An Angel Wears Hightops [A Sequel to The Devil Wears Girl Jeans]

An Angel Wears Hightops (Chapter 11)

“Why would he want to leave? What did we even do?” I asked no one in particular, my voice on the edge of hysteria. Mickey had gone very quiet after I'd given him Poe's note, and was now just sitting at the dining room table, flipping it over again and again, as if the message would change if he just looked at from a different angle. It wouldn't, of course, because Poe was gone.

“I mean, honestly. We're his family, wasn't he happy? He could've just said something if-”

Mickey jumped to his feet suddenly, knocking his chair over in the process, nearly causing me to scream. Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I trailed after him as he rushed out of the room, rounding the corner into Poe's bedroom.

“What are you doing?” I asked, peering over his shoulder as he dug through the drawers of Poe's desk.

I'd never actually been in Poe's room, mostly due to the fact that he hated everything, including me. It was a lot cleaner than I expected, everything in its exact place, the walls bare and white, the floor free of even a single dust bunny. The only splash of colour in the room came from a purple picture frame on his windowsill, which I immediately gravitated towards.

Picking it up gently, I recognized the woman in it immediately. It was Dallas, Mickey, and Poe's mom, who I'd met exactly once, except she was much, much younger in the photo. On her lap sat two infants, no older than a year, while an other boy, about three, was curled up on the bench beside her. The oldest boy was flashing his tiny teeth at the camera, and had a teddy bear clutched in one of his little hands. That same teddy bear was now slumped against Poe's pillow, and it took me a few seconds before I made the connection.

Poe was the boy from the photo, which meant that at one point in his life, he had actually been happy. It was a weird realization, since “Poe” and “happy” weren't usually two words that went in the same sentence together. I studied the photograph a little closer, recognizing Dallas right away. There was no mistaking those green eyes. Mickey's were similar, but there was something about the expression in Dallas's that made him recognizable immediately.

Stealthily, I pulled out my phone and took a picture of the photograph to show Dallas if he ever woke up. This could quite possibly be the only baby picture of him in existence, and I knew that he'd want to see it one day. It was proof that his family had never forgotten about him.

“Poe was kidnapped.” Mickey said quietly, and I whipped around to stare at him.

“What?”

“This isn't his writing. See?” he said, holding up the note in one hand, and a journal in the other. Mickey was right. Poe's writing in his journal was neat and evenly spaced, whereas whoever had written the note had cramped, messy scrawl.

“Maybe he was just in a hurry?” I suggested, but Mickey shook his head.

“No, if Poe was going to leave, he would have taken the time to write a proper note, and explain himself. He would've planned out every detail of his getaway for months, and most definitely wouldn't have just left his car here, let alone wide open with the keys in the ignition. Where would he be able to go on foot? No where. Poe is too smart and detail-oriented to leave behind such a sloppy trail.”

I didn't want to believe it, but the more he talked, the more I started to believe that maybe Poe really did get kidnapped. It was hard to picture anyone being strong and brave enough to even try to capture him in the first place, but the thought of someone actually managing to do it made me feel sick. Whoever had him was a bigger threat than any of us were prepared to deal with.

“So what's your plan?” I asked after a long moment of silence, and Mickey sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps flexed under his Star Wars t-shirt, and I quickly looked away.

At first glance, Mickey could only be described as geek chic: he had those thick rimmed glasses that kind of looked like Ray Bans with clear lenses, a mop of black hair that curled behind his ears, and an extensive collection of graphic t-shirts. Once you started to spend time with him though, you started to notice other things, like the way he always walked with his head up, and how even though he was slim, he was still strong as hell and wasn't someone you wanted to mess with. The more time I spent with him, the more I realized that he wasn't as similar to Dallas as I thought he was.

“I got nothin' right now. You have any plans?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

“Yeah, actually. I was thinking of taking one of those showers where you huddle in the corner fully clothed and cry.”

“That sounds pretty good right about now,” he agreed, “But we need to get moving. First, we have to find out who would've taken him. Then we go from there.”

“Well did he say that anyone was after him?”

“No, he didn't ment-” Mickey stopped, his eyes widening. “A few nights ago, I was reading the paper and telling him about some celebrity scandal, then he just stared out the window and said, “Yeah, well. Some things come back no matter how deep you bury them.” then he just got up and went to his room.”

“That's pretty cryptic, if you ask me.” I agreed, and Mickey ran his fingers through his hair frantically.

“So he knew this was coming then, right? That's what it sounds like. Has anything weird happened recently that he told you about?”

“Why would he tell me? He hated me, you're his brother. If anything he would've told you.”

Mickey let out a frustrated groan, and flopped down onto Poe's bed, crumpling the perfectly smooth sheets. I did the same, stretching out beside him. We were silent for a long time, until finally something clicked.

“The guy at the grocery store!” I yelped, bolting upright. Mickey did the same, an impressed smile flickering across his face.

“Yes! Did you get a good look at his face? Maybe I can identify him.”

I struggled to remember my encounter with him at the grocery store, but the details were blurry. It's really hard to keep track when you were getting knocked on your ass in the middle of the pudding aisle.

“Uh, I think he was blonde. Wait, no. He had red hair. Definitely red hair, and it was short too. He was ridiculously tall, probably like 6”6, and uh.... I think that's it.”

“Are sure that's all you can remember? That's not a lot to go off of.”

“Wait!” I shouted, my eyes widening. “He had this massive scar. It went from like here to here.” I told him, dragging my finger from my hairline, diagonally across my face, stopping just under my chin.

“Really, Hartley? You really forgot to mention that the first time?”

“Slipped my mind, sorry.”

Mickey rolled his eyes at me, but then bit his lip. I could tell he was deep in thought, so I refrained from talking until a few seconds later when he looked up and said, “Killian Mahoney.”

“Who?”

“Thats the guy who has Poe. Poe gave him that scar a few weeks back in one of their matches, and a few days ago Killian came back and challenged him to a rematch. Killian lost, and he's pissed. Not the kinda guy who takes losing well. Wouldn't surprise me if he wanted revenge on Poe, I would be pretty mad too if some guy disfigured my face.”

“Okay, so we know who it is. Now what?”

“Now I find him.”

“When do we leave?” I asked, completely ready to jump up and start packing the second he told me to.

“We aren't going anywhere. Streetfighting is a scary business, and I'm going to have to go have a chat with some bad people in some bad places. I'm not letting you get hurt.”

“Thats not fair. What am I supposed to do instead?” I objected, completely furious. I wasn't one for this whole “girl sits on the sidelines while the guy goes and saves the day” kind of business. I wanted to help.

“Instead,” Mickey said, ushering me out of the room, “You're going to stay here. With Halden.”

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WEEEEOOOOO WHAT DO YOU GUYS THINK? DUN DUN DUN