The Island's Captives

Chapter Twenty-One: Alter Ego

Amelia Garcia

Peter was sound asleep when I slipped into his room. It was the blue hour, and the outside light gave the room an eerie illumination. I was content to just watch him as he slept; soundly unaware of what was being planned for him. I smiled, my heart raced as it always did when I saw him, or even thought of him. I was not sure whether or not Wilson knew that I liked Peter, or anyone else for that matter, but I felt fairly confident that the only person who knew my secret was myself.

"Amy, hurry up will ya! Fawkes and Daniel are waiting," Wilson said through the crack in the door, sounding rather annoyed. I had a feeling I had angered him somehow. Lately, he seemed to get annoyed with me a lot.

I turned on the lights. Peter frowned at the sudden brightness and opened his eyes despairingly.

"Um, Fawkes and Daniel want you," I said, quivering a little and feeling the blush in my cheeks. He didn't question or object, but merely got up and followed me and Wilson to the warehouse. Wilson wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close to him. Normally I was okay holding his hand or giving him a hug and things of that nature, but (again lately) I was starting to feel uncomfortable when he touched me like that.

"Oh Pete, we were just talking 'bout you," Fawkes said conversationally.

"Yeah, we've decided to have you quartered at the tenth hour," Daniel scoffed. For a moment I was terrified, wondering if I had just brought Peter to his death. But I saw Fawkes roll his eyes and softly sigh in relief, assured that Fawkes wasn't planning on Peter's execution.

"I've decided I'll let you go," Fawkes began, "If you first answer some questions and once your friends pay a ransom." Peter nodded. It wasn't a high price to pay.

"First question—are you writing this Alan?" Alan held up his notebook and pen. "Good, okay first question: what's your full name?"

"Peter Jason Morris." Jason...that's a nice name. I mean, Peter's a nice name too but...I like Jason.

"Question two: Where did you live?"

"Currently? At Carthage."

"Where did you live before that?"

"Chicago, Illinois." Cool, he's from Illinois! Like me! 

"Question three: How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"Birthday?"

"Why? Are you gonna buy me presents?" I saw a faint smile on Peter's face, and knew he was trying to lighten things up.

"If you're lucky I'll send ya a grenade," Daniel smirked. Peter shook his head, looking irritated.

"The twelfth of August." Darn it! I frowned, though I saw Wilson grin. Which didn't make sense, since Peter was older than him. I would've thought that would've made Wilson mad, not happy.

"Question four: Do you have any allergies and, if yes, to what?"

"Yes, I'm allergic to penicillin."

"Isn't that a medicine?" Daniel asked. Peter nodded.

"Question five: What was your home status?" Peter looked at Fawkes oddly.

"What you mean?" Peter asked.

"I mean, are you in foster care or not?" Fawkes asked bluntly. Slowly, Peter nodded. "Okay then," Fawkes nodded, "So what's your story?"

"My story?" Peter asked confused.

"How did you get here?" Daniel rephrased, speaking slowly as though Peter was foreign to English.