Kidnapped

Chapter 20

Wow I'm writing fast today!! :)

Chapter 20:

Somehow, I'm not sure how or what kept me going, I made it back to my house. The house I hated so much. It was morning by the time I got there. And it as still raining.  

I went up the steps and reached for the door handle, but before I could I noticed the big lock on and the note on it.

I didn't even have to read the note. The house had been foreclosed.

Anything I had ever owned before was gone. I had no money, nobody to turn to for help. I might have had grandparents to call, but I knew less about them than I did my parents. So what was I going to do now? Sit here on the doorstep and starve to death?   Maybe I should die. My father had said that I was the only one that knew something, who knows what he meant, and if they didn't get me alive, they were all done for, whatever that meant. If I died, they couldn't have what I knew, and then they'd be screwed. Somehow, in the meaner depths of my mind, I kind of liked the sound of that.

I didn't want to think about it anymore, so I sat down on the porch and prepared to starve to death. This should be fun. But why should I die? Why should I be the one to suffer, when they were in the wrong? Jake and Dave both didn't do anything wrong, and neither did I. So why should we suffer? They didn't deserve to die!

Without thinking, I stood up and slammed my fist right into the front window of the house. It shattered. My hand came back bloody, but it felt good to get my anger and sadness out. It felt nice to break something, especially when that something was what I'd always wanted to break. So I went around the house and chucked rocks at all of the windows- I didn't want to punch them all, it hurt my hand. And then I carved a light bulb in the door. Then I dug up all the bushes and flowers. I think I was a little bit insane. I guess I had a good excuse, though.

So after all of the windows were shattered, I went and sat down on the porch again. I should have run. I should have gotten away from there. But what more did I have to lose? After a while of silence, I decided to go inside the house. My had was still bleeding, so I smeared it all over the walls and carpets until it stopped. I think I as a little angry.   It was empty. All of the furniture was gone. I sat in my room for a little bit, playing with the broken glass. Then I went to Jake's room and remembered Jake. And Dave, that morning we found the note. How he insisted that he had to go to the alley with me. That alley.   If I knew Jake was going to die anyways, I wouldn't have gone there in the first place. I should have listened to Dave.      After sitting on Jake's floor for a while, trying to pretend it was all just a dream and I would wake up any minute, I couldn't stand it anymore. I went back outside.

Then a few minutes later the police came and I found myself in handcuffs again. At least this time it was for a real reason.

I was starting to get bored with the process. Check me for weapons, shove me in the back of the car, drive to the police station, have me change into orange clothes, let me have a phone call when I have nobody to call, shove me in an empty cell, stare at the ceiling, lay on the floor, count my heartbeats. It was torturous, in a way. Repetitive, day by day, same thing. This time they had me go to court and defend myself- that was new -but I had nothing to say. What was I supposed to say?

I just destroyed my old house because I was angry about my little brother being killed by a bomb that was set in order to kill me, which failed miserably because I escaped and then they killed the only other person I knew by burning down his house and then they kidnapped me which also failed because they don't know how to lock doors.

Yeah. Right. That was totally a good stoy The police were probably working with the kidnappers anyways, so why bother?   

And so I was sentenced to prison for sixty days for acts of vandalism and violent destruction of property owned by the government.

And the repetitive, torturous, horrible cycle continued. On and on and on and on. I hoped I would die in prison. Actually, at one point, I just decided to stop eating completely. I didn't even notice the grumbling in my stomach because I was too depressed to care. After about six days they began to notice and then told me to eat. I refused, so they decided to get a doctor to come look at me. He said I was dehydrated and I needed to drink water immediately, but even the doctor couldn't get me to eat or drink. No one could even get me to talk. The kept asking question after question after question, but I wouldn't talk.   So they ended up letting me out of prison early so the doctor could take me to the hospital and feed me through a tube in my arm. Also he wanted to change my cast, since it was pretty horrid looking.

I was taken to a room where I was strapped to a bed because I wouldn't stop trying to pull the tube out of my arm. I was insane. After about two days they finally unstrapped me because they finally got me to start eating from my mouth again. I continued to eat easily, because I hated being strapped to the table.

I gave up on life. I gave up on dying. I gave up on hope, and on everything else I ever depended on.

Until I heard his name outside my door one day.

"Dave Laire? Yeah, he got-" I didn't even hear the rest because I was suddenly up and out of the bed, listening. I pulled the IV out of my arm and ran over to the door. Before pushing it open, I listened for his name again, and when I heard it I nearly attacked the doctor.

"Did you say Dave? Is there a Dave here?" I asked, taking the doctor by surprise.
"Erica, you-"

"I said is there a Dave here?!" I yelled, putting my hands on his shoulders and shaking him.

"Yes, but-"

"Where is he?!"

"Erica, you need to-"

"I said where is he?!" I shouted, still shaking him. A nurse in the hallway came up and tried to stop me, but I shoved her away. The doctor pried my fingers from his shoulders and shoved me, causing me to fall because I was still fairly weak.

"Somebody get her!" The doctor yelled as I stood and quickly started down the hallway. Somebody grabbed my arm but I pulled away and started running.

"Dave!" I said, looking around me in every direction. "Dave, where are you?!" I yelled, suddenly falling to my knees on the ground in exhaustion.

"Erica!" The panicked voice of the doctor came from behind me. Everything was beinning to look fuzzy. "Calm down."

And so I sat on the floor, and calmed down. After a few minutes my breathing slowed and my vision became normal again.

"What were you thinking?" The doctor asked, helping me to my feet.

"Dave." I said honestly, because that was exactly what I was thinking. "Is there a Dave here?"

"Dave Laire? Yeah, he's just down the hall from you, do you know him?"

I nodded quickly. "I need to speak to him." I said.

"Dave's not . . . awake." The doctor replied. What? Did he mean that Dave was. . . He must have seen the expression of horror on my face because he quickly continued. "He's in a coma. He's been unconscious ever since he got here."

"What? No! Take me to him!" I said. If Dave was in a coma ever since he got here, he must have been unconcious for almost two and a haf weeks.

"Erica, you need to rest-"

"I need to see him!" I shouted.   "Dave's not-"   "I don't care!"

"Fine!!" The doctor led me down the hallway and we stopped at room 683. When the door opened, I rushed into the room and found myself looking down at Dave's face as he laid motionless on the bed.  

"Dave!" I gasped, kneeling down by his side and grabbing his hand.

At that moment, I saw hope again. I saw happiness, and love. I saw life and all of the wonderful things of this world.

But only for a moment before I glanced across the room and caught the eye of another familiar face. But this face didn't live in a happy place in my mind. This face was the shadow that I tried to avoid.

There, sitting in a chair by the window, was the man from the alley.   Then he laughed that deep, dark laugh that I hate so much.