Silver and Gold (Red and Black Book 3)

by Nancy O'Toole Meservier

  It was a sentiment I understood all too well.

  I did my best to coax her into purring calmness, an illusion that was shattered whenever someone found their way into the kitchen, located close to the small office where we had taken refuge. She would stare at the source of the noise, as if the person on the other side of the wall was going to bust through—Kool-Aid man style—destroying her tiny oasis of peace.

  The only thing that kept me from mirroring her actions was the fact that I knew the current group of people outside.

  “Where’s Dawn?” Renee Hua, hostess and my classmate for the past twelve years, asked. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s fine,” Mark Andrews, my boyfriend of four months, replied.

  “Are you sure about that?” said Ashlee, a good friend of Renee’s whom I wasn’t very close with.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” It was impossible to miss out on Mark’s baffled tone.

  “I’m sure Ashlee is just concerned,” Renee said in a conciliatory manner. “After all, this isn’t really Dawn’s scene. I mean…I’ve invited her to parties before.”

  “And she never took you up on it,” Mark finished. “I know. How can you go through almost two years of college without going to a college party, especially out here! It’s practically a Bailey U tradition.”

  “For some people,” Ashlee scoffed.

  “Well, clearly it is for you. Trust me on this one. I know Dawn. Sometimes, she just needs to be pushed into things. But once she’s there, she’s always grateful.”

  “Oh, I can see why.”

  I winced. It was impossible to miss out on the sarcasm in her voice.

  “Ashlee,” Renee began, worry apparent in her voice.

  “Seriously, Ashlee, what the hell?” Mark said.

  “Hey, you’re adults. I’m not going to tell you how to live your lives. All I know is that partying on the lake, while certainly a necessary college experience for me, isn’t some badge of honor. I mean, Renee, could you imagine Noel attending one of these?”

  “You’re such a bitch, Ashlee,” Mark replied in what I hoped was a joking tone.

  “And damn proud of it.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll go check on my introverted girlfriend. Would that make you happy?”

  “The very model of.”

  I heard scuffling in the kitchen, then Mark walking by the closed door of the office. And for a moment, I worried that he would walk in. I mean, it wouldn’t be that bad. He might even agree to drive me home. But if he were to pick up on the fact that I was kinda spying on him, he would probably be upset. Even if it hadn’t been intentional. I mean, what else was I supposed to do when he started talking about me?

  Fortunately, he passed right by.

  Ashlee spoke up a moment later. “I don’t like that guy.”

  “Ashlee,” Renee said. “I think that anyone within earshot picked up on that.”

  Ooof. Renee hadn’t exactly said that unkindly. In fact, I don’t think I had ever seen her be anything but sweet. But it was hard not to feel the truth of those words.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry,” she replied. “I know I shouldn’t pick fights with people. Kind of ruins the party. But next time, could you maybe not invite so many douchebags that think they know everything? Please?”

  “Um…Ashlee? Do I need to remind you of where we go to school?”

  Ashlee let out a loud laugh, and I heard a rustle as the two moved from the kitchen, heading in the opposite direction of Mark.

  I closed my eyes and let out a sigh. Beneath my hand, the family cat began to purr.

  And then jumped several inches into the air as the door to the office burst open.

  Of course, it was two people making out. I guess the college party cliché had to come from somewhere. At least it was two girls, so it played against type a little.

  The cat ran into a nearby closet, causing quite a ruckus. The couple’s heads snapped in my direction, and I felt my cheeks go warm.

  “Whoops!” One of them—the shorter of the two—said, “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt you and your cat.”

  Which was enough to bring my cheeks from pink to full-on red. I mumbled something in response and pushed my way past them, out into the party at large.

  Just as someone decided to turn up the music.

  It was probably some really popular song because the crowd began to cheer, and then…somehow multiply? It was as if the twenty or so people in the living room were now fifty, the level of dancing escalating to the rhythm of the music. The bodies on either side began to bump up against me, the dancers too far lost in their fun to notice one uncomfortably squashed nineteen-year-old.

  And then it became very hard to breathe.

  Every brush of skin. The scent of sweat and beer. Hell, even the stray breath that managed to drift in my direction was suddenly and illogically oppressive. I hunched my back, curling my shoulders in an attempt to make myself smaller. Desperate, I looked for the door, only to find it behind a laughing crowd of people. The room seemed to rise in temperature, my face flushing hot. Dammit, where was Mark? He was the one who had driven me here. I needed to get out. Needed to go home.

  And then, a narrow path opened in front of me. I bolted forward.

  “Whoa!” I heard someone cry as I cut them off.

  I didn’t care. I needed to get out of there. I needed—

  I pushed open the door and stepped outside, the cool night air, the openness of Renee’s spacious front lawn, hitting me in a wave of relief. I inhaled deeply and felt all the tension in my body relax.

  I wasn’t completely alone, of course. There was a handful people chatting over by the line of cars in the driveway, and a couple of people heading around to the back of the building, probably going to the lake. It wasn’t quite warm enough to stay outside. It was only early May, after all, meaning it was plenty warm in the daytime, but this late at night the temperature always seemed to drop lower than expected.

  At that moment, I could have cared less about the cold.

  And then the shame began to sneak in.

  What was wrong with me? Everyone else had been having such a good time. Why couldn’t I just get swept up in it too? Be the kind of girlfriend Mark clearly wanted me to be. Not to mention it was hard not to look at the faces of my classmates, at the freedom there, and feel kinda jealous. For me, life seemed like one giant ball of awkwardness, broken up by comic book binge-reading sessions. What I wouldn’t give—

  The front door swung open. I spun around to see Mark standing behind me, a slightly bewildered look on his face.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

  That ounce of sympathy was all I needed.

  “Can we go?” I asked.

  That sympathy completely vanished, replaced by annoyance. He was having a good time. Why should it be ruined because I didn’t want to be here? I immediately felt guilty.

  “I mean,” I began. “If you don’t want to go, I could probably call an—”

  “No, no,” Mark said, raising a hand. “Let me get your jacket.”

  “Thank you,” I said, the words escaping my lips in one long breath.

  And with that he turned around and entered the door. And before it closed behind him, I caught sight of someone calling his name. He turned to them, a smile breaking out on his lips.

  The door shut behind him.

  I sighed. Mark and I had been together for a few months now. And while there were sometimes when things just felt so right, there were others, like now, where I couldn’t get over how different we were.

  There were the physical differences, of course. Mark’s pale-blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin were in stark contrast to my own appearance. But those variations paled in comparison to the personality ones. Mark was outgoing, preferring to spend his time around people, his weekends hiking or visiting new restaurants in the city. And while I had nothing against all that food, I was, as many people liked to
point out, “shy.” I liked to spend time around people, but only certain people like Mark, or my best friend, Sunshine. And to me, a perfect evening wasn’t some elaborate outing, but snuggling up in bed with a fresh stack of comic books and probably my cat.

  When Mark and I had started dating it had seemed like a classic case of opposites attract. But now, I really didn’t know.

  Could my feelings for Mark make up for all that separated us?

  That would have to be a thought spiral for another night, I thought as I reached for my phone to text Sunshine. For now, I’d focus on getting home, a place where I’d feel a little safer.

  I viewed the next set of memories from a distance, probably because I could already remember the next chunk of time in excruciating detail. First, there was the relief that I was going home, then uneasiness as I realized that Mark was driving drunk, frustration during our argument about said drunkenness, and relief again as he pulled over to the side of the road. I remember the sound of the car door opening, the cool breeze that hit my face as I exited the vehicle, ready to take over driving for the night. And then the screech of tires as he sped away.

  Leaving me alone on a dark, unlit country road. Miles away from anyone I knew. With my phone still in his car.

  It was enough to throw me into a straight-out panic, a panic that had slowly died down as I talked myself back to reality.

  “What would Golden Strike do?” I asked.

  Oh boy. If I would have been able to blush in this state, I would have. It was one thing for Lilah to know that I was awkward at parties, and another thing entirely for her to witness the blatant hero worship.

  And then the headlights of an incoming car hit me, and I was pulled back into the memory again.

  “Hey!” I screamed, waving my hands. “I’m here!”

  The tightness in my chest eased up as the van pulled over. It wasn’t a vehicle I recognized from the party. Just someone that was apparently okay with picking up a crazy chick on the side of the road. They came to a stop, headlights pointed in my direction, half blinding me.

  Both front doors opened as one, and a figure stepped out the passenger side, pulling out a flashlight, of all things. I squinted as he pointed it at my face. The sound of feet scuffling against dirt and gravel filled the air.

  “Thanks so much,” I said. “Um…I know this sounds crazy but—”

  “Target acquired,” a raspy voice replied.

  And the flashlight clicked off.

  A pair of arms wrapped themselves around me, and the earth jerked away as someone (the driver?) picked me up. He yanked me forward, half carrying/half dragging me around the side of the van, bringing me out of the reach of headlights, plunging me into the dark. I heard a click and looked up to the now-opened doors to see another man standing inside of the van, reaching out for me with gloved hands. I noticed that he was wearing a black cap.

  It was at that moment the shock wore off, and I started to freak out.

  “Wait! Wait!” I said as I was hauled into the van. “You don’t—”

  They ignored me, shoving me, headfirst, into some sort of box. No—I realized as a barred door slammed behind me—a cage. The man in the van leaned toward the enclosure and swiftly entered in a five-digit code, I heard a click as the lock set.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “Who—”

  “Target secure,” he said, then turned away to exit the back of the van. He slammed the door behind him, leaving me in complete darkness.

  I could hear footsteps as both men circled their way to the front and got settled. Then, without a word, the van began to move.

  “Hey!” I screamed. “Hey! You got the wrong…. I’m not—” I felt my voice catch in my throat, making the next words come out in a half-choked sob. “Where are you taking me?”

  I don’t know how long I remained in the back of that van. It felt like hours. Half of the time was spent in panic. Screaming, pounding on the floor, yelling at my captors until my voice was hoarse. And then, once I had tired myself out, things got quiet, too quiet.

  I could hear the hum of the engine, the crunch of gravel beneath the tires as the van slowed and turned, but it all seemed overpowered by the sound of my own labored breathing.

  And my terrified thoughts.

  Why had they taken me? Where was I going? How did they know Mark would leave me on the side of the road like that? Had they been following his car? Did that mean they were targeting him? What was the point? Was this about ransom? My family was far from the richest in Bailey City—or even my neighborhood—but we certainly had money.

  Or, what if it was worse than ransom—what if it was rape?

  I hugged my legs to my chest, burying my face in my knees, trying, and failing, to keep my breathing steady, my heart from running a million miles a minute.

  Sexual assault. Human trafficking. I had heard about them, of course. But only as things that happened to other people. Stories you read online. Topics studied in school. Were these men part of something like that? And what did that mean for me?

  Nausea bubbled up in my throat. And the fact that I had spent the evening huddled up in an office with a fat orange cat rather than eating anything was the only thing that kept me from hurling.

  Eventually that nausea died down, replaced by a slow, creeping dread.

  Was I going to die?

  What would Golden Strike do?

  The words slid through my mind like a cooling breeze. What would she do? Panicking…that wasn’t helping the situation. Sure, I didn’t have powers, but I still could stay calm, observe my surroundings. Figure out where I was, a possible route to escape. Focus on the now. Not what could happen in the future.

  I heard the hiss of brakes as the van came to a stop, and the engine turned off. My head snapped up.

  I flinched away as the two doors were opened and light flooded in. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to see something mechanical.

  And then two men in black hats jumped into the van.

  “W-what’s going on? What are you doing?” I asked one.

  He didn’t answer, his eyes drifting over me as if I was nothing more than cargo. They reached for the cage and hauled it forward toward what I now realized was some sort of a forklift.

  The men deftly worked a series of straps, securing the cage to the vehicle. Once they were done, they walked away from me, the man to my right pounding on the side of the forklift with a fist.

  It was enough to make me jump.

  “Package is secure,” he said.

  And then everything jerked forward as the cage was moved away from the van.

  The forklift moved at an agonizingly slow place that only increased my anxiety. But it also gave me a view of my surroundings. We were in some sort of garage or warehouse with no windows. Several other vans, like the ones that had taken me, were parked in parallel lines, their back doors opened wide, revealing empty insides.

  We stopped in front of an enormous door, tall enough to let the forklift in with ease and wide enough to accommodate several vehicles. The driver jumped out and made his way forward. He was a skinny, middle-aged Asian man in a black hat who, for a split second, reminded me of my father. The familiarity gave me a spark of hope.

  “Hey,” I said. “What’s going on? Where are you…”

  He ignored me, just like the two men in the van had done. He approached a keypad on the side of the door and entered in a lengthy set of numbers. It beeped several times, and a panel slid upward, revealing a glowing screen. The man leaned forward, pulling back his eyelid.

  A high-tech retinal scanner. Under less dire circumstances, I would have found this to be very cool.

  The doors opened with a hiss. The man turned around and jogged back to the forklift, jumping up to his seat. We moved forward again.

  And the next room was not a garage.

  Sure, it was big enough to be one. Too big, in fact. I looked up to see a high ceiling that went up for four stories. The entire left wall was covered in g
lassed-in rooms. The higher ones almost looked like offices.

  But the rooms on the bottom row…

  I caught sight of men and women dressed from head to toe in white scrubs, masks concealing their faces, caps covering their hair, surrounding a white hospital bed. One of them moved to the side and I caught sight of a dark-haired girl, not much older than me. She was strapped down to the bed, and the moment her eyes met mine, she cried out, her voice half a sob.

  “Help me!”

  The forklift pushed on, going past several more rooms, several more beds surrounded by people wearing white. Then it stopped in front of an empty room, and the forklift lowered my cage.

  The two men in black jumped up from behind and approached the front of the cage, entering in the code to unlock it. One pulled the door open, and the other crouched down, reaching toward me.

  Only this time, I wasn’t so paralyzed with fear.

  I scrambled backward, making him enter the cage. Once he did, I kicked him in the face, wishing for a moment I had worn something more punishing than my Chucks—like combat boots. He let out a grunt, and I tried to kick him again. But this time, he caught my foot, using it to yank me out of the cage. It didn’t take much effort. I was such a scrawny thing. Not even a hundred pounds.

  The second man tried to grab me by my arms. I lashed back; hands bent into claws. I dug my nails into the bare flesh of his arms and drew downward, leaving behind a satisfying series of red lines. The man swore, the first real reaction I had gotten out of anyone, and shifted his weight, grabbing me from behind. They picked me up and carried me to the room and I fought them every inch of the way.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, somewhere that wasn’t dominated by fear, I knew this was useless. That no matter how hard I struggled, it was all too easy for them to overpower me.