The Descendants Series Vol. 2

Part Three - Chapter 18

Part Three

Assassin

You get in, you get done

And then you get gone

You never leave a trace

Or show your face, you get gone

Should have turned around

And left before the sun came up again

But the sun came up again

- John Mayer

Chapter 18

My head was spinning when I finally woke up.  When I tried to open my eyes, I groaned and had to close them again.  Instead of trying again a few seconds later, I tried to sit up, but I couldn’t even do that.  I lifted my head and opened my eyes – my vision was blurry for a second or two – and when I could actually see, my eyes widened.

I was laying on a bed in a cell a lot like what I’d seen Rowan on in my dream, only I was strapped to it.  They’d put restraints around my waist, wrists and ankles, holding me down to the bed.  I tried to pull my way out of it, but they were too tight.

“Sucks to be you right now, doesn’t it?” someone asked from beside me.  And when I looked, there sat Loryn, smiling at me.

“If I could get out of these restraints right now…” I started.

“You’d what?” she asked.  “What would you do?  And with what?”

“Seeing as I don’t have anything, I guess I’d have to kill you with my bare hands.”

She laughed.  “I’d like to see that happen,” she said.  “Especially since I’ve got the upper hand in that matter.”  She reached down on the floor beside her and picked up something.  My knives.  “They’re going to come in handy.”

“Those aren’t yours,” I growled.                   

“They are now,” she said.  “And they’re going to be what kills you if you misbehave.”

“Then you might as well kill me now,” I said.  “Because this is the only time you’ll be able to get me.”

“I wouldn’t do that.  Then who could I talk to?”

“How about your dad, since he’s not dead like you said he was?” I asked.

“Yeah, that’s true.  But you’re more fun to talk to.  Plus, all of your threats are amusing,” she said, smiling.

“They wouldn’t be amusing if I actually go out of here,” I said, fighting the restraints.

“Try all you want, but that’s not going to be happening,” she said.

I looked at her through narrowed eyes.  She ignored me, though, and picked up something else from the floor.  It was a bowl of peaches.  She picked up something out of the bowl and scooped one up.  The utensil was different, though, half spoon, half fork. 

“What is that?” I asked.

“What?” she asked.  “It’s called food and you eat it.”

“Not that,” I said.  “Is that a spork?  You’re serious using one of those?  I haven’t used one since I was just learning how to use silverware, which was when I was two.”

“Yes, it is.  Who cares what you think,” she said.  “And it’s not like I asked for one.  They just gave it to me.”

“So apparently they think that you need help eating,” I said, grinning.