The Key

Lost Dreamer

Lost Dreamer

New member
well, seems everyone's opinion on me posting my new story now is yes so here i go! i hope you all enjoy.

Chapter 1 To be or not to be.


Is there a point when we change suddenly from being asleep to awake? Or is it when our eyes open? I know it's not when our eyes close. Must our eyes open before we can truly awake? Do we slowly lose consciousness, letting our minds wander farther until we have no control?
Personally I believe the latter; for I have been at a point where I could choose to either slip back into the foggy world of the unreal, or actually listen to what was going on around me. It wasn’t until I chose to listen that I realized how deep I had actually been; at the point where if you went any farther there would be no memory of it. but this time there is no choice.
My eyes are open.
I am aware, groggily, of the dull ache in my head that increases alarmingly into a painful pounding as I try to move. So I stop. I swallow, my mouth dry, and gingerly lift a hand to feel my head. My hand connects with something soft, damp, sticky almost; clogging up my hair and part of my forehead. I pull my hand back down and it's a dark maroon red that makes me sick; the color of half-dried blood. I blink.
I’m sitting on a hard tiled floor, my loose jeans flopping on it like a rug. My back presses against a metal wall and I look to my left, my head throbbing at the movement. There sits a toilet. I look up, and beside the toilet, between me and it, is a small white sink topped by a square mirror. I’m in a bathroom. Blinking in puzzlement, I notice it seems a bit odd. Plain. Something you might see in a restaurant or store; one of those extra large cubicles that have the wheel chair sign on them. carefully, holding my head gently with one hand I stand up. the world swirls, and I back into the wall for support as I let my eyes drain themselves of the gray cloud. When everything stops spinning, I stumble towards the sink. The sight stops me dead in my tracks. I feel a sudden lurch of horror. I look awful.
The entire top right part of my forehead is a mass of maroon, extending up into my scalp. Little dark streams of blood can be seen dried up and crumbling towards the side of my head, little pieces falling as I blink. My face has a big scratch on it, and as I look closer I see the huge gash half covered by the blood. I stare horrified. What happened to me?
I draw a blank. I cant remember. With a sudden sickness in my stomach, I suddenly begin searching my mind for any memory of anything; but theres nothing there. It's complelty blank, like someone took a huge rag and wiped my mind clean. I waver, and have to clutch the edge of the sink to keep myself from falling.
Come on, think I say to myself urgently, come on girl theres got to be something. But there wasn’t. slowly, gripping the sink tightly as if it might make me remember, I squeeze my eyes shut.
Who am I?
Blank.
The panic that overwhelms me makes me want to scream, but the waves of nausea make me too weak. I blanch, and then gasp for air. one word fills my mind: Amnesia.
This cant be happening, I think, not to me.
And just why not? My mind retorts. I swallow. I have no clue. For some reason I get the feeling that the word Amnesia always excited me somehow, as if the word was tinged with an allure I could never grasp, but now it only makes me more sick. I lean my head back, gasping in the cool air, and try to think.
Calm down, your cool. Just don’t panic. You don’t know who you are. Do you know where you are? Another blank. I hurry to repress the sickness.
That’s okay, your still cool. There’s the door, you can go see. I turn, but then catch my face in the mirror. I look awful, and I feel awful. I should at least try to clean up. I wet a rough tannish paper towel thing, and dab gently at the ugly mass on my head. Slowly, as the blood stains the soggy paper the gash begins to take a real shape. It's big. Really big. I wonder if it's what made me forget. As the clot is wiped away, I see that the gash is still bleeding underneath. I feel my pockets for any sort of cloth or band I could use to make a bandage, but all I find in the one pocket is an odd necklace. I shove it back in, and then find sticking out of my left pocket a smooth, stiff rectangle of paper. I pull it out, and my heart thumps. It's an airplane ticket. For a moment I am stunned by my find. An airplane ticket. That meant I was in an airport, probably. That meant when I got off someone would surly be waiting there for me, someone who would recognize me. Someone who would know who I was. Relief floods me, and then it hits me. Tickets have names on them. I pull my thumb away, holding the ticket so I can see more clearly, but the blood on my thumb has soaked in, mixing with the already splattered ink. I can only make out three letters from the beginning of the name. Cry. And at that moment it fits perfectly.
I breathe, letting the swell of my emotions calm down, and then realize suddenly how exhausted I am. My head aches, and I remember my open wound and my mission for the bandage. Looking automatically at a watch I had not know I was wearing, I realize with a bit of relief that I have at least half an hour before boarding. Enough time to clean up. I turn, again inspecting the bare stall. Its then that I noticed the back pack.


It's red and black, with an old battered look to it that makes me get an homey feel about it, like you might with an ancient beat up tee-shirt you love to death. I open it. inside is a collection of stuff; a book I assume is for the airplane ride, a bottle of water, a half-melted candy bar, a lime green hairbrush, a joggers zip-up sweatshirt, a scunci, pad of notepaper plus pen, a pack of Winterfresh and in the bottom, as if hidden, a blue embroidered wallet. I open it like a kid on Christmas morning, and am not disappointed. Two crisp tens and a five lay snuggly in their folds. I dig around the rest of the bag, opening pockets in my search, all the while looking for any sort of clue about who I am. I must have been some kid; as I end up finding a pencil sharpener, a bookmark, nail clippers and, to my extreme relief, a joggers head-band and a uniform red and whit paisley kerchief. I wad up some more of the thick scratchy paper towels, and then grit my teeth as I tie the kerchief tightly over it.
I take a breath. I look better now, the kerchief hiding the gash and making the large scratches on my cheeks seem somehow paler in contrast with the bright red. For the first time I notice how I look besides the scratches. I’m tall, with I’d guess fourteen, fifteen, with dark brown eyes and light brown hair down to my shoulders. My bangs hang overtop the Kerchief, giving me a scruffy look. I'm heavily boned, and slightly overweight, and feel a strangely familiar pang wishing I was nothing less then fit. I’m wearing a scruffy brown tee-shirt, some tan words painted on it that are so faded I cant make them out. It's then that I notice the mark; a strange red welt on my neck. It hurts when I touch it, and I frown wondering where I got it from. I give a sigh.
“well” I say, my voice sounding bewilderingly strange and familiar at the same time, “this is me. Cry. Great.” I turn, square my shoulders, summing up any shreds of courage I might have left, and unlock the door to my stall.
 
Very evocative, you can really see what she is seeing, and kind of feel it.

I will say if I woke up in an airport bathroom with a head wound, I would not board any plane. I would go to the first aid station and get medical assistance. But maybe that''s just me.
 
yes; but you have to remember she's not thinking clearly. She has a gash in her head, she's confused and lost.
althoguh you do have a point there; but also she's just a kid. this story is a 'what if...' i didnt know there was such a place in an airport! (althoguh i should ahve guessed)
todays piece...


I stare into a large bathroom, empty minus one cleanup guy whose mopping the floor near a large sink. I skirt around him, following a small corridor, when to my surprise it takes a sharp turn and I find myself shoved into the middle of action. The huge hall in front of me is endlessly long, with shops extending down to my right. Hanging from the ceiling are the almost familiar blue signs, dancing just above the heads of people. There seems to be less than I’d expect, yet I wonder why I’d expect if I can’t remember. Maybe I’ve been at an airport before.
I pull out my ticket, searching clumsily for the gate. C18. I look up, and can see a huge blue sign saying gates C17, C19-31. That’s the way to go. I glance back down at my watch, and make my feet move faster as I realize I have about ten minutes to get there. Glancing half-interestedly at the colorful shops, it doesn’t take me long to find all my aches. Passing the food court, my stomach grumbles viscously at the floating aroma of pizza and chicken. I bite my lip and keep walking, my legs aching tiredly.
Finally I see up ahead C17, and I turn my head to find C18. Instead I see C19.
Puzzled I stop; I must have missed it somehow. Walking slowly, I turn back and look carefully for gate C18. In moments I find myself back at the shops. What the heck!
My watch says I have only five minutes before departure, and I’m getting nervous. If I miss this flight who knows what I’ll do. I’ll be lost, completely alone in a huge airport, with no memory of who I am or where to go. the thought terrifies me, and I grip the straps of my backpack tightly.
Cool it, I say hastily, just think for a second. Maybe someone else knows. I turn. There are crowds of people sitting in the gray smooth chairs of gate C17, waiting dully for the plane to start boarding. I swallow, and walk over to a woman reading a book.
“um, excuse me” I say, and she looks up, irritated at the interruption, “do you know where Gate C18 is? I can see gate 17 and then gate 19 but no…”
“no I don’t” she interrupts brusquely. I blink, startled, and by the time I’ve recovered she’s buried in her book.
“thanks a lot” I mumble. Unsure of what to do next, I turn to one of the other people. Might as well give it another try.
“excuse me sir” I say, “but do you know where gate C18 is?” I wait a moment, but he doesn’t even look up. I shift uneasily. “um…sir?” he lifts his eyes, sees me, and pulls out a pair of mini ipod earphones.
“I’m sorry, were you saying something?” he asks.
“uh, never mind” I stammer, feeling myself blush with embarrassment. I turn hastily away as he puts the earphones back in. now I’m too scared to ask anyone else, and I have only minutes to make it to my terminal. What will I do?
“excuse me.” I jump at the voice, and turn to see a business man in a black suit looking at me. I shift uneasily.
“yeah?”
“I couldn’t help but hear what your saying, and I thought I’d tell you gate C18 is at the other end.” He lifts his hand, pointing back the way I had come. I stare dumbly, my heart sinking.
“but here’s gate 17 and then 19; why is 18 all the way down there?”
the man shrugs. “I have no clue” he says, “just the way they did it.” biting back my frustration, I smile.
“thanks a lot.”
“no problem.” He calls after me, and then smiles lightly and continues reading his newspaper.
I turn and begin running back the way I had come, my heart pounding in my chest as I curse myself silently. When I had gotten out of the bathroom I had been at the end; right next to gate 18. If I hadn’t been in such a hurry to leave then I might have seen I was already there! I only hope that stupid mistake doesn’t cost me the ride. For some reason the hall is suddenly crowded, everyone going in the opposite direction as me. Which means now I have headway to fight through. Dangit!
By the time I get there, heart pounding and head throbbing, I am exhausted and starving. My legs ache, and I wonder uneasily why everyone is still sitting. They should be boarded by now… I’m too tired and worried to be embarrassed, and I pick the person closest to me to question.
“hey, why aren’t they boarding?” I say breathlessly. The girl glances up at me.
“didn’t you hear?” she says, her voice mild with curiosity, “They switched gates about five minutes ago. Gate C18 is now gate C29.”
I stare. “you’ve got to be kidding.”
She shrugs uncaringly “nope.”
I turn, looking back down the long hall, and want to drop with exhaustion. Not again…
Wearily I begin the trek, trudging off down the seemingly endless hall.
This time I double over with hunger cramps as I pass the food court, but I force myself to push on. I have no clue when the plane will board, for all I know they might be right now. My eyes hang heavily, and sometimes I stumble before I snap myself back to attention. My head throbs like it's being hit with a sledgehammer, and every time I look up to watch for the gate sign my eyes pain from the overhead lights. My backpack could have been filled with bricks and it couldn’t have been heavier. I can feel the gash begin to bleed again at my constant face movement. Finally I see it: C29.
Wearily I pull myself over to the seats, and then stop in disbelief. No way. Every single seat is crammed full, and a few people are sprawled on the floors. My bravado has taken too much, and I stare exhaustedly. No stinken fair. I wobble, and then give a sigh. Guess I’m stuck with the floor. My head aches for something to lean against, but all the space next to walls or poles are taken. Great.
I turn wearily at a tap on my arm.
“excuse me, would you like my seat?” I feel a relief and gratitude flood through me at the kind woman’s offer.
“if it's no trouble…” I say feebly, and she smiles.
“we’ll starts boarding in a minute anyway, I don’t mind standing. You look exhausted.”
“I am” I say truthfully. I flop into the woman’s seat, close my eyes and sigh at the soft warmth. “heaven” I mumble. The woman smiles, standing like a sentry by her bags.
What seems like only seconds later, I hear her voice telling me that they are boarding. I pry my eyes open and fumble with my ticket, looking at the words ZONE 5 printed in big letters. I open my mouth to ask her what zone they are boarding now, when the not-so-loudspeaker crackles.
“Boarding Zones 4-5. Boarding zones 4-5.” I get up, stumbling my way into the line. It's a fight to stay awake, every muscle painful. The man behind me has to nudge me awake before I realize it's my turn for the ticket. I hand it to the man, and he scans it before ripping of the little tag.
“here you go. Have a nice flight” he says. I stumble past him, down the clogged enclosed hall towards the waiting airplane. The moments of standing seem to weigh down on me like some huge weight, trying to pull my eyelids shut and making my feet sting. Finally I am at the plane, then in it, stumbling dully towards seat 11 A. then I am slipping into it, falling into a position I will not change for the rest of the flight, listening with relief to the hallelujah chorus.
 
This is good, keep going.

Just a thought: Now days, they do not let you board unless you have I.D. which matches the name on your ticket, so at this point, realistically, she's going to have to come up with some kind of passport, driver license, student I.D. or something, unless the airlline is really lax.
 
thanks guys!
Inky...well, maybe your right, but i think they let kids get in without ID. recently i went on an airplane and 4 different airports, and all of them only needed ID for my parents. as i said, this is a what if...it comes from (to an extent) experience. but maybe i can figure out a way to fix that.
 
more

My eyes flash open, and I unconsciously grip the arm-rests as I am jarred awake. For one moment a flash of panic hits me, but my brain clears as the force of the plane makes everyone in the cabin lean forward. I tilt my head back sleepily, letting my mind clear. It's all there, the miserable time at the airport, the amnesia, and now I am here
in…wherever; and, hopefully, so is someone else who will know me and can make everything right. The thought comforts me.
The 45 minute rest was enough to soothe my headache and help me feel less like a man of the dead, but I still long for a soft bed as I wait for my turn down the aisle. I pull myself along the hall, glad I have only a backpack to carry unlike some of the other passengers that think ‘carry-on’ means ‘suitcase’. When I finally walk through the doors the cool air hits me, and I give a sigh of relief. I glance back out the huge glass windows, and note with surprise that the sun has set.
This airport is much emptier than the first, and for lack of anywhere else to go I follow the crowd of departures down to the baggage claim. So there I am, standing on tired legs as the crowd swarms around the belt. One by one people find their stuff, and in less than ten minutes they are all dissipating to their own separate ways. Slightly panicked, I turn and see a sign that says ‘help desk’ right behind me.
I lick my lips, trembling a little as I address the man.
“excuse me, where do I go now?”
he seems amused by my question. “well, if you are meeting someone than I’d say go that way, towards the shuttle buses. Does that help?”
“yeah, thanks” I say, relieved. I shift my back-pack up higher, and head the way he pointed. I can hear my heart pounding in my chest as I walk along, expecting any moment to hear someone call cheerfully out a name that begins with ‘cry’ and rush up to me, asking me how my flight was. But no one does.
I walk all the way to the end of the stretch before I have to face the truth: there is no one to meet me. I am truly alone.
Tired, achy and starved, I crumple down against the wall and lose myself in misery. The halls soon empty. With a sudden panic I realize the place is shutting down. what do I do? I turn to the only thing I can think of: the shuttle buses.
I dash outside, and walk uncertainly over to a bus with Hertz on it in big letters. The door swings open for me, and I step on. I sit down, painfully aware I am the only one on the bus as the driver swings out onto the road. I lean my head back on the cushioned seat, and realize I am parched as well as starving. My stomach feels hollow and my mouth dry as cardboard. I remember the water bottle in my backpack, and drink half of it in one gulp.
The bus pulls to a stop, and I step out in the parking lot. it's filled with row after row of unfamiliar cars, and I want to cry. I only wish for this awful night to end. For lack of nothing else to do, I walk down the row of cars. Jeep. Van. Another van. SUV. Don’t know what that car is. Nice; jaguar. Ooh. What is that?
The car is certainly a sports car, though unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The bottom was like a Mustang, and the top was a mix of a corvette and something else. Like a hybrid Ferrari. It’s the kind of car you’d expect to see in action movies, like Need for Speed or Fast and Furious. I can’t help but run my hand admiringly over it.
I jump as my fingers press in a tiny square of the metal, and the back hatch rises slowly. I stare at it, alarmed. Creepy. Then suddenly it strikes me, that hatch is the perfect place to rest. I could sleep there tonight, and tomorrow no one would be the wiser.
But, my mind thinks anxiously, but what about the driver?
People leave their cars in these lots for days, my mind assures itself, no one will know. It's not like you have another choice anyway, is it?
If I’m not so tired I might have realized how idiotic a thing I am about to do; but my mind is to pooped to argue with the prospect of rest, and I flop into the back with ease. My eyes shut, and I’m out.
Silently the hatch closes.
 
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Chapter 2 Pain and Suffering.

Terror. Flashes of light and panic, adrenaline rushing through me. My hand stretched out before me on the smooth cold floor, reaching for the edge of a sink to pull myself up. A claw-like hand grabbing me, pulling me back. Pain in my head as I spin out of the persons grasp, flying through the air and whacking against the floor. Gasping for breath, unable to move as the rough hands again grab me…
I wake gasping, beads of sweat dotting across me like little pearls. Although my eyes are open, I see only pitch black. Panicked, my mind races as I try to breathe in the thin, humid air. I’m still in the trunk. Terror hits me as I realize my predicament; I am running out of air, and had barely awoken from the feverish nightmare. Another few minutes and it would have been too late to awake; I would have slipped into a coma of sure death. I lift my hands up and beat them desperately against the roof.
“someone please help me!” I scream, feeling the tears drip down my face. I feel myself thrown against the back wall, and then I realize that the car is in motion. Scrabbling to regain my balance, I again bang on the trunk door. “help me! Is anyone there? I can’t breath!”
I can barely think. They won’t hear me. I’ll die, and I won’t even know who I am. The air is wet with my breath, and I can feel sweat dripping from me in the heat. I gasp, forcing each breath to not be my last. “please…” I sob, praying for a miracle I know will not occur, “Please…” my eyes are swimming now, the dark cramped trunk closing in on me, squeezing my chest tighter and tighter with lack of air. It feels like a vacuum, sucking, ripping at the black surrounding me with a increasing strength.
Help me!!!
I fly forward as the driver steps on the brakes, and I cry out in pain as my forehead slams into the metal. I lay still. Get me out of here! my fingers feel tingly, like I’m falling asleep, and then so do my toes, and then my legs. I try to move, but it only increases the pain in my chest. Now my toes are numb. And my legs are numb. and then suddenly I can’t feel them at all…
A blinding light shoots through my eyes as sweet air rushes into my nostrils. I gasp in relief, panting as my head swims from the sudden rush of air. That had been too close. Another second…I can’t even think about it; can only lay, drained, relieved that it's over.
“what the heck?”
I open my eyes, and strain to see the figure standing above me.
“oh thank God” I say, my mind registering another human being. Life.
He frowns. “who are you and what are you doing in my trunk?” I open my mouth to speak, but he hauls me roughly out. The sudden movement makes me dizzy, and I moan.
“I’m sorry” I manage, “it was an accident. I…” I stop, unable to go on. My knees wobble unsteadily. I feel him catch me as I fall, waves of dizziness wash over me with threateningly increasing sickness.
“My God” he says, “what happened to you?” I can’t answer. I am clinging desperately to consciousness, afraid to be swept back into my nightmare. But the rush of fresh air has made me giddy, and slowly I am losing my grip. I am slipping, falling down a smooth slide into a pool of night…
 
Oh, my gosh!Those two were SOOO good! No, they were GREAT! *takes deep breath* I'm still trying to pull myself back into the real world! Bravo!
 
thanks Kalakalia...feels great to be appreciated. if you ever notice anythign that needs fixing dont hesitate to tell me! i want my story to be as good as possible.

“your late, Keith.” The man said, frowning with disapproval.
“I know” Keith answered icily.
“May I ask why my top agent is suddenly tardy?” the man answered, undaunted.
Keith stared at him stonily.
“not really.”
“humor me” the man answered dryly. Keith frowned. He was not in a good mood.
He certainly looked like your perfect secret-agent prototype; tall dark and handsome, a Tom Cruise look-alike that might have well just stepped out of MI 2 . He was wearing a black leather jacket and matching pants, a pair of blue-purple sunglasses that gave him a blank, detached look that he groomed carefully. Although careful and precise, he wasn’t exactly what you’d call companionable on a daily basis. And today certainly wasn’t one of his good days, which made him down-right scary. He really wasn’t looking forward to elaborating about his slightly embarrassing mishap from that morning, and he preferred to think a failed mission was more important than a five-minute delay on his part. But the boss was the boss for a reason…
“Care to explain” he said agitatedly, “how a teenage girl managed to get stuck in my trunk?”
the man raised an eyebrow. “and your saying…”
“I’m saying” Keith burst angrily, “that a kid almost died of suffocation in my trunk! She was delirious, had no clue who she was or how she got there, and had an open wound on her head. How am I expected to function when…”
“where is she now” the man demanded. Keith hesitated.
“I took her to my apartment.”
“Keith!” the man roared.
“and what was I supposed to do!” Keith snapped, waving his arms, “leave her? I want to know what the heck she was doing in my trunk!”
“Keith” the man reprimanded coldly “I’d thought you would have more sense than that. She could be another agent, or worse.”
“I don’t think so” Keith said, “she seemed to be in pretty bad shape. I gave her a sleeping pill if that makes you feel better; she’ll be out for hours.”
“why didn’t you take her to a hospital?” the man muttered grumpily.
“because if I did then I’d be even more late” Keith retorted. The man gave a sigh.
“first thing when you get back you’re taking her to the nearest hospital.”
“fine” mumbled Keith. “not like I wanted to keep her anyway.”
“good.” Said the man. “now about yesterday.”
Keith grimaced. “ugh.”
“what happened Keith? Everything was going fine and then suddenly it was a mess. What were you thinking?”
Keith sighed. Certainly not about this.
 
Hmm. Interesting new perspective! I need more!! :D I would tell you if there was something that needs fixing, but there honestly isn't! It's really good! I'm interested to see where this goes...
Sidenote: I was thinking about changing my location to: Lost in Adelyna-Small Winged One's stories...send a search party. :p
 
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hey...you actually did it! ur so funny! :p

alrighty then...heres more!

Ugh. I feel terrible. Seems to be my groove, fun. The apartment I fin myself in is clean and expensive, polished floors, a winding metal staircase, tall smooth vases on the shelves. The couch is deep and soft, and I rub my eyes blearily. I wonder how long I’ve been asleep…I remember my forehead and touch it gingerly. To my surprise a smooth, new bandage is covering the gash. I stand up, and am surprised at how quickly the world stops spinning. I blink. Where am I anyway?
The room seems empty, meticulously clean, silent and blank as if waiting dormant until someone would say the magic word and wake it up. Idly I explore, staring in awe at the colossal plasma screen TV and the rock’in sound system. Then I find it.
Fiddling with the remote my fingers slip and I accidentally hit a tiny, unnoticeable gray button in the corner of the remote. There is a noise behind me. I turn, and feel my jaw drop as a panel in the wall slides aside, revealing a handgun bathed in pale purple light. I swallow. Instantly everything takes on a new form.
Really, where am I? Why is there hidden firearms? What if the guy who owns it is dangerous, some freaky drug-dealer who found me in his trunk and plans to pimp me out? The thought sends little freaky chills up my spine. Suddenly I realize how much danger I might be in. I need to leave.
Then I freeze. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, my eyes widening with fear. Silently I slip over to the gun-case, and pull it out of the felt. Some long-lost memory makes me shove in the clip, and then I duck, shivering, behind the couch.
All is silent.
I wait fearfully, my heart pounding like bloody-murder in my ears as I wonder if I’m crazy. Maybe I hadn’t heard anything at all, maybe I was just jumpy and had imagined it.
But then the soft thud of footsteps breaks the illusion, and my throat chokes up with fear. God help me.
For the person entering the room is not the man, nor anyone I can remember seeing before; yet in some way I know her. Her sinister face, dark smooth hair, inch-long nails panted blood-red; tight black clothes—all pieces of some nightmare lost in waves of time.
This woman is the enemy. And in her hand she holds a gun.
 
Ooohh! I can't, I'm serious; I CAN'T, wait until the next one. You've got me on the edge of my seat with suspense. ;) It's very very good!!
Yeah, I did change my location. You like that? It sounded like a good idea to me. I went to the land of the duffers, but they only gave me an 8 for it...
 
hmm...better not keep you waiting then!

I am frozen with fear. I could have been a statue, cemented to the smooth waxed floor, some decoration a rich guy shoved behind his couch as a joke to his ex-wife. The woman walks as silently as a cat; her leather suit glistening, her footsteps as deadly as a serpent, as terrible as a…
Shut up idiot! My mind snaps. You need to think! What do you do?
I realize with a slow, chilly fear that there is nothing I can do. if I step out now, the woman might shoot me. If I hide until she finds me, she might shoot me. If I wait until her back is turned and make a dash for it she might shoot me. And if I try to fight back, she will shoot me. So far it all seems to be heading the same way—getting shot. Something I’d really prefer avoiding. So for now I stay still, my crouching statue, watching through fearful eyes.
The woman seems at ease, careless almost, as if the pistol in her hand is there just in case; like a cell-phone or a bottle of lotion. Slowly, as she walks around the room, It dawns on me that she is searching for something. The realization is followed quickly by curiosity; what is she looking for? I think of the gun sitting in my hand and shiver. Please let it not be that…then, with a sudden burst of horror, I realize the door to the case must still be open. She’ll see it. she’ll know someone is in here. oh no.
I close my eyes tightly, waiting for the discovery. But nothing happens.
I peek my eyes open, and then frown as she looks right past where the case should be. What?…I turn, and see with surprise only the smooth, paneled wall. Huh. Whaddya know; it shut. Must be automatic. Then I feel the pricks of fear return; who, I ask, has a hidden, automatic, remote-controlled gun cabinet in their apartment? Who? And, saying that is a normal thing, who would then also have a woman in black, carrying a gun, come in like she owns the place and start looking for something?
Maybe she’s a girlfriend, I think to myself, maybe she left something and she came back for it.
But what girlfriend looking innocently for something she left on accident would carry a gun? For that matter, what girlfriend going steady would come looking for her stuff in the first place?
Maybe they broke up.
So what; she’s coming to shoot the guy? He’s not here and she knows it!
Even through all of this I know it's not the solution. This girl is looking in places I never dreamed off; like inside sofa cushions and under the coffee-table; places you wouldn’t ‘forget’ something. This lady was looking for something someone had hidden.
Well, whatever was going on here I didn’t want to know, and didn’t care about. All I wanted was too get out of here before something happened. Any moment now she will start searching the other rooms, and I’ll dart out the door and be gone. Maybe, if I’m feeling lucky, I’ll do the guy a favor and call 911 on her. But then, with a chill, I realize the girl is not done yet. So far there’s one place she hasn’t searched: behind the couch.
Oh no.
Like in some sort of freaky movie I see her walking towards me, her high-heeled leather boots tight against her legs. Instantly I have an image of what will happen; she walks around the corner, sees me, jumps, gun goes off. Guy comes home and find place torn apart, girl lying dead on floor. CSI come, puzzle what connection girl had to do with case…
I grip the gun tighter in my sweaty hand, feeling a tiny burst determination hit me. I’m not going to die. Somewhere out there there’s someone looking for me, wanting desperately to know what happened to me, and I will not disappoint them. I grit my teeth, point the gun half-way up the woman’s leather boot, and pull the trigger.


I’m not prepared for the woman’s anguished shriek as the bullet hits her leg, nor am I prepared for the kick of such a tiny gun; sending me sprawling backwards. But even worse than that is the blood that splatters my face, before the gun has time enough to push me back; one big glob landing on my mouth.
I fall backwards, momentarily stunned before my brain kicks back in. my first thought is total disgust. I gag at the taste of blood, spitting it out with haste as I scramble to my feet. My eyes widen at the sickening sight. I try to look away, but can’t; it's like some force is drawing my eyes towards the sight.
The woman lies on the floor, her face speared with pain, clutching her sopping-wet leather boots. Through the quarter-sized hole blood Is gushing out, and I can barely make out the sight of torn flesh. The woman’s blood-red nail polish looks shiny with it's new coat of paint; and her hands are slimy with the red liquid. In the midst of my terror and disgust, I see the gun lying by her side, and I hastily kick it away. I turn to look back at the woman, and feel a wave of nausea at the sight of so much blood.
The woman swears in some un-recognizable language. “little #?5$!” she cries, staring up at me with a look full of anguish and hatred. “you hit me in an artery!”
I feel a wave of panic as I stare at the ever-increasing pool of blood.
“What does that mean?” I say. She glares at me.
“If I don’t get help within five minutes I’ll bleed to death!”
her words make me sick. In a sudden flash of terror I can see the headlines: ‘15 year-old anemic kills Tom-Cruise’s girlfriend in his apartment after almost suffocating in the trunk of his Ferrari.’ The image makes me gag.
“what do I do?” I cry. Her face is going pale.
“Call an ambulance!” she says, and I see a fresh wave of pain sweep over her. “hurry!” I hesitate. What if she’s lying? What if she’s just waiting for me to turn my back before attacking me? But the sight of so much blood, so very much blood, convinces me.
I turn, still training the gun on the mewling form on the ground, and look desperately for a phone.
“Where is it?” I ask. For a moment she stops her futile attempts to block the blood flow, and stares at me.
“You don’t know?” she says incredulously. I swallow, my arms shaking with panic.
“Tell me if you want to live!” I say, my voice rising into a scream. I wave my arm at the pool of blood. The woman’s lips make a straight line, and then she waves her head towards the other side of the apartment.
“hanging on the wall by the fridge” she gasps. Forcing myself to look away I step over her, and see, to my relief, that there is indeed a phone by the fridge. I pick it up, and press the buttons. Behind me I hear a thump.
I turn just in time to see the woman bring her gun crashing down through one of the windows, sending sharp fragments of glass flying.
“Hey!” I yell, dropping the phone and running after her. She disappears out the window. In a sudden panic I envision her dropping ten stories to the ground, becoming a squished meat-patty on the busy streets, and I feel yet another wave of sickness. Afraid to look, yet unable to look away, I shove my head out the window.
Two stories below I see the woman jump off the fire-escape and land feet-first to the ground, hobbling quickly to a black sedan parked on the side of the road. I think of the gun in my hand, but I am too shaky to even think of taking a shot. The Sedan pulls out of it's parking space, flips itself around, and drives off down the street. I bend over the window-frame and wretch.

Suddenly, In a panicked fit, I hear the sound of footsteps on crunching glass.
I whirl towards the noise.
Just in time to see the butt of a gun come crashing down on my head.
 
Oh, my! *breathing hard* Wow. That was good. Really good.
Hey, what happened to everyone? Why am I the only one reading this anymore?? They're missing out. *shakes head sadly*
 
Chapter 3 Secret Agent Man.

“Okay,” the man said, leaning back in his seat, “let me get this straight. Kieth—” and here he pointed a pen at the a-fore mentioned, sitting sulkily in the seat across from him—“was at the other end of the airport being held up by fed’s because he ‘forgot’ his badge.”
“dropped” Keith said coldly, arms crossed, “not forgot, dropped.”
“Okay, fine” the man continued. “dropped. Like one might drop a pair of glasses or ones ticket; not a badge.”
“it wasn’t my fault!” Kieth snapped in protest, “I was in the middle of a mission and happened to spot someone who looked suspiciously like Raven—what was I supposed to do? I chased her. Somewhere along the line I dropped the badge.”
“which,” the man continued pointedly, “you had pulled out in a childish attempt to impress some woman. I’m very disgusted with you.”
“it wasn’t just that” Keith said, blushing angrily, “I wanted to know if she’d seen the woman I was chasing after and she wanted to know why I was asking…I couldn’t waste time fighting her.”
“and all woman go weak in the knees at the thought of someone with power.” The man said dryly.
Keith flinched. “okay, dad, we get the point. It was being stupid and irresponsible, I shouldn’t have pulled the badge. Got it. Move on.”
“I’m glad you understand son” the man said. “That it was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do.” Keith cringed, and the man smiled. “Now,” he said brightly, as if satisfied he’d put Kieth through enough discomfort to lodge the embarrassing memory in his brain forever, “while Keith was being held up Allen was waiting for our phone call. At exactly 12:34.16, we recorded the call. Our tipper said what, Allen?”
Allen, a slightly smaller and lighter version of Keith who preferred brown to black, sat up a little straighter in his seat. “The tipper,” he said, “I’m guessing it was a male—said that the code was in the ladies room next to gate C18.”
“and so,” Keith’s father continued, “while Keith haggles with the fed’s Allen makes his way over to the gate. However, Allen foolish assumes C18 will be between C17 and C19, and so it takes you ten minutes to get to the right bathroom correct?”
“Well, yes,” Allen said hastily, “but the gates are always…”
“You should never” Keith’s father said firmly, ice in his voice, “EVER assume on a job. That could cost a life; and in this case, failure of a mission. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir.” Allen said.
“Good.” Keith’s father stopped a moment to survey them, and frowned. “that code,” he said, “is very important at this point in time. Without we are in big trouble. For future reference, do not hesitate to take action if need be. Do you understand?”
Allen nodded.
The man frowned. “Keith? Are you listening?”
Keith jerked his head up in surprise. “What? Hey dad, someone just broke into my apartment. I’ve got to go.”
“Take Allen and Marline with you” the man ordered crisply, only his eyes portraying any sign of shock or emotion at Keith’s sudden announcement. “you never know who is waiting in there for you.”
The two young men jumped up, Keith grabbing his black leather coat from the seat as he raced out the door.
“Marline! Lets go!” he called, and a surprised woman jumped to follow them. The man watched them go.
“Be careful, son” he said quietly.
 
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