Fears

Chapter 31 |Lakota|

| Chapter 31 |

| Lakota |

I didn't stop running until I reached the end of the hallway, praying that the others were right behind me.

In the back of my mind, I knew, I had lost them. I was alone.

I heard shouts echoing back in the hallway, sending fear dancing through me. I had to run faster.

I poured every ounce of strength I had into running, forgetting about how weak I felt, forgetting about how hopeless I was.

I forgot about my friends who I had abandoned behind me.

I forgot all of that, focusing on the folded piece of paper, tucked against my chest.

If I could get out, I could be free. We could all be free.

The thudding of feet on the floor got faster behind me and my fear bubbled up my throat.

I tried to run faster, willing my leaden limbs to work harder.

A firm grip grabbed my arm.

I screamed, spinning around, my fists ready to strike, only to find the dark eyes of the waiter, Auguste, staring back at me.

"Auguste!" I gasped, nearly stopping in my tracks. "You got away!"

"No time to talk!" He rushed, grasping my wrist and pulling me forward. "Run!"

And we did, down dimly lit corridors and box-filled storage rooms, the shouts of our pursuers echoing behind us.

"Ere!" Auguste yelled dashing ahead of me. He ran to a large window, the clear glass shattered on the floor in a million glistening shards.

Auguste lept out the window without a backward glance.

I inhaled sharply, crunching through the glass to the window, sure I would see Auguste was splattered on the pavement below.

I looked down to see Auguste holding a hand out to me from atop a rusted dumpster. "Urry!" He cried muttering something in French.

I lept out the window, landing so hard my knees nearly buckled.

And we ran, the sound of gunfire blasting behind us, my heart left back in that dark room, held by the people I loved.

~*~

We had ran for what seemed like hours, dashing down alleys and streets. my heart beating so fast my lungs burned.

But the whole time all I could think of was the paper.

I needed to use it now.

"Auguste!" I panted, "We need to go to the police."

"Zee police?" Auguste gulped, stopping and pushing his dark hair out of his face. "Why?"

"Trust me," I breathed. "We need to go to the police! Its the only way to get the others out of there!"

Auguste's face was solemn. "Okee, you kidz sure are een trouble." He said, "Now follow me."

Then he was off. I charged after him, fear and hope the only things keeping me from crumbling in exhaustion.

Auguste disappeared around a corner and I hurriedly followed, my lungs burning.

As soon as I turned the corner, my eyes met two figures, one the dark haired figure of Auguste, and the other the blue uniform of a policeman talking rapidly in French.

Slowly I neared the two. The sight of the policeman sending a shiver of fear through me.

Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

Auguste turned to me, a frown creasing his forehead. I saw the policeman cast me an alarmed look.

"Madam and monsieur," the policeman addressed, his accent even thicker than Auguste's. "I weel take you to our office immediately."

With that the policemen whipped out a walkie talkie, speaking rapidly into it in French.

"We go now."

Moments later I sat in a large seat beside Auguste. The eyes of four different policemen fixed on us, and the paper that I held in my hand.

As soon as we had gotten to the police office I had told them everything from the point of Uncle Mark's death, and had shown them the paper, pointing out every detail, trying not to show how desperate I was.

Sweat trickled down my forehead as I watched the policemen examine the paper, their eyes flicking between the paper and me.

"Zees izz interesting." said a portly policeman who had first greeted us when we had walked in.

"You see," I said. "They were sent to kill my uncle. All of America thinks that it was us, but this form proves it wasn't!" Another policeman with a magnificent mustache grunted, his eyes fixed on the paper. squinting at it closely.

"It says the murderer's name right here," I said. "Igor Nataz. He's the one who wanted my uncle dead."

The police said nothing. He just looked at me.

Beside me, Auguste shifted uncomfortably in his place.

"We can read, madame," Mustache pointed out, squinting at me.

"But zere ezz one flaw in zis plan."

My heart rate spiked. "What do you mean?"

"We mean," a third policeman said with a furrowed brow. "Zat zis paper eez a fake."

My heart thudded in my ears. "What?" I asked, feeling Auguste tense up beside me.

"We ave eared about your uncle." The portly policeman said. "Mark Blue. Ee was murdered this week."

My eyes were fixed on the policeman's face, afraid of what he was going to say next. They had to believe me. They had to see the truth. Or my friends--my family--would die.

"But zis Igor Nataz haz been dead for six years."

I felt like I had been slapped, the policeman's words filling my head like poison.

"Zis whole thing Wiz your friends Eez fake." Portly said. "Just plot of Ze scam. Now, madame, I zink that you and the monsieur are under arrest."