leaving his seat unoccupied.

     I nod a thank you to him and sit down, turning to my right where my First Aid kit is. Disinfectant wipes are the first things I grab, then butterfly bandages.

     "This might sting a little," I murmur after unwrapping a wipe. Gently, I scrub most of the blood off his face. He doesn't even wince.

     "I'm sorry," Tate whispers, looking directly into my eyes. We aren't as close as Jaeger and I were, and I'm deeply grateful.

     "Don't worry about it," I mutter, throwing away the my second wipe and moving onto the butterflies. It's a bit of a struggle just to open one, so Tate takes it from me, opens it, and gives it back.

     "How can you say that?" His voice is a hiss-whisper.

     I simply shrug, "I'll clean up the mess."

     His skin is warm against my fingertips as I apply two bandages. After wiping his gash with another wipe, I put a large bandage over it. Thankfully he had gotten his nose to stop bleeding after I walked in.

     Suddenly he pulls his face back, getting a straight look at my face, "No, you won't. Plus.. Rue.." He sighs, running his bloody hand through his hair.

     "Olivia saw us. She.. You don't know how bad it is that she saw that."

     "I told her you guys were wrestling," I let go of his warm hand. "She'll be fine."

     "No she won't," he says quickly and stands up. "Soon she'll be 'wrestling'," he puts air-quotes around 'wrestling.' "With friends at school."

     I stand up too, but fall about half a foot shorter than Tate.

     "Look," I throw away the wrappers and wash cloth in the trashcan under the sink. "She'll be okay. I'll talk to her about it, and everything will be okay."

    "No, you look--"

     "Hey!" I plant my hands on my hips. "Aren't you like a physician's assistant or something? Do want me to do this or not?"

     He glares at me, but nods.

     We sit back down, him sitting on the edge of the tub while I sit back on the toilet.

     "What's with the hate between you and Jaeger?" I blurt out. I don't know-- Yes I do. I know exactly why I asked that. They absolutely hate each other, it's completely obvious.

     He barks a harsh laugh and shakes his head, "If you only knew.."

     I glare at him, "Yeah, if only."

     Tate shakes his head again and thrusts his left hand at me, "Please, do what you will, just make it stop bleeding."

     "Oh?" I roughly grab it, causing him to hiss in pain. "So I can burn it to make it stop bleeding?"

     "Rue!" Tate exclaims through clinched teeth while I reach under the sink and grab a candle lighter. "Stop!"

     "Tell me," I hiss.

     He tries to pull his hand away, which only pulls me into him, sending us into the tub. Thankfully, I land on top, so I take the advantage and pin him.

     "Get off me," his voice is low.

     I scoff, "Not until you tell me."

     "I can kick you off me without even trying. You'd hit the door."

     Anxiousness tries to invade, but I kick it out, "Then do it."

     Tate sighs and looks away, "No."

     "Tate," I whine, turning his face to me. "Tell me why you two hate each other so much."

     Suddenly his left hand grabs my wrist, and I'm slid to the bottom of the tub. How did he do that so fast?

     "No," he whispers and climbs out.

     I clamber out after him and stand with a huff.

     "I'll take Olivia, and we'll leave." It all came out before I knew what I was doing.

     His hand squeezes the doorknob tightly, making his knuckles bleed even more. His blood is all over my shirt, and so is Jaeger's. A wrenching noise comes from the doorknob, and it begins to shake.

     My next words come out as fast as my last, "I can't live with someone who keeps secrets and lies."

     "Oh?" He's in my face, literally. His nose and forehead are pressed against mine. Something in his eyes spikes fear in my veins.

     My feet subconsciously take a step back, but he steps forward.

     "Doesn't that describe your life?" Tate hisses in my face. "You sleep on lies and bathe in secrets. Don't tell me you can't live with someone who keeps them."

     I turn away, inhaling sharply. He's completely right, he got it to a tee. Soon tears are running down my face.

     "Rue--"

     "I--uh," I sniffle and wipe my eyes. "I gotta go."

     Tate reaches for me, but I shy away and run out the door to the kitchen. Jaeger is sitting on the chair he was on last time I saw him, fiddling with his fingers. He'd probably been listening to us fight.

     Suddenly he stands up, grabbing my arms and pulling me into him. He angles me away from Tate, probably sending deadly glares him.

     My face is hidden in Jaeger's shirt, my tears staining it. I don't want to look up. I'd see the face of the guy who knew me too well, who could break me with personal information.

     "Rue," his voice his pleading, which makes me dig my face deeper into Jaeger's chest. "I didn't mean it. I was just mad.. I-I didn't know what I was saying--"

     "You were right," I shake my head, voice muffled. "It's all true. I'm just a burden on your shoulders. We'll be gone by Sunday."

     Jaeger's arms stiffen around me.

     "No, Rue--"

     "Tate," Jaeger's voice is expressionless, and his chest vibrates as he talks. "Stop."

     I hear Tate sigh, and the large apartment door is opened. It closes with a thud, and so does my heart.

[Chapter 7: A New Definition of Hate]

   Only a short chapter today, guys! Just a filler, I suppose. Thanks for all the support! Special thanks to Mr. Egli. I hope you like where my story goes, because I have the whole plot already figured out in my head. Prepare for a long story, because I'm not planning on stopping until I get somewhere between 30 to 40 chapters. ENJOY(:


     I sigh, exhaling like an elephant, I bet. "Okay."

     "C'mon. It's not like you're trying to disarm a bomb," Jaeger nudges me with his elbow.

     "If only it was as easy as that," I mutter under my breath as I unlock the handle and deadbolt in my apartment door.

     Slowly, the door creaks open like the doors do in scary movies, and for a second I think something's wrong. What if Tate is keeping Olivia hostage in a closet? Or what if he has a gun to her head? What if he kidnapped her?

     No, the Tate I know wouldn't do that. He wouldn't dream of it. He wouldn't even think about it.

     Nothing's wrong. The living room looks exactly how it was when I left, but Tate's sitting on the couch reading. He looks up, and when he sees me he's instantly standing. But when his eyes rest on Jaeger, his expression morphs from relieved to pissed off.

     "Get out," Tate snarls.

     "Okay," I turn on my heel and start for the door.

     Suddenly my arm is yanked, and I stumble into Tate's chest.

     "Not you," he hisses. "Him."

     "Look," I push away from him, glaring. "I just forgave you for being a dick, and this is how you're going to act as soon as I get back?"

     He sighs and shakes his head, "I know, and I'm sorry for earlier... But I'm not sorry for now. I want him out."

     "Tate..." I whine.

     He sends a meaningful glare at Jaeger, locking eyes with him.

     "T--" I'm suddenly knocked to the carpet when Jaeger ducks, avoiding Tate's fist.

     Jaeger then drives Tate into the corner next to the couch, knocking over a table and a lamp. Luckily I'm close enough to where I barely roll and catch it before it hits the floor.

     Jaeger's fingers are wrapped around Tate's neck for a few seconds before Tate knees him where the sun don't shine. Jaeger's writhing in pain while Tate's rubbing his neck.

     I safely place the lamp on the floor next to the wall before turning on the guys.

    "Damnit, you two! What's your beef?" I yell.

     Tate lunges for Jaeger, kicking the lamp I'd just set on the floor... Shattering it. I drop my head into my hands, exasperated.

     "Ruddy?" A tiny voice comes from the hallway, making me swing around.

     Olivia stands in her nightgown, clutching a ratty purple blanket to her chest. Her eyes are wide, and within seconds she starts crying.

     Tate and Jaeger, on the other hand, are going all out. Fists are flying in every direction, glass is cracking every time they step on it, and they get closer and closer before to the TV before I usher Livy to her room and rush back out.

     I run and tackle Jaeger, well, shove him into the wall. I turn around, pressing my weight against him so he stays against the wall, and muster up the most terrifying glare I can and lock it on Tate. Blood is gushing from his nose, staining his face and shirt.

     "Tate..." I hiss slowly. "Leave. Now."

     "WHERE THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO GO?!" He booms, stepping closer to me.

     I feel Jaeger go rigid, but I keep him against the wall. His hand grabs my arm, and I have to elbow him in the gut for him to stay behind me.

     Calmly, I say, "Anywhere away from Olivia."

     "I--Oh no..." He covers his mouth, then accidentally smears blood all over his forehead before sighing and dropping himself onto the couch ten feet away. He covers his face with his hands, now covering every inch of his skin with blood. "Oh no. Ohno, ohno, ohno," he repeats over and over again, shaking his head.

     Suddenly he stands up and walks to the door, but I hustle and somehow get in front of him.

     "No..." I make a mental note to stop with the mood swings, and mentally slap myself, too. "Go sit in the bathroom. I'll be in there to clean you up."

     He stares at me, face hard, before turning on his heel and trudging to the bathroom. I know how much he wants to tell Olivia everything's okay, but I know he knows the blood would make her freak out even more.

     I direct Jaeger to a kitchen chair before going in to check on her.

     "Livy?" I quietly open the door.

     Tears stain her cheeks while she stares at the TV, the movie Wall-E playing. As soon as I turn that movie on, she sits down and shuts up.

     "Hey, Livy," I hold her hand, my arm extended over the top bunk.

     "Why were Tater and JayJay fighting, Rud?" Her tiny voice asks.

     "They were just..." I struggle for a word to say. "Wrestling."

     "They gave each other boo-boos," she points out, concern in her little eyes.

     "It's okay, Olivia. They just got a little rough, that's all. They're okay now, I promise," I try to give a convincing smile.

     "Pinkie promise!"

     I give a genuine smile and lock my pinkie with her tiny one. After giving her a kiss on the forehead, I turn the TV down and shut off the light.

     "Try to get some sleep, Olivia," I whisper and close the door.

     I hear sniffling and a groan from behind the bathroom door, but I leave Tate alone. I'll let him cry for right now. I'd want to be alone, too, if I'd done that in front of a little girl.

     Coughing comes from the kitchen, so I scuttle out to find Jaeger coughing up blood into the sink.

     Hey! I clean dishes in there, man!

     Grit your teeth and clean him up.

     'Kay, Dad, I joke.

     No response from the voice this time. Huh. That's a first.

     "Jaeger," I sigh and pull the chair he'd been sitting in earlier closer to the sink for him to sit in.

     He continues coughing into the sink with the water running, so I put the short chair away and grab a taller one from the breakfast bar. It screeches as I tug it across the floor, so I pick it up and set it next to Jaeger.

     "Sit," I demand and push him down by his shoulders.

     He does as he's told quietly, and down at me (the chairs are pretty tall), giving me a great view of his bloodied face. It looks like his barbell had been ripped out, and a black eye was already forming under the eyebrow. His bottom lip is split on the side, and it's starting to swell up like a balloon.

     A sigh exits my mouth, causing Jaeger to smirk, which causes his lip to bleed even more. I smack his arm.

     "What?" He rubs his arm.

     "Shut up," I shoot halfheartedly, soaking a soft washcloth in warm water. I squeeze most of the excess water out of it before returning to Jaeger's bruised face.

     "Why should I?" He smiles.

     "You're an idiot." I shake my head and carefully scrub blood off his face, avoiding the cuts.

     "We all are," he mutters.

     I put the washcloth on the edge of the metal sink before reaching above the refrigerator to get the First Aid kit. "I'm not the one who got into a brawl."

     My fingers don't find it, and I groan. If only I were a little bit taller.

     Soft hands are suddenly at my sides, and they lift me up. I grab the large white box before I'm set down.

     I clear my throat, "Sit down."

     Jaeger snorts as he sits, "What, no thank you?"

     "Thanks for ruining my living room," I give a fake enthusiastic smile while ripping open cleansing pads.

     I gently wipe the wound on his eyebrow with a disinfectant pad. He flinches and clinches his teeth.

     "Sorry," I murmur. "I'm not trying to hurt you."

     "But, Mommy," Jaeger whines. "It's stings."

     I ignore him as I turn back and open two butterfly bandages. I can't imagine how pissed he is that his barbell was ripped out, not to mention how much it must hurt.

     "Hold still," I mutter, getting close to his face so I can apply the bandages spot on. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't appreciate it if I didn't get it right where it's supposed to be, and I had to take it off and try again.

     I place one "paddle" on the side of the wound, and the other "paddle" on the other side. The same thing goes down with the other.

     Jaeger's breath is on my neck, and I feel goosebumps rise on my skin. His green eyes pierce into my blue ones, something distant in them that I can't explain. Like a cliche, I suddenly find myself lost in the dark green abyss of his eyes. My breath is caught in my throat, my body apparently noticing how close we really are. I inhale to take in his wonderful scent, but the gory pang of blood fills my nostrils, snapping me out of whatever trance I was in.

     Immediate a blush settles on my cheeks, and I pull away to get a large bandage.

     "Put this on yourself," I toss the band-aid at him, not really wanting to be close that like again any time soon.

     It was a scary feeling, getting lost in him. I seriously had the feeling that I was lost. You know, the bad butterflies in my stomach that something was wrong? The feeling that nobody could find me is still pitted in my tummy.

     Jaeger quietly acquiesces, stripping the bandage of its wrappings and placing the band-aid to his eyebrow without needing a mirror.

     "Do your lip yourself," I say quickly before awkwardly walking out of the kitchen and into the hallway.

     I have a feeling Tate won't be any easier to cope with.