Down The Train Tracks *Jason McCann*

Down The Train Tracks. ~Ch.7 ["I died a little more inside."]

**Dedicated to LoveToWrite0089 for making my awesome new book cover! :)**

My eyes fluttered open, as I seen Jason sitting on the edge of the bed I was on. His face was buried in his hands, his back to me. I raised my head a little, immediately resting my hand on my forehead.

The more I moved my head, the harder the pounding in my head was. I gave up, letting my head rest back down on the pillow underneath me.

Wait, pillow? I looked around without moving my head, realizing I was in Jason’s room, lying on his bed.

Suddenly, I found my mind flooded with memories of what happened before I passed out. Playing the piano and joking with Kyler, then Jason coming in, things getting serious.

Turning to face Jason, our eyes met, and I realized he had turned and was watching me. His eyes were glossy, his face red, tears streaming down his cheeks. The longer our gaze was locked, the faster his tears were pouring out.

They were dripping from his eyes, and splashing down on the bed covers. It reminded me of a small waterfall.

“Melani, I-“ He closed his mouth, and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Once again, my hand went up to forehead to try to calm the pounding.

The door opened and shut quietly this time. Jason sat next to me, looking down, scanning my face with a frown. His fingers found their way to the bottom of my chin; he slowly lifted my head slightly, so that I was looking up at him. The feeling of cold glass met my lips, shortly followed by an icy liquid flowing down my throat.

A squishy, cold cloth was then brought up to rest on my forehead. Jason pushed my head gently back onto the pillow, still applying pressure to the wet cloth.

“I guess I owe you an explanation for all of this,” he spoke quietly.

His voice was calming my nerves a slight bit. I just kept looking at him; not being motivated enough to speak or manage nodding my head.

“See, it’s a long story, but neither one of us is going anywhere any time soon, so it doesn’t matter. Just thought I’d warn you,” he looked deeply into my eyes. Me being me, I got uncomfortable and looked down at my hands which were rested on my stomach, twiddling my thumbs.

He sighed, I looked back up at him, but I didn’t let him look in my eyes anymore.

“It all started when my parents died. They had gotten into a car accident when I was thirteen, leaving my brother and I alone. We were taken in by my father’s friend. His name was Timothy Johnson. Alex was sixteen, Johnson was thirty three.

My father abused my mother; my mother was a gambler who lost all our money. We were constantly in and out of debt. As a family: we were a mess.

Neither one of them treated Alex nor I right, so I wasn’t as shook up as you’d expect a child to be when their parents died, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

It did. It hurt a lot. But, what hurt worse was four years later.

During the years, Johnson had thought both Alex and I a lot about bombs and guns, how to throw a punch, how to steal without getting caught,” I looked down; I knew all about that. “Basically, Johnson taught us everything that was needed to get us to the places we are now.

Johnson brought a different girl home with him all the time. Sometimes more than one, he had a place for them in the basement.

By now, I guess you’ve realized that I meant Johnson kidnapped a lot of girls; he did a lot of things to them, too. He had plans for each and every one of them, just like he had plans for both my brother and I.