by Shiloh White
The image of his car flashed in my head.
I started to zone out, but I shook my head back and forth, pushing the thought out and away. Back to painting. I decided on a green brush.
That was the cool thing about art. It was all up to the artist. I pulled it out of the bag and sat back up. I wrapped my left hand in her blanket and pulled her arm close without actually touching it. Then I looked down and started on the suns with my painting hand.
“This way,” I said in a whisper to my sleeping sister, “the suns can double as little plants.”
After I finished two green suns, I decided to do one for myself too. I painted it on my left wrist. I wasn't sure if I imagined it or not, but I felt a warm glow after it was done. I hoped Chloe could feel the same thing. I pulled her arm close again with the blanket and started on another green sun when something tickled my nose. I leaned back to sneeze, and saw the tickle was coming from the paint; it was evaporating off of Chloe's arm and turning gray.
✽✽✽
The gray mass continued to rise from Chloe's arm until it had morphed into an indoor version of the giant fog cloud from yesterday.
“You again?” I shouted at the giant fog cloud circling the room. I pointed to Chloe, saying, “Do you see what you did to her?!” The fog didn't respond. As a matter of fact, it didn't do anything but sit there and move around the room. It seemed to centralize its movement around Chloe. I didn't like it at all. Whether it was going to attack or not, I took my chance.
“AGH!” I shouted and leapt off the chair at the fog, wielding my green paintbrush. (Under different circumstances, I would have laughed at how crazy it sounded too.)
Instead of flying through the fog, it caught me in midair and started swinging me around the room. I screamed and tried to keep my eyes open, but the force of the fog was a lot stronger than I thought it could manage in a small hospital room. My head hit one of the dim lights that hung from the ceiling, and I saw stars in my eyes. I shook off the dizziness and managed to drive the paintbrush into the fog. It made its horrible shrieking noise and started flailing everywhere. Then everything slowed down and sped up all at the same time. All I was conscious of as I flew around the room were the next two words out my mouth. First it was “Yes!” when I stabbed it, followed by something like “AUGH-OOF!” The fog must have let go of me at some point in its flailing.
I flew through the door of the hospital bedroom and landed out in the hallway, against the opposite wall, hard. I wanted to yell for help, but I couldn't even breathe. The force knocked the air out of me. My vision was all blurry too. I tried to stand, but I had to lean on the wall to keep from falling. As my vision cleared, I saw the fog had replaced the door with a spider web of its own mas, spreading this way and that. It was like watching a black dry ice machine, except it only stayed in the doorway.
“Chloe!” I shouted. “I'm gonna get you out of there!” I pushed off the wall and charged the door, when I heard a voice down the hallway.
“Stop!” he shouted. There was just enough time for me to turn and see that it was the cop from the park; the same one from in front of Chloe's school. But I couldn't stop running now. I shot straight into the mass of fog at full force, pushing further and further with each step. But I didn't break through. It catapulted me back like a giant rubber band. I flew straight back into the hallway, head-first.
“Ow,” I managed. I was surprised I didn't hit my head on the wall. Then I looked down and realized why. I landed on the cop.
“Whoops...sorry.” I said and rolled off of him.
“Thanks,” he coughed. He stood up and brushed himself off, and reached out a hand to help me up. I took it and he pulled me up with one hand. On his uniform, he wore a badge with the initials D.P.O. Those weren’t our local police force’s initials.
I looked past him at the fog in the doorway. It webbed back together, ignoring whatever damage I had managed to cause. “Now then,” he said, running down the hall with my arm in tow, “We need to leave.”
“Wait, why?” I asked. “My sister is—”
“In trouble,” he finished. “And you won’t be able to help her like this.” I stared at him, bewildered. I stammered for a while before I managed a sentence.
“Why do you know about Chloe? I don't even know who you are—”
“That's not entirely true,” the cop cut me off. “You know my name.” I squinted at him, searching for any signs of familiarity, before I finally just looked at him like he was crazy.
“No, I don't.” I finally answered, trying to pull my arm free. “You gave me my art bag. Other than that, I’ve never seen you before in my life.”
“Really?” he asked, looking away for a second. Just as quickly, he looked back down the hallway again. “In that case, the name is Scott. Now hurry up. We need to get out of here. Any second now, we're gonna be in a lot of trouble.”
“Wait,” I planted my feet and yanked my arm free. The cop skidded to a stop a few steps ahead of me. “What trouble? My sister's already trapped. We need to go back and save her!” I yelled.
“The plan is to save her.” Scott answered. “But we can't take that Depression Agent on ourselves. The best way to save her right now is to get out of here.”
“Depression Agent?” I asked. “What the heck is—?”
SHREEIIIIKAAAAH!
I turned around. The fog spewed out of Chloe's hospital room in full funnel-cloud mode, making that ear-splitting noise. It turned in our direction and charged us. “Run!” Scott shouted. I hesitated. I wanted to go back to Chloe. If I could just get past the cloud, maybe duck into a corner...
Not a chance. The funnel was already bigger and spinning faster than the size it was at the park, only this time it was on its side. It was a good thing all of the walls were bare, because the fog would have torn everything off of them as it barreled toward us. Scott grabbed my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I kept running.
We were almost at the door, but it was gaining speed. The force started to pull me back. Scott let go of my arm and turned around.
“Keep going!” he yelled. I could barely hear him over the roaring wind from the funnel cloud. He removed his baton from his belt. I wasn't sure what he was going to do with it, but I decided to just focus on running. At one point, I turned around and watched as the fog charged Scott.
His baton flashed and changed into a different shape I couldn't make out. The fog shrieked and froze in place. The wind stopped pulling me. Then, just as quickly as it stopped, the pressure picked up again. I grabbed onto the railing on the wall as I ran to keep from being sucked in until I reached the door. I yanked it open and I couldn't believe what I saw.
Outside was a mass of gray. The clouds must have come super low—lower than I’d ever seen, at least. I couldn't see the front of the hospital steps in front of me, or anything past that.
SHREEIIIIKAAAAH!
The fog cried out in what I hoped was pain. I turned around and saw Scott booking it away from the giant cloud.
“You need to jump!” He shouted at me.
“Jump?!” I asked. It didn't make any sense. But the cloud was gaining on us now. I closed my eyes and ran out into the grayness and I fell right through where the hospital steps were supposed to be. Then I stopped, suspended in mid-air. The cloud had grabbed me by the arm. “Hold on!” Scott yelled, and swung his baton through the cloud. It shrieked again and let go of me, and I fell. It’d only grabbed me for a short while, but I could already feel my energy leaving my body.
“I'll see you shortly!” Scott's voice echoed as my eyes shut.
6. I’m Threatened With Lemon Juice
I woke up with an itchy feeling on my arms and legs.
I sat up and looked around. I was in a field of grass. A little ways away from where I sat, were two people sitting on a lone swing set. One looked to be a girl. Her height made me think she was a little younger than me; most likely fifteen. The other was a boy about a head taller than her. He must have bee
n two or three years older than the girl. I got the urge to see what was going on. I wanted to stay put, but it felt automatic. Something inside pushed me to stand up.
I started to walk in their direction, when I felt a sharp prick on my feet. I looked down. I was barefoot in the grass.
Where in the world did my shoes go? I didn't see them anywhere in the grass.
I tried to ignore how strange it felt, and kept walking.
When I looked back at the swing set, the boy was standing. Now that I was closer, I could see them better. The boy had short black hair. His body was awkwardly lanky, like he was a basketball player. But the only awkward part about him was his smile. It didn't match the expression on his face. It was like he wanted to be happy but his emotions were against him. When I looked at him, I got a sad feeling about something that wasn't coming back. I couldn't figure out why or what it is.
The girl's hair was short and black like the boy. I assumed they were siblings. She had a smaller and more petite body, however. And her eyes had this scared fire to them, like an animal backed into a corner. She was afraid.
The boy took a step back from the swing and told the girl something that sounded warbled to me, like he was talking underwater. The girl shook her head at him. She looked as if she were about to cry or hit him. The boy took another step back and waved with his forced smile before turning around.
I tried to get closer to them. I wanted to stop the boy from running away, but the girl beat me to it. She jumped off of her swing and took off after him.
“Lucas!” she called out in desperation.
The boy's body shimmered and disappeared. The girl kept running until I blinked, and she was gone too. I took one step forward and the world seemed to tilt around me. I felt disoriented and my stomach wanted to heave. I fell back in the grass and closed my eyes.
✽✽✽
When I opened my eyes, I was still somewhat disoriented. I closed them again to keep from throwing up. The grass underneath me was gone. It had been replaced by a cold chair. I could smell a bunch of dizzying aromas that normally would have made my mouth water and my stomach ache, but right now they just made me more nauseous. I recognized them as cooking spices and sauces. One particular bittersweet smell stood out, overpowering all of the others. But I couldn't remember what it was. But that wasn't as important as trying to remember what was happening.
Before the grass, I was falling…through that grayness and away from the fog. And there was that cop, Scott! Where was he? I opened my eyes again, forcing down the head-pounding dizziness so I could look around the room.
There were people running around the room in white outfits doing ten things at once; chopping food and putting into pots; stirring things in pans and sniffing other things on plates. They were also regularly walking in and out of this big door at the front of the room. I was in a kitchen. The people in white must have been chefs, so it was probably a restaurant kitchen. I watched one particular chef take a large ladle and scoop a bunch of red sauce onto a plate. The smell came over and smacked me in the nose.
It was tomato sauce. That was the smell I recognized, and for good reason. I vividly recalled the smell of it wafting through the house at least once a week, my mom’s hum filling the kitchen. Not much appealed to her more than making pasta. My stomach flopped when I thought of her. Normally, it would have made me nauseous, but I was already there, so luckily it didn’t act up much past that. But it did motivate me to get moving. I wanted to get out of here and away from the smell.
I tried to stand up, and realized my hands were tied behind my back with rope. I was stuck to a chair. I also realized I didn't have my art bag around my shoulder. I started to breathe faster. Out of instinct, I looked down at my feet.
“Shoes,” I muttered to myself. “At least I've got shoes.”
One of the chefs pointed to me, and said something I figured was in Italian to all of the other chefs. Then they all got up and started to walk over to me, muttering in the same language.
“Get back!” I shouted, kicking at them with my feet. They still came closer. I tried to scoot back and get away from all of them, but the chair was a lot heavier than I thought.
Suddenly the two big doors burst open particular man entered the kitchen through the doors with a black platter in one hand. He was a little taller than all the rest of the chefs and he wore a black vest over his white ensemble. Each of the people in white turned around and ran back to their stations as he came in. When they ran away, I closed my eyes and pretended I was asleep.
I wasn't sure who he was, but if everyone else moved this quick around him, I didn't want to meet him. The man brought the platter to each station, and I heard one of the chefs speaking in their language. There was the large clack of someone setting something down on a counter. Then a pair of footsteps grew closer and closer to me. I couldn't hold it any longer.
I poked one eye open. The large man stood right in front of me, and he did not look happy.
“You and those rats gone too far this time!” He shouted in a thick Italian accent. Before I could even open my mouth to ask what he meant by too far, he continued yelling,
“What was the plan this time, eh? Thought you rats would take some food?”
“What rats? What are you talking about?” I managed to ask.
“Do not play dumb. That will not work out for you or the rest of your gang.”
“I'm not even in a gang!”
I could tell his threat was serious, but I couldn't tell what he was trying to accuse me of. The man turned and faced the rest of the workers in the kitchen.
“Let it be known the rat was warned, so the boss doesn't question the methods!” All of the chefs took a knife and stabbed them into their cutting boards so they stood straight up. Then they all shouted, “Let it be known!”
The large man looked back at me and said, “You're going to wish you talked when you had your chance.” Then he walked over to the counter and grabbed a lemon and a knife.
As he walked back, I searched the room for my art bag. It was mostly out of habit, since I didn't think it would make much of a difference with this guy. He stood in front of me again, and sliced the lemon in half with a grin. He tossed the other half of the lemon to the chef who made the tomato sauce, and he caught it.
The large man snapped at me, and I met his eyes. “I don't want you to miss out on what's happening. Pay attention.” He took one hand and raised the skin above my eyes, forcing them open. He shoved my head back so I was looking up. With the other hand, he raised the half-lemon above my left eye. I tried to fight back, but this guy was more than twice my size. I stood zero chance.
“This is for what you and all those rats out there stand for!” the large man yelled. The chefs cheered with him. I tried to close my eyes, but he kept them open. He was going to squirt the lemon juice in my eyes. These guys were insane. Who were the rats he was talking about? And what did they do to deserve this? I screamed and flailed to get him to stop, but nothing made a difference.
I was about to come to odds with losing my vision when a loud THUMP rattled the back door behind me. All of the chefs going wild a moment ago were silent now. A second passed, and another. The big guy was frozen where he stood; his eyes on the door while his hands kept my eyes forced open. Even the lemon juice seemed to suspend itself just inches above my eye, just waiting for the signal to dive in.
Another THUMP filled the room, quickly followed by the door flying open.
A bunch of cops came pouring in through the back door. The big guy let go of me and dropped his lemon. He backed up as two cops faced him, looking ready to grab either of his arms and hold him down. The rest of the chefs all retreated behind their stations, reaching for knives and rolling pins; whatever they could find to defend themselves. One chef in particular picked up a soup ladle, scowling as a cop came at him with a police baton. He twirled the ladle in his hand with enough expertise to cause the cop to take a step back. I didn't blame him; anyone equipp
ed enough with a cooking utensil probably shouldn't be messed with. Then the cop lunged at him and they launched into a fight, just like everyone else in the kitchen.
Amongst all the chaos, I searched the room for my art bag. Then I saw it, at the far end of the room. It lay open, resting on a chair by what I figured were the double doors that led to the dining section of the restaurant.
It took pretty much all the energy I could muster to stand up while also having the heavy chair tied to me. As I rose to my feet, the edges of my vision started to go black. Still, I pushed forward towards my art bag. I was about halfway across the room, inching my way around fights here and there, when I felt something squishy under my foot. By the time I realized what it was, it was too late.
I slipped on the lemon the big guy dropped and fell on the ground. The chair came down behind me and slammed into the back of my head. The last thing I heard before losing consciousness was a voice yelling, “She's over here!”
7. I Wake Up Behind Bars
I opened my eyes to a small dark room with three walls, and one opening where the fourth wall would be. Along the opening, I could just barely make out the outline of long rods blocking any chance of passing through. I looked down and saw I was lying down on a small bed that stuck out from the wall.
I was in a police holding cell. Great.
I made a note never to close my eyes again. I was getting sick and tired of losing consciousness and waking up somewhere new—and on top of that, I was beginning to feel sick, period. I tried to sit up and the room started to spin. I could feel my body starting to freak out in the darkness. My hands started to shake. Then my right foot reminded me of the pain in my ankle. The pain in my head continued to pulse like something was going to break through my skull at any moment. I lied back down and rubbed my head to try to ease the dizziness.