Good For Gone

Closed Doors

When I got out of the shower most of my stuff was unpacked. I could see my clothes peaking out of the mouth of the closet and my knick knacks sitting on random surfaces.

I didn't appreciate having my stuff touched, but that appeared to be out of my control.

Heading over to the closet I opted for a comfortable cotton dress. Maybe if I looked nice I wouldn't feel so bad. That was my usual theory anyway.

I spent the next few hours sitting uncomfortably in the room, waiting to be escorted to the car. There wasn't much to pass the time, and I was borderline afraid to investigate any further.

But eventually, one of the men appeared. I sulked after him as he silently turned to go down the stairs. It wasn't until we got to the bottom floor that I stopped.

There was a noise, the sound of people arguing. I hadn't expected it with how deathly quiet the place had been earlier.

And mixed in with the muffled words was a voice that was almost familiar.

I rerouted myself, heading towards a heavy wooden door just past the staircase. The voices got even more distinct with every step.

My heart lept, it was him, I knew it. I could recognize that lilt anywhere.

I was heading to reach for the know when I was grabbed, rougher than they'd dared to handle me before, and yanked back.

I was tossed over the man's shoulder like a sack of laundry. My mind went blank with rage.

My hands grabbed at his short hair and tried to rip it from his scalp. But it was either the bandages or the man's truly impressive resolve because he didn't flinch.

In a last ditch attempt, I looked back up towards the door and yelled, "Peter!"

The word echoed through the house, bouncing off the wooden floors and glass windows.

The voices behind the door fell silent. I wanted to call again, to make sure he heard me, but was interrupted by the jiggling of the door handle.

My heart skipped a little at the thought of seeing him, but before I could see what was behind the door, I was hit from behind with a wave of cool air.

The light was bright and I had to squint my eyes so much that I almost didn't see the front door swing close.

I kicked angrily, not appreciating being handled like that, nor the feeling of the breeze against my very exposed lower half.

When we were a safe distance away from the front door he set me down. I took a second to straighten out my dress before punching him in the stomach, not that that did anything.

I was half led, half shoved into the back seat of the car. The door was shut behind me.

As the car left the gate I didn't know exactly how I felt. On one hand my fears had been recognized. He was here and I didn't know what would happen.

Randalls plan was kludgy as far as I could tell, but part of me felt that if he'd really wanted to kill Peter, he would have a long time ago. Which was enough to keep the bubble of fear in my stomach compressed.

For now, I knew he was alive and within reach, and that was enough of a reason for me to smile to myself, just a bit.