▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
CHAPTER 05,
Walking the line between
panic and losing my mind.
▬▬▬▬ "What are you doing honey?" A man asked.
"I'm reading." She coldly said. The man beside him sighs. He tried desperately to have a good conversation with her like a usual father-daughter relationship but the girl would always gave him cold shoulder.
"May I ask what is?" He tried again with his soft soothed voice. He then went beside the girl's bedside as he tried to peek whatever the girl was reading.
But she instantly closed the book and hide it behind her. The girl whip her head to face the man. Her face were void of emotion, eyes so dull, yet, it held fire on it.
"It's none of your business." She said. Getting up to her feet from sitting. Before she even left her room, a hand caught her wrist and pulled her back.
"Please. Stop pushing everyone away." His voice cracked. He was trying to hold back his tear and voice to not give up.
She just looked at him, and pulled her hand away from his grip and start to walked away like nothing happened.
She doesn't like what she was becoming.
She doesn't like to be treated like a fucking fragile vase.
She doesn't like to be locked up in the dark, and before anyone knew, she knew about her missing piece.
She knew all about umbrella. And she hated them— loathed eve more.
•• •• ••
When she woke up, it was raining and her jaw hurt.
The images from her dream- was it a dream?- faded slowly. Something about a book and a man, but she couldn't bring it into focus.
Or much of anything else.
The ground was cold against her sore jaw. She tried to prop herself up, only to feel a stabbing pain in her right shoulder.
She forced herself to focus, to take in her surroundings.
The first thing she realized was that the ground was cold because it wasn't ground. It was marble.
The rain was only coming down on her feet. It was the steady rhythm of a shower.
Gently rubbing her right shoulder with her left hand, she looked down. Aside from a crumpled shower curtain-which, based on the bent metal hooks along one end of it, had been ripped off the rod-she was naked.
Obviously something had happened in the shower.
But what?
Her need to figure out what was going on led her to another stunning revelation.
She had no idea who she was. Taking a deep breath, she tried to recall anything. She knew that she was a girl lying naked in a marble shower. It was more like a big shower stall— the size of a bathtub, but with only a small lip all around, and just the one faucet.
That didn't make sense— she could identify marble, a faucet, a shower, tell the difference between a tub and a stall, yet she hadn't the first clue who or where she was.
Gingerly, she got up. Her right shoulder and the right side of her face both still ached, but the ache was already receding. Just residual pain from falling down.
Assuming she had fallen down.
The evidence, at least, supported that. The way she was sprawled on the shower floor, the way the curtain had been ripped down with her—all of that pointed to her falling down, probably grabbing the curtain for support as she fell.
This only served to confuse her more. For whatever reason, she was having no trouble analyzing her situation, even drawing conclusions.
Yet she couldn't recall her name, her favorite color, what she liked to eat, how old she was, what her mother's maiden name was.
No, wait. She doesn't have a mother.
Why the hell did she remember that?
She turned the water off, which draped the bathroom in an eerie quiet. The dripping from the showerhead echoed throughout the massive bathroom, and only then did she appreciate just how big the place was.
From the looks of it, whoever lived here—her? —was quite well off.
Top-of-the-line furnishings made of brass and marble, expensive toiletries, and the room was spotless. Either she was a neat freak, or had a good cleaning service. She chose the last, ( it was a total make sense, 'causeway she cannot handle her own to clean the entire huge bathroom herself. ) And the bath products were not the kind you found at your local CVS. It was odd how her bath products were not one of those kid type set when herself was a kid
( More confusion: she remembered a national drugstore chain, but nothing about herself. )
The mirror was covered in condensation from the hot water. She walked up to it and wiped it away with her right hand.
A young girl with shoulder length raven black hair, startling piece of silver grey eyes, and pale smooth unblemished skin stared back at her
Almost unblemished. Her right shoulder was bruised, probably from falling in the shower, and there was a scar along her left shoulder. That didn't come from the fall, though. As best she could tell, the scar was several years old
She wondered what caused it. On a hook on the wall to her right sat a white piece of cloth. It looked like some kind of jacket, with a rope-like belt at the waist. She grabbed it and put it on. It felt like silk. Or maybe satin. She wasn't sure what the difference between them was. And she couldn't remember what this article of clothing was called, but she knew it had a name. Slowly, she padded out into the next room.
Any doubts she had that she was loaded evaporated as she stepped into the bedroom. She imagined that several inner-city apartments could fit into this one bedroom. Everything in it was in the most pristine shape, yet there was a sense of age-that everything in this room was older than she was.
Of course, she had no idea how old she was. She wasn't even sure how old she looked even after looking at herself in the mirror. However, she was confused about how this room design was for adult and not for children like herself.
She has a lot of questions that rolling on the tip of her mouth. What, how and why.
Tying the belt—no, sash-of the whatever—it—was—she—was—wearing, she walked through the bedroom.
A dark red dress lay neatly on the bed. She guessed that it was something she was supposed to wear when she got out of the shower.
It was a double bed with one sets of pillows. And on the bed was a book; rincess and the frog it says on the cover. Did she live here alone? By herself? Well she be damn— her old self probably was too mature and wanted become an independent woman— or girl.
Only then she did acknowledge the extra weight on her neck. She took the thing on her neck and glance down, luckily the string was too long so she could easily looked down easily. Aside from the white thing beside on it, she did wear one other time that most outstanding than the other: a gold symbol with many legs on it —spider-like. It meant something, though, she knew that much, and it had something to do with whether or not she lived alone. But she couldn’t put the pieces together. Yet.
She walked over to the window. Pushing aside the thick curtains with the odd patterns on them, she saw a forest. Most of the trees were bereft of leaves, and those that were still intact were yellow, red, or brown. That meant it was autumn.
Thrilled to add another item to the list of Things She Could Recall, she took a moment to marvel at the sunset. Or maybe it was a sunrise. She had no idea what time of the day it actually was, but the sun was low, painting the sky glorious shades of purple and yellow.
Next to the window was a writing desk. A pad of paper sat in the center of it, with the words today all your dreams come true written in ink on the top sheet.
She frowned. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
There was an ornately designed pen next to the pad. She grabbed it with her left hand—thus confirming that she was left—handed, for what that was worth—and started writing.
By the time she got as far as today all your she stopped. The handwriting wasn't remotely similar.
Did someone else live here too, perhaps a person she dearly knows? Maids? Butlers? Who the were they. Or did the person who was responsible for rendering her unconscious in the shower leave this note?
It didn't make sense.
But then, nothing made sense right now.
She walked over to the dresser drawer, grateful that she knew what that, at least, was.
The two top drawers revealed linens and underwear, all neatly folded and arranged and lending more credence to her earlier made—up hypothesis.
When she opened the third drawer, she gasped.
A sheet of glass sat on top of this drawer, blocking simple access to its contents. Etched in the glass was a numeric pad over two words: locked and unlocked. The former word was blinking in green.
That wasn't nearly so scary as what was under the glass.
Guns.
Several of them.
And, for some reason, she knew for sure that these were among the finest and most up-to-date weaponry that money could buy.
Part of her wished she could remember the key code to unlock the glass barrier, assuming she ever did know it. Another part of her was grateful that she didn't. What did this say about her? Were the guns hers? The person she shared the house with? Both? Did they belong to whoever wrote the note? And the important question was, is she even allowed to have a gun on her own? Did they give her legal rights or some certificate that indicate she was allowed? Maybe she was the intruder and the person who wrote the note owned the guns.
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
Bathrobe!
That's what the white silk or satin thing was called.
She chuckled to herself. That was one answer, anyhow. But it didn't help her with the guns. Or the cut on her shoulder. Or the identity of-well, anyone.
Now that she knew what it was, she also realized she might as well take the bathrobe off. She had found. underwear, as well as the dress. Something weird was going on, and while the dress didn't look one hundred percent practical, it was more so than the bathrobe.
The dress-which had an odd cut, extending down practically to her ankle on the outer part of her right leg, but cut in a U-shape, leaving her legs free. On the left side, the dress only came to her hips. It gave her a look that permitted her legs a certain freedom of movement. Somehow she was proud of herself that she was taller than she looks, although part of her was uncomfortable of the dress that she wore, it was too exposed and could feel the eerie of cold breeze kissing her skin. Nonetheless, the feeling of familiarity was there, but couldn't find where. Yet.
After retrieving a pair of biker shorts-why had she known that was what they were called?—and a pair of thigh-high boots, she put the dress on over them. Somehow, putting on normal clothes made her feel better.
She stepped out into the next room. It seemed to be-well, she didn't know what it seemed to be. It was another big room, full of old furniture, wood paneling, and high ceilings. At the ( very ) far end of the room was a statue of a woman with wings, covered in plastic. Looking at it, she thought it should have been outside, for some reason.
A framed picture caught her eye on one of the wooden tables.
Picking it up, she saw that it portrayed her and a man, she was hugging the man with a big goofy smile, same goes for the man. On the corner of her eye she caught the book, again. She was holding it at the man's back.
In a flash, she realize that she and the man in the picture were family. But then, she'd be happy when seeing she had a family left, at the same was not.
She had a bag feeling about the man in the picture and was that her smiling? For real?
This, in turn, raised more questions. Where was her mom? Who was the owner of this house, was it her mom or her dad? Was there any reason why she remembered not having a mom? Does her mom leave her and her dad when she was still a mere babe? Were they divorced after she was born? Did he write the note on the table? Did he attack her in the shower? Where was he now? There was certainly something familiar about the man in the picture. She knew him, though whether that familiarity was a good one or not, she couldn't tell. ( she trusted her guts, and she chose it was not a good one. )
Right now, she was just grateful for any feeling of familiarity. She certainly wasn't getting it from this house. The more she walked through it, the less she believed that this place was hers. It didn't feel right.
A heavy thud startled her. She set the picture down, and turned toward the statue. When she first entered the room, she had thought it to be in an alcove, but she realized now that it was a doorway to a vestibule or hallway or something— and there was a door or a window that had just been opened. Wind was now rustling the plastic that covered the winged-woman statue.
"bonjour?" Nobody replied. ( hello? )
She moved toward the doorway, all the while wondering at the absurdity of instinctively knowing the word vestibule, yet taking five minutes to remember what a necklace and a bathrobe were.
Cautiously, she walked closer to the statue, now really wishing she had the codes that would allow her access to those guns. She had no idea whether or not she knew how to use them, but she had the feeling that just holding one in her hand would put her in a better position right now.
Sure enough, there was a door here—an old wooden one with a brass pull handle that was, for some inexplicable reason, up around her neck level. The door was so big, she wondered if it had been built with giraffes in mind.
It was only slightly ajar. Based on the breeze that was still fluttering the plastic on the statue, it was quite possible the wind had knocked the door open.
She started to step outside, then stopped. It was growing darker. That beautiful sky signified sunset.
Looking around, she quickly spied several switches next to the door. Instinctively, she turned them on. This was the right move. Where it had been dim on the other side of the door, it was now lit up like daylight. Whoever built this place wanted people to be able to get around outside at night if they had to.
A reasonable precaution since, based on that forest outside the bedroom window, they were in the middle of nowhere. Any significant illumination there was to be had around here was going to come from the house.
Opening the door all the way, she stepped outside. A blast of cold air caused goosebumps to rise on her exposed arms and legs, making her wonder if stepping outside without seeing if the house came equipped with a coat was such a hot idea.
The doorway led to a sheltered walkway that bordered the house-house, hell, it was a mansion-the shelter supported on the outside by columns with ridges in them.
She found she couldn't remember what kind of columns they were, though she was pretty sure it had something to do with being greasy.
Maybe.
The walkway was covered with brown leaves that crinkled under her booted feet. The sound was pleasant, almost soothing in its harshness. It reminded her of-something. Another familiar feeling that ultimately meant nothing without context.
As much to hear the sound of her own voice again, she said, "bonjour?" ( hello? )
Another sudden noise made her jump, but this time it was a huge flock of birds, who took her voicing as a prompt to all fly off into the evening air at once.
Shaking her head, she turned to go back inside. If nothing else, it was freezing out here.
Then the breeze started. No, this wasn't a breeze. This was wind. And it was getting closer. The dead brown leaves rustled and started flying up into the air and along the ground toward the mansion, as if being pushed by a mental force. Or by a helicopter.
She had no idea where that thought came from, but it was one she didn't like very much, and thought she'd have an easier time dealing with inside. Besides which, the wind was getting stronger.
Running toward the door, she almost stumbled. The thigh-high boots may have looked good with the dress, but they weren't much more practical than the bathrobe had been.
She reached the doorway and took another quick look around to see if she could see anything that would explain the sudden wind-like helicopters.
Why she was so sure that they were causing this- especially since she couldn't hear anything besides the leaves rustling, and didn't helicopters usually make lots of noise?-she couldn't say.
But the wind had gotten worse; leaves and the grit of the ground were being buffeted about the air now, and was in danger of getting in her eyes. She made a grab for the door-only to be grabbed around the stomach and pulled inside.
She struggled initially as the man— for it was a man for sure, but not the man in the photo— dragged her inside, but she didn't put up more of a fight, mainly because of the bright lights that now shone through the window
Something was happening.
"Ne me touche pas!" She screamed at the man, her high pitch voice would probably caused damaged at the man's ear. ( Do not touch me! )
"I'm trying to help you out here kid!" He said in between breath. Struggling with both of their weight.
"éloigne-toi de moi!" He let go, but not through any impetus from her: glass shattered as something that looked like a hockey puck came crashing into the room. One second after it landed on the wooden floor, it let loose with a blast of cordite that sent her and her would-be abductor sprawling to the floor. ( Get away from me! )
Her head swam, the cordite in the air making her vaguely nauseous and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. She wondered how they could make a hockey puck do that-and what a hockey puck really was, since she associated the round, flat black disc with that phrase, but had no idea what the individual words actually meant. Or, for that matter, why she knew what cordite was. She shook her head, trying to clear it, hoping to stave off a headache that was starting to build.
Then more shattered glass, an endless stream of it.
Looking up, she saw five people dressed in all black and wearing face-covering masks. They came in feet first, apparently swinging in on cables. She couldn't imagine anyone moving like that, yet the maneuvers had an odd feeling of familiarity, like she'd done them herself.
The five people were loaded for bear. Each of them carried at least two guns that she could see, and a variety of other pieces of equipment she couldn't quite make out-it was all black on black, and the hockey puck's blast still had her blinking spots from in front of her eyes.
The man who'd grabbed her was a tall man with very short brown hair, wearing a dress jacket over a light blue shirt. His pants were also dark, but didn't match the jacket. As soon as the five people burst in through the windows, he pulled out a gun from a shoulder holster.
In an instant, she realized that the man was a police officer, and his weapon was a standard RCPD-issue Beretta. If only she could recall what the 'RC' in RCPD stood for.
As soon as the cop had his Beretta out, one of the black-clad intruders grabbed his right wrist and, in one fluid motion, pulled his arm behind his back, knocked him face-down onto the floor, and forced him to drop the pistol.
"What're you doing? I'm a cop. There's a kid over there!" One of the other intruders pulled his jacket and shoulder holster off.
"I told you, I'm a cop!" The first intruder removed the cop's own handcuffs from his back belt loop while the second one rooted through his jacket to pull out his wallet.
"You're breaking my arm," the cop said as the intruder handcuffed his arms behind his back.
She watched all this with a combination of confusion, dispassion and scared. No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Another one of the black-clad people ran over to the mirror on the far end of the room. He opened a panel with two knob switches, which revealed a socket of some kind.
She was too scared to move or breath, watching those unknown strangers invading her home and strangling the guy who grabbed her. She felt sympathy towards the man— that was new. They were intimidating, bulk and scary person. She personally remind them one of trolls that flashed on her mind.
This particular member of the invasion team had some kind of minicomputer on his left forearm. It flapped open to reveal a small monitor on the upper portion and a keyboard on the part still parallel to his arm. He took a wire that was attached to the minicomputer on one end and plugged it into the socket.
Her eyes widened at the sight, flabbergasted and awed glinting on her eyes. She was just witnessed those technologies that she wasn't familiar with.
"Cinglé." she whisper-awe to herself that no one could hear, but someone surely heard her. ( crazy )
Two more figures walked into the room through the now-shattered windows. One of them headed straight for her. She sat up. One of the straps of her red dress had fallen off her shoulder, and she pulled it up.
Looking up at the figure, she couldn't make out any features behind what she now remembered was a gas mask.
"Report." The man-it was definitely a man-had a deep, rich voice, only slightly muffled by the gas mask.
She had no idea how to respond to his request. No, not a request. This was an order. Whoever she was, she must have been this man's subordinate.
And fun fact: she was trembling inside.
She had no idea what her past self had gotten into. Why does she need to report. From who and what?
He grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her to her feet. She thought about resisting, but he grabbed her right on the sore part of her right shoulder, and she winced in pain. "Report now."
"I-" What could she possibly tell him? That she woke up in the shower with no memory of who she was, what she was doing here, or what a bathrobe was? The entire situation was insane. No scratch that— huge flock insane.
"Hey leave the poor girl alone man!" The man from earlier shouted. While he was on floor struggling with these hands gripping on him, he heard the troll man— scaring the girl. Frowning at them, confused as to why does the man need the girl a report from her, not unless she was working with them. But that make no sense, she was a girl— a child, a kid for fuck sake. There's no way in hell.
The man ignored the guy and focused on the her. She was now totally scared, her eyes was threatening to spill a tear and looked at him with terrified eyes.
Then again, maybe this was normal for her. So instead of showing fear, she put a brave face and act like she wasn't scared at him. If this man, whoever he was, was part of her daily life, maybe commandoes crashing through windows was a normal day for her. But memory loss wasn't, so she said nothing. She kept her mouth shut. Still looking at him with terrified eyes, her lips pluck and her cheeks were turning rosy.
The man was undaunted. He grabbed her again, pushing her against the wall. Again, she winced, as pain sliced through her shoulder.
"I want your report, soldier," he said. His voice never raised, and that made it scarier. Even with the mask muffling his words, the quiet, professional calm he exuded was frightening as hell.
"She's a child man, she's not a soldier. Are you mental or blind Leave.her.alone. you are scaring her." The guy again shouted, frustrated at the him.
Still ignoring his protest.
She might've been inclined to think of it as the most frightening thing she'd ever heard, but since she could only recall what she heard for the last ten minutes, that wasn't much of an accomplishment. However, she looked at the guy from earlier and sent her an grateful look. Then something hit her, did he called her a soldier? Her— a soldier? Are you f— flower kidding me?
Instead, she gave her a slow and whispered soft voice but with a voice cracked evident on it, "s'il vous plaît ne me faites pas de mal, monsieur" ( please don't hurt me, sir )
"What the fuck is she saying? Can someone translate what the hell is she talking about? Just making sure that she isn't doing one of her bad talking shit using different language again,"
The man who she doesn't know asked, particularly no one.
"She said, don't hurt her." The guy on the floor simply said, looking at the girl. He somewhat feel like he need to protect the girl from them, she was just a child.
The guy who asked from earlier sent him a look as he flickered his eyes to the girl and to him then he shared a looked with they partner. "Holy fucking shit— are you kidding me? Is she kidding us?"
Beside the guy who exclaimed just now slapped the man's head really hard that he reacted quickly and muttered an 'ow' "seriously, will you shut the fuck up."
"Geez woman you know how to handle a man's heart. But seriously, I— wow, this is the best the of my life— never seen her act like that. So vulnerable and so, strange. Just— wow!" He exclaimed.
The girl frowned at him. Still not quite understand what was he talking about.
Then there was The man blinked who was scaring her, and was bewildered. He doesn't understand her. Before the man could reply, the man by the mirror with the computer on his arm spoke up. "Sir, the house's primary defenses have been activated. She's probably still suffering the side effects."
Side effects? What the hell did that mean?
It seemed to satisfy the leader, though, as he turned his attention to the pair that had subdued the blueeyed man who claimed to be an officer of the law.
"What about the cop?" he asked. The one who had removed the jacket had a forearm minicomputer of his own. Right now he was holding the cop's badge while entering something into the keypad.
"Matthew Addison. I'm not getting a match." So that was his name. She was relieved to find that someone in the room had a name.
The other one, the one who'd handcuffed Addison, pointed a weapon at the cop's head. "Who are you?"
"I just transferred. They probably don't even have me on file yet. And could you not hurt the child will you. You are scaring her." He said putting up a brave face, he then looked at the child beside the him giving her a are-you-okay-look which she nodded slowly.
The man rolled his eyes and scoffed. "You don't know what you are talking about boy." He turned his attention back to his partner—
The one holding the badge said, "The locals are inefficient-it's possible."
"Should I secure him here?" asked the one with the gun on Addison. And the one who reacted mentally earlier.
The leader removed the gas mask to reveal the face of a handsome black man. No, handsome wasn't the right word. That implied softness, and there was precisely nothing about this man that suggested even a hint of softness.
The leader said, "No, we take him with us."
"You can't do this, you can't do this to her!" Addison yelled.
The other one holding the gun on him and the one who slapped the other guy's back head pulled off her own mask. "Blow me," she said.
It was a woman, with black hair pulled back in a braided ponytail. The woman was of an ethnicity the name of which she could not remember for the life of her.
The ponytailed woman yanked Addison to his feet. "Hey!" he cried in modest protest.
The leader looked around at the others.
"Prep for entry to the Hive."
NIEVE speaking !
Sorry sorry, it took me days to post this chapter.
I am so excited her and the goons to have hate-love relationship. And to my 'her' whose personality really changed since the gas incident.
Holy flower dude yes yes she's french and your author isn't :'( blamed the google translate if you found a mistake ( i also did research other sites for future references )
Anywhoooo! Next chapter will be posted next week :)))))
Ciao ciao my lovely readers. Don't forget to tap the cute star below.
(not edited and proofread)
re-written — 10/27/22