“Then you can go. This date is over. Do what you want.” And she stalked toward the kitchen.
“Ouch,” Lukas said.
“Yeah…” But that hadn’t hurt as bad as my confrontation with Jake likely would.
“Garmond! Lose your date?” Kip and Meagan were making their way through the crowd toward me and Lukas.
“You guys seen Nick?” I asked.
“Upstairs,” Kip said. “That’s where they’ve got the good smoke.”
Lukas took off.
“Thanks,” I said to Kip. “Later.”
I barely managed to climb the stairs, stepping over people the entire way. The second floor wasn’t as crowded as downstairs, but there were still plenty of bodies. It was a little quieter, too. Lukas peeked in and out of doors, looking for Nick’s room.
“It’s the last one on the left,” I said, remembering the cool Legos Nick used to have.
Lukas strode down the hall and went inside. I followed. Nick’s room was a master suite. He had his own balcony, bathroom, TV, DVD player, and stereo. No sign of his Legos.
But Isabel was sitting at Nick’s desk, playing solitaire on a massive flat screen monitor. A really, really sweet monitor.
“Lukas!” Isabel jumped up, scowling. “What are you doing here?” Her gaze landed on me. “Hola, Es-pensor. Is something wrong?”
“Are you crazy, Izzy?” Lukas yelled. “Do you know what’s going on downstairs?”
“A party?” she said.
Lukas crossed the room and grabbed Isabel’s arm, pulling her out of the chair. “We’re leaving. ¡Ahora!”
“Let go!” She jerked away from him and shoved him back. “I can take care of myself.”
“¡Mentirosa! And I guess you can take care of yourself in jail, too, huh?” Lukas said. “People are smoking pot and getting drunk. What would Mami say?”
“You’re going to tell on me? I’m not doing anything wrong.”
I marched into the room and put myself between Isabel and Lukas. “Isabel, I know you don’t want to think bad about Nick, but this party… This is a bad scene, right? I mean, this is your pastor’s house, and if the cops show, they’ll arrest everyone. Trust me.”
Isabel’s expression softened. “Neek only invited ten people, Es-pensor, but they brought friends, who brought more friends. Neek didn’t mean for things to get out of control.”
Sure he didn’t. “I’ve known Nick a long time,” I said. “This isn’t his first time playing bash host.” Though he’d usually kept them smaller and quieter.
“He was doing so good until his new friends…” Her voice cracked and tears glistened in her eyes.
“Izzy, I’ll carry you out if I have to,” Lukas said.
She glared at him. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. ¡Arruinaste todo!”
“¡Ahora! We should hurry,” Lukas said. “I left Grace out front, and she’s not happy to be here.”
Isabel gasped and pushed Lukas again. “You tonto. You made Grace come here?”
“You didn’t leave me a choice.”
“The poor thing.” Isabel ran out the door.
Lukas and I looked at each other, then followed.
Nick appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Baby, where are you going?”
“I’m sorry, Neek. I’ve got to go.” Isabel pushed up onto her toes and kissed him on the lips. “Call me later?”
Lukas pulled his sister away from Nick and headed for the front door. I followed, hoping I might catch a ride.
“Hey, Garmond,” Nick called after me. “Katie’s in the kitchen. Says she really wants to talk to you.”
I sighed and turned back. Guess I’d be walking home. Followed Nick down the hall, past the bathroom. Maybe I could talk Katie into leaving. If I made sure she got home, Jake couldn’t be too upset, right? Plus I might not have to walk.
We passed a guy with a twelve pack, who handed me a can of beer. I walked into the kitchen and set the can on the counter. No way was I drinking when the cops would get here any moment. There were four people sitting at the kitchen bar. None of them were Katie.
Nick pointed to the sliding glass doors beyond the kitchen table. “I think she went out on the patio.”
Nick being civil? At least something was going my way tonight. “Thanks, man.” A chill ran over me as I crossed the kitchen. Must be getting cold out. But as I pulled the door aside, a warm breeze embraced me. I stepped out onto the patio. “Katie?”
A shadow shifted on the porch. Before I could turn to see who was behind me, cold metal pressed against the back of my neck.
REPORT NUMBER: 8
REPORT TITLE: I Get Tranked
SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond
LOCATION: Nick Muren’s Backyard, 1052 N. Elm Street, Pilot Point, California, USA
DATE AND TIME: Friday, November 21, 11:04 p.m.
I shivered, lightheaded and cold, yet hot with fear. I didn’t dare move until I could remember what Beth and Coach Schwarz had taught me about guns.
Squat. We hadn’t gotten that far yet.
But Mr. S had said if someone pointed a gun at you and merely threatened to shoot, they wanted something. I needed to stay calm and figure out what.
I lifted my hands. “My wallet is in my pocket.”
“I don’t want your wallet, kid,” a familiar, smooth voice said.
Another shadow shifted. Someone grabbed my left arm and stabbed a needle into my shoulder. I cried out. Whaaaat?
I dropped into a crouch and pulled away, stumbling over the deck. I sank into a fighting stance, my shoulder burning from the needle’s sting.
There were two of them. The same two who’d come after me before. The blade of grass had gone Goth. His hair, clothes, and lips were black. A thin, silver chain ran from his left ear to his nose ring. Tattoo Hulk was holding the gun, down at his side now. The fact that they were just standing there told me one thing. They were waiting for me to go down from whatever was in that injection.
I turned and ran.
“Get the car, Tito!” the blade yelled. “I’ll follow him.”
I leapt off the porch and sprinted over the lawn, across the street, and around the side of Cornerstone Church. I ran into the corridor between the youth building and the sanctuary and slowed to a stop. For a moment everything seemed quiet. Then the steady sound of crickets grew over the faint bass beat of the party at Nick’s. I fumbled for my cell phone, but it was gone.
My Precious? Where was it? I’d taken that picture of Kip at the dance…
Mother puss bucket! I couldn’t believe I’d lost my iPhone. I touched my necklace, hoping, at least, that Kimbal was tracking me. I should hide somewhere until he found me. Maybe go up on the roof where Nick and I used to hock loogies on cars parked in the handicap spots.
But what about the injection? I might need a doctor. What if I died here, waiting for Kimbal to show?
Footsteps in the parking lot sent me running again. I left the church property and came out on Willow. My house was six blocks from here. I poured on the speed.
Few cars were on the street at this hour, and most the traffic lights shone in my favor. I cut down a side street, taking a short cut past several apartment complexes. Headlights gleamed behind me, illuminating the street and casting my shadow long and large on the street ahead like the Slender Man. The car didn’t pass, though, and I turned and jogged backwards for a moment.
Wait a minute… I’d dreamed this!
A vehicle was parked along the curb at the end of the block, its lights on. The streetlamp a few yards behind it cast a faint glow on the vehicle’s roof. It was black. That was all I could make out with the blinding headlights, but I’d bet my missing iPhone it was a Ranger Rover. I turned and sprinted for the corner. My eyes watered in the cool night air.
I stopped at the light on Seventh and Willow, but there were no cars coming, so I ran across. Halfway down the next block, sudden fatigue overwhelmed me and I slowed to a pathetic j
og. My arms and legs felt like sandbags, but my head buzzed like I’d just smoked a bowl. A streetlamp shot into the sky like a rocket, and I stopped to watch, confused.
I was still standing there, staring at the rocket when a car stopped on the road beside me. Some guy got out. An alien, I think. Massive. His face was covered in tribal markings. The rocket must have dropped him off.
“Welcome to our planet,” I heard myself say.
I blinked once. Twice. The alien’s lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear. My eyes fluttered. Blackness tugged at the corners of my vision. Someone grabbed me. Dizziness overpowered me, and I fell.
• • •
I woke on the floor of a dark room, lying on my left side, my face in a puddle of my own drool. My wallet was an uncomfortable lump under my left hip, and my left arm was asleep and tingling. Techno music blared nearby. A shaft of pulsing blue light caught my attention. The light was coming from a crack under a door. It throbbed with the techno beat.
How had I’d gotten here?
I closed my eyes and tried to focus. I’d been dancing. With a blond girl with nice legs. Where had I learned to dance like Derek Hough?
Wait. That hadn’t been me.
Oh, God, help. Please.
The words felt strange in my mind. It had been far too long since I’d prayed. I tried to move, but my hands were tied behind my back. My ankles were bound too. I flashed back to the initiation abduction last year.
“Not that there’s a reason for anyone to abduct you simply for being a part of the Mission League,” Mr. S had said.
Yeah, right.
Those guys at Nick’s party had drugged me. Isabel had said something about Nick’s new friends. Could she have been talking about Hulk and the blade?
I rolled to my back, then pushed onto my shoulders, working to pull my hands under my backside. The cross on my necklace slid off the side of my neck. Good. They hadn’t taken it. I hoped Kimbal would get the signal and get here soon.
I tugged and strained until my hands slipped past my rear. See, Trella? Ape arms are good for basketball and contortion positions when one needs to escape from maniacal kidnappers.
I pulled my knees to my chest and threaded my feet through one at a time. And that was easier said than done. My left arm tingled like mad, and my elbows ached from the strain I’d put on my arms. I pushed up to a sitting position and felt my bonds. Rope, lots of it, tied tightly around my wrists and ankles. I felt for a knot but couldn’t locate it. Forget that.
I pulled out my wallet, thankful I hadn’t given it to Tattoo Hulk. After a lot of finagling, I managed to withdraw the razor blade from the little wallet pocket and the cardboard sleeve. I used the razor to saw the rope around my ankles. Cake. But my wrists… I tried to twist my hands so I could get a good position—man, they’d tied the rope tight. Plus I kept dropping the blade, which wasn’t easy to pick up off the concrete tile floor.
I cut at that rope for three days … at least that’s what it felt like. I kept nicking myself, or my hand would spasm from a cramp that made me drop the razor again. I sawed at the rope on the back of my left wrist, then got tired and tried the spot in front, between my wrists. When I finally broke through I cackled—silently, of course—like a madman.
Jason Bourne would have sliced through on his first try. That just went to show you how very wrong Hollywood was about these things.
I stood and my head spun. My eyes lost focus and my stomach lurched. I lunged toward the crack of light and, hopefully, the door. I felt smooth wood under my hands and held myself up until the dizziness passed.
My body felt like it was made of rubber. Whatever they’d tranked me with was heavy stuff. I felt along the door until I found the handle, paused, and continued feeling until I found a light switch. I flipped it.
The brightness blinded me at first, so I looked at the floor and blinked until I could see. I was in a supply closet, edged on three sides with floor to ceiling wire racks stocked with boxes of soda cups, napkins, trash bags, cleaners. I needed a weapon, but all I could find to hit someone with was a push broom or a mop. I picked up the broom, squeezed the handle, gave it a few practice swings, then dropped it and grabbed a can of Lysol.
Oh yeah… I’d go out Lukas Rodriguez style.
I got ready with the Lysol in my right hand and turned the door handle. Locked.
For a brief moment, I knew I was dead. Why did it have to be a lock? But then I took a closer look. The lock was on the outside of the door, and this was one of those privacy locksets, with the little hole. Relief showed itself in the form of excitement as I dug out a paperclip from my pocket and bent it into a straight line. I inserted it into the hole, and after a little finagling, it clicked.
I readied my Lysol again and cracked open the door. The music pulsed. The room blurred in a dark rainbow of colors and flashing lights. The shapes of dancing bodies rocked beyond a bar. The door had opened behind the counter. I could see people sitting at the bar down on my left. I’d either have to sneak along the back or go over the top.
I slipped out and shut the door behind me, pressing up against it. A curvy waitress sauntered by dressed in a sports bra and a pair of boy shorts. She carried a tray filled with drinks. She glanced at me and I her. Well, hello there, my lovely. I smiled.
“Blaine,” she said without stopping, her high heels clicking on the floor. “Your boy’s awake.”
Traitor. I leaned out from the wall and looked both ways. A cluster of bustling bartenders were mixing drinks to my left. And to my right, the hot waitress had just slipped around the massive body of Tito, the tattooed hulk. The blade of grass, who I guessed must be Blaine, stood right in front of him.
Blaine walked toward me slowly, like he was trying to corner a cat. So I made like a cat, climbed on the shelf under the bar, and hoisted myself up onto the counter.
Blaine grabbed my leg. I turned and sprayed Lysol into his eyes. He screamed but held on, so I bashed the can against his head until he let go. I leapt off the counter and ran onto the dance floor, my shiny dress shoes sliding all over the place. Bodies quaked around me. I crouched down and wove around them, scanning where the ceiling met the walls for an exit sign.
Someone slapped my back. I spun around, but it was just some chick’s scarf. I caught sight of the glowing green exit sign then, back the way I’d come. I made for it, going as fast as I could. A guy knocked into me. I tripped over my own feet and fell on my knees. I scrambled to stand, slipping on the floor.
Tito got to me first. He grabbed my necktie and dragged me over to the wall, feet from the exit. So close to freedom, but I was trapped, my necktie a leash in Tito’s fist.
I dug my fingers under my tie to ease the chafing and loosen it so it could go over my head, but Tito let go and snagged my right arm, his grip the Jaws of Life.
I punched his metal abs with my free hand. Still useless. I pulled back to try again, but one of the bouncers grabbed my arm before I could swing. I kicked out but made no contact. Tito forced me to the floor on my back. The curvy waitress pushed through the men and leaned over me, which would have been nice if she hadn’t been holding a syringe.
Fire shot through my every pore; my heart hammered. The waitress got down on her knees and held the syringe near my arm. I thrashed and pulled and kicked.
“Hold him still,” the waitress said. “What if I break the needle?”
“Just stab it in.” The tattoo of a spider on Tito’s cheek seemed alive when he spoke. “Wait.” He sat on me, crushing my gut. He pinned my arm to the floor at my elbow and put his other hand on my throat.
The skin to skin contact brought an instant drop in temperature. I looked into his eyes. They’d been brown before, I was sure of it, but now they were pools of blackness. Nausea reeled in my gut. My limbs started to quiver. No. Not this.
This was what had happened with Dmitri in Moscow.
This was what happened when the baddies were near.
The waitress came at me again.
“No, please. Don’t,” I said.
Her eyes flicked to mine. No creepy blackness there. Just concern. Good girl.
“I’m just a kid,” I said, milking it. “And they took my girlfriend somewhere. What’d they do with her?”
“What?” The waitress sat back on her heels, her sculpted eyebrows furrowed in concern for my missing sweetheart. “Where is his girl?”
“Don’t listen to him, Trish,” someone said. “He’s lying.”
But Trish didn’t look so sure.
A loud thump turned her head. Her eyes widened, and she got up and ran. Someone grunted, and my right arm was suddenly free. I punched Tito’s ear. But he tightened his grip on my throat.
Someone yelled. “Get off!”
Tito turned to look behind him, releasing my neck. I peered over his arm and caught sight of familiar orange hair.
Kimbal?
Another man stepped into view over Tito’s shoulders and looked down on me. Tall. Hairy. Sasquatch. “Let him up.” The man had a twangy European accent, sort of like Prière’s.
Tito released me, heaved to his feet, then pulled a knife on Sasquatch.
What a moron.
I sat up and pushed back against the wall. Over by the door, Kimbal was cuffing Blaine. Tito and Sasquatch faced each other. The techno music was still thumping, but the crowd had formed a half circle around them. Tito had fifty pounds on Sasquatch, but I’d bet money Sasquatch was wearing a bullet-proof vest.
Might not matter against a knife, though.
Tito jabbed his blade in from the side. Sasquatch held up his forearm, blocking the attack, then snagged Tito’s wrist with his other hand and pulled down.
Tito crumpled, screaming every curse word in the Spanish language. Sasquatch rolled him onto his stomach and cuffed him.
Man. When Beth said subdue without harm, I hadn’t believed it was possible.
Sasquatch held out his hand. “You okay?”
“I think so.” I grabbed his arm, and he pulled me up.
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