Twisted

Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight  

*******Megan's POV*********

My eyes started to close, and I slumped against a neighboring wall for support. It was way too late to be alone in these parts. Get a hold of yourself, I thought. I opened my eyes, scanning my surroundings for anything familiar. I didn't recognize where I was. This confused my already befuddled mind. How had I missed a street? I didn't bother answering my own question, as it was obvious that I was way out of it, especially after walking nonstop for four hours. However, I knew the way home forwards or backwards, or so I had thought.

I stopped, trying to make sense of where I was. I fumbled around my coat pocket for my phone. My fingers closed around it and I waved it high in the air triumphantly. I opened up a map and put in where I was- apparently somewhere on 18th Street. I waited impatiently for the results. I tapped my toes on the ground, feigning nonchalance, even though I was somewhat panicking. When the map came up, I hunted the screen eagerly. It was blank. The map was blank. It showed no coordinates, no roads, nothing. It was bizarre. I was a little (alright, a lot) unnerved by this.

"What's going on here?" I asked to no one but the empty air. I was on the verge of hysteria, all the stories of murders crashing down at me at once. The headlines flashed through my mind until I slammed my fist into the cinderblock wall, the physical pain helping to bring me back. Blood dripped slowly from my knuckles on my left hand as I panted slightly.

I looked all around me, paranoid beyond all reason. Every whistle of the wind was someone shrieking, every rustle of dry leaves was someone's footsteps. The dark sense of foreboading I had gotten at the library had returned once more. I glanced around the poorly lit street, and for the second time in the past week, feared for my life. I yelped as a large clap of thunder sounded from above. I craned my neck up just in time to be splashed by raindrops that were hurtling towards Earth. Spluttering, I coughed and backed up into an alley. Lightning flashed overhead, illuminating my too-pale face in the moonlight. Chills ran up and down my arms. I tried, unsuccessfully, to rationalize the situation. Okay. You're lost in New York. It's raining. It's freaking cold out here. Alice is probably wondering about you. Gabriella might have won her soccer game. I closed my eyes again and sunk down to the ground. Maybe you can just lay here. No one will miss you. It's so cold.

Suddenly, a gloved hand closed around my mouth.My eyes widened and I tried to scream, but the sound was muffled by the thick leather. I struggled against my attacker, but he (I assumed he was a man, because of his build) was incredibly, impossibly strong. He easily held me against the wall, using his strength and my weakness to his advantage. He wasn't hurting me, though, and wasn't striking back, simply dodging my blows.

"I would advise you not to struggle." The deep timbre of his voice pervaded through the empty street. My fight was beginning to fade anyway, as I was still tuckered out from that day's events. Still, something seemed familiar about the voice, like I had heard it somewhere in a distant memory. The whole thing felt surreal. I decided to comply, afraid of the consequences if I didn't. The stranger handled me carefully, being very wary of my right shoulder. Well, this is a first. A kidnapper who's being gentle. I scolded myself. This was certainly no time for jokes.

He led me through a labyrinth of streets, avenues, and back ways until everything blurred together. I still hadn't managed to catch a glimpse of the man. I twisted around to examine him and my breath caught in my throat. As I stared umcomprehendingly into the familiar golden eyes, my voice raspy, I managed a strangled, "Erik?"

*************Alice's POV***********

"Gabriella, wait!" I panted as I gasped for air. We were at the track at the park, where Gabriella was making us eat her dust. Man, she was fast. She sprinted effortlessly around the loop while McKayla and I struggled to inhale. Gabriella slowed down only when she heard me pleading. She switched to a slow jog and let us catch up to her. So what if I was out of shape? We can't all play soccer and run. I still don't understand how she loves running so much. I hate running. Too much effort to get ready and put on your shoes and stuff. I didn't have any motivation to do it for my looks, anyway, because I had a killer metabolism. That was one thing I took pride in, because Megan had to exercise to keep her small and petite body, and I didn't have to. She had always envied me because of this fact.