A Gang of Purple Hearts

Chapter 29:

Chapter 29: 

You know that feeling you get, kind of like when you're rushing, and you know at any moment your ride would be waiting outside impatiently, honking their horn at your sluggishness? That's how I felt as I sped toward the outskirts of town. After my mother's death, I didn't think I, of all people, would be of any more help than a fly. I was, after all, a suicidal teenager without a mother, but I knew that at that moment, Dylan's life was in my hands. 

Engrossed in thought, I pulled into an abandoned parking lot and hopped out as I shut off the car.  The one place Dylan told me about in our long nights of movies and talking was that when his father died, before he became a part of the gang, he would go to a warehouse, hidden around the perimeter of town. There, he would lose track of all his problems. Paint, listen to music, sing, all at his heart's content. 

I knew that this was the place he was talking about as I burst through the doors and yelled his name. 

"Dylan!!" DYLAN! Where are you?!" I heard a shuffling noise and a groan come from the left side of the room. Figuring that I was too late, I ran over to see how bad the damage was.A faint whisper called back to me as I made my way to the corner of the building. 

There Dylan lay, rolled up in his jacket, a pool of blood dripping from an unknown place on his body. Hid face was covered, but as I went to crouch down next to him, I noticed something. 

He'd gotten considerably skinnier, though still muscular, and he cut his hair very short and dyed it...gray? Then , realization invaded my senses as I whipped around on my heel to run out the door. Before I made it even a step further, Damon's hand wrapped firmly around my wrist, wrenching it with force. I let out a piercing scream, mainly due to frustration and anger. 

Damon's large hand clamped down on my face, and he pulled me into a small back room, then tied my wrists and ankles with coarse, rough rope.i thrashed around wildly, futilely, until finally I sat back and glared at him murderously. That was when my mind went into overdrive. 

I thought back to Dylan's note, realizing how foolish I was to think Dylan wrote it in the first place. Dylan always used the word 'love' in his notes, just like how he said it all the time. Dylan ended all of his letters to family, friends, me, 'Always Yours, Dylan'. And Dylan would never commit suicide, that was completely out of character for him and I should've known that. 

It was obvious that the note was forged by Damon, and it just reinforced for me how crazy he really was. A swift clap in the face broke me out of my reverie and I continued glaring evilly. 

"You know.." Damon said, shaking his head distastefully. "Pretty girls shouldn't glare...it makes you ugly." He sneered at me and then smiled. "Well hello again Miss Amanda! I sure have missed you, and I know you've missed me too! I've been watching you my lovely, and I am so glad I can finally touch you again." He said this as he ran a finger down my face, causing me to shrink back involuntarily. 

He rolled his eyes.

"Damon, enough with the games! I want answers!" He laughed, a genuine, full-blown laugh, and shook his head again. 

"No honeybearcakes. You don't." I scrunched my eyebrows at his extreme nickname choice, but decided not to say anything about it. 

"I do. Please just tell me what you want with me!" I bent to lean in my face and eyed me carefully. 

"Are you sure you're willing to face the consequences?" I nodded. "Well then let us begin. Well what do you want to know?" 

I thought hard, then made my decision. "Who killed my mother?" He sighed deeply.