Gabrielle's parents were the dons of the most feared mafia in the world; The Jamaican Mafia. After witnessing her Parents' death, and was hunted by their killer, she decided to join the Russian mafia, in need of an army to avenge their death.
What...
I ran for about 10 minutes without stopping. I was alone on the dark road, but that didn't matter at the moment. I came across an abandoned house and went up to it. I crept around slowly to see if anyone was around, but it was empty. I went in and sat on the ground in a corner that looked the cleanest.
I took my backpack off and sat in a lotus position. I placed my head in both hands, reliving what had just happened, but, for some reason, I couldn't shed any tears. Their anniversary is tomorrow, and they will not be present to celebrate. I miss them.
After all the moping around, I decided to push all thoughts aside and focus on my mission to get the hell out of this country.
I left the house and walked for a little. I came up to a nearby bar and saw a few cars in the parking lot. I looked around and saw no one. I walked up to a silver Toyota Corolla e140. I tried to open the doors, but they were closed. I placed my hand on my forehead, just breathing. What to do, what to do? I looked around and eventually looked down and took the laces out of my shoes.
Fortunately, the window had been slightly rolled down. I created an open knot with the lace, and held both ends, and placed it over the opening of the window. I wiggled the lace down inside the car and, furthermore, to the right, so the knot could go around the lock button. I pulled the left side of the lace to tighten the knot and then I pulled hard and boom. Unlocked bitch.
"Get the hell away from my car," someone said behind me, making me jump. I turned around and raised my hands in surrender. I looked over his shoulder to distract him.
"It's OK, sir, just a misunderstanding," I said, talking to no one. He fell for it and turned around slightly.
I took the chance and placed my hands behind his ears, pushing them slightly. He fell down with a thud. "Sorry sir," I said to his unconscious body. I bent down and got the keys and the phone from his pocket. Thank God, because I didn't know how to hotwire a car.
I got in the car and started driving immediately. When I was at a safe distance, I turned the headlights off and parked on the side of the road. I placed the lace back in my shoes and took them off. I'd rather drive barefoot because it's more relaxing and gives me more control. I took his phone and called my dad's private plane. He had many private planes, but the one I'm going on is known only to my mom, dad, and me. I guess it's just me now. I recalled the number from memory and told them to be ready in an hour and meet me at the private wing at the Donald Sangster Airport.
I reached the airport and sat in the car for a while, waiting. I swallowed the tears that threatened to spill into the back of my throat. I lost both my parents. I closed my eyes and started breathing in and out slowly. After about 15 minutes, I grabbed my bag, placed my shoes on, and exited the car. I walked to the private part of the airport, and I saw the pilot, Mr. Grey, and his wife, the air hostess, Mrs. Grey. They are like family to me. Ever since I was small, they've treated me like their own daughter, and they are my second parents. Mr. Grey is about 45 and Mrs. Grey is about 39.
I ran over and hugged them both and started crying. "They're gone, t-they're dead," I said while crying.
"I-I saw them, and they're gone," I sobbed even more. They just stayed quiet and hugged me tighter, letting me know they already knew.
"I think we should get going, OK?" Mr. Grey said, I sniffled and just nodded. We went on the plane and I sat down and buckled up.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"How about we take you to your parents' house in Lusaka, Zambia?" Mrs. Grey suggested looking at us both. I looked at Mr. Grey and he just shrugged. I sighed,
"I guess we are going to Zambia. How long will it take?" I asked.
"Umm, about 14+ hours," Mr. Grey said.
--
I've never been to my parents' house in Zambia, but Mrs. Grey told me that no one knew about it and that it was safe. I told them everything that had happened and they wanted to help me, but I didn't want anyone else to get hurt. When I told them about avenging my parents' deaths, they were initially opposed, but I persuaded them that I needed closure. They stated that they would be willing to assist me if I needed it.
Mrs. Grey made me a sandwich and some chamomile tea. I checked the time and saw that it was 2:05 am. My body was tired, but I didn't want to sleep. However, the chamomile helped a lot. I sleepily wobbled myself from the chair and into a private room to sleep.
I jerked awake. I opened my eyes and rubbed them. At first, I was wondering where I was, but then I remembered everything. Today's my parent's anniversary. I cried again. And again. And again.
After a while, I got up and went to the bathroom, and washed my face. I heard a knock on the door and I saw Mrs. Grey standing there with a smile on her face.
"Good morning, dear; I didn't want to wake you because you looked tired, but I'm making soup for you; come out when you're ready."
"Oh, and I put some clean clothes on your bed for you to wear," she added. I smiled and walked over to hug her.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Grey, you and Mr. Grey. I love you both," I told her, on the verge of tears again.
"Oh honey, we love you too. Just take care of yourself, okay? Your parents would want you to," she said, and I just nodded.
She left and I checked the time to see it was past noon. 4 hours until we landed. I went back to the room and saw the clothes on the bed. A pair of black jeans pants and a black t-shirt, along with a little black slipper. Black is my favourite colour and everyone knows it. Wearing black is always a safe bet.
I went to the bathroom and bathed and came out wrapped in my towel. I took the hair tie out of my hair, placed it in my hand, and fixed my twist. I then dried off and put my clothes and slippers on. I went out of the room and back to my seat with my seatbelt on. I pushed the seat back into place and turned on the TV to watch a movie. Mrs. Grey came out with the soup and I realized that it was chicken foot soup from Jamaica, with carrots, yellow yams, dumplings, and Irish potatoes. I got excited, like a kid at Christmas. Mrs. Grey makes the best chicken foot soup.
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I had about three more bowls and we watched a few movies together until we landed.
