Our Grand Escape

[Griffin]

Our Grand Escape: Chapter One

It was our last summer in this god-forsaken place. Senior year was only a few days behind us, yet James and I were more than ready to get out. We planned on heading out to college together, leaving this tiny Ohio suburb and heading out to Colorado, refusing to look back. We decided, instead of following the rest of our single-minded community and going to a state college, we’d break the norm and do something very few in our town have done in the past decade: leave.

Brilliant people in our town are few and far between. Too often people just stop thinking, turn on the autopilot, and follow the words of whoever is charismatic enough to roughly be described as a leader. But James and I always considered ourselves to be brilliant people. Maybe it was our narcissism. Maybe it was the fact that we were different than everyone else. Maybe it’s because we actually give a damn. But whatever the reason, we figured that this little town was too good for us (or we were too good for it), and we took a chance to make a new life across the country in Colorado.

It was the middle of the afternoon. James and I were sitting in the shade of an ice cream parlor, waiting for James’s girlfriend of the month to show up. Actually, that’s a lie. James and Frita (yeah...Frita), have been “together” for about a month and a half. That was unusual for the man. We were sipping on chocolate milkshakes when James noticed a group of kids from our school walking by.

“Brian?”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Look,” he said, nodding his head toward the kids.

“Disgusting.”

“I know.”

We’ve seen those kids before, and plenty more who look just like them. Long, black-dyed bangs covering their eyes, long pants with ornate belt buckles even though their ass cheeks still poke out, piercings and tattoos all over their bodies, obnoxiously loud screamer music blaring from a radio, shirts with band names, skulls, and religious quotes, and completely convinced that they are the shit. “Nonconformist” they called it. James and I had an undying vendetta against these kids, the non-cons.

“They’re not nonconformist. They just think they are,” I said. “They can’t think for themselves, so they copied that punk/goth/emo/whatever-the-hell-it-is fashion.”

“As a result,” James cut in, “they are, by definition, conformist.”

“Damn right, my friend,” I said as we shared a knuckle touch. We took long sips from our shakes before I started ranting again. “Whoever started the whole punkish nonconformity thing must feel so sad. Seeing all these douchebags putting that movement to shame.”

“We’re the real nonconformists,” James said. “These days, you have the think differently to break the conformity, not dress like an idiot.”

“It’s got to be ninety degrees out! How are they not spontaneously combusting right now?” I said through a mouthful of shake.

James finished his sip and added, “With any luck, they will.”

We sipped away on our shakes when a noticed something new dangling around James’s neck. “What’s that?” I said, nudging my shake at it.

“It was my dad’s.”

“Oh...”

James’s dad disappeared about two years ago. No one knows what happened to him. His body was never found. No one ever filed a report on his death. The accepted verdict was suicide, a speculation backed up by the only clue he left behind: a short letter saying goodbye to his wife and son and saying he would be fine wherever he wound up. That last part was a mystery, but the first part was enough to declare his vanishing act a suicide. But his family never accepted it.

“It’s a locket,” he said. He reached back to his neck and pulled the chain over his head, and handed to me. It was small, about the size of a half dollar, with a shiny gold finish. I pressed a tiny button on the side and it opened, revealing a small picture of a nine year old James and his father, kneeling down, giving him a hug. “I found it when I was looking for stuff under his bed.”

“Jamesy, not to make a mockery or anything, but this isn’t like you. The whole sentimental thing. This kind of thing ruins the super, suave, and sexy persona you always brag about.”

He snatched the locket back. “Whatever. I...I just want some good memory of him, you know?”

As milkshake flowed from cup to straw to mouth, my thoughts wandered a bit. I thought about Colorado. I thought about the kids we just saw. My mind then crossed the two thoughts. It struck me that, with all these non-cons floating around her, who’s to say they aren’t infesting Colorado? Or elsewhere for that matter? What if, because of our low population, we’re less exposed than bigger cities? I grabbed James’s arm and looked at him fiercely.

“What? You got brain freeze?” he joked.

I told him of my thoughts. He got the same ill foreboding feeling I got. We began talking about other places to go. A haven of sorts. He said we should stick to the plan and go to Colorado, arguing that there could easily be safe places. I suggested New York City. It has plenty of non-cons, but enough people like us to make a refuge in. We’re also old enough to actually make a decent living. Plus, there were plenty of ways to further our brilliance.

“But Brian, we never applied to college in New York.”

“Who said we need to go to college in the first place?”

“Our parents?” he questioned.

“The whole reason we planned on going to Colorado was to escape his place, including our parents,” I replied.

“OK, but what about money?”

“We can get jobs,” I answered bluntly.

“What about Steph?”

That forced me to pause. Stephanie was my girlfriend. We’ve been together for nearly a year and I’ve been convinced I love her since month two. She had her head set on going to Colorado and becoming a journalist. I didn’t want to leave her behind. We could always...

...journalist.

Duh.

“She can come with us. She actually has some real money and there are loads of journalist careers in New York.”

James couldn’t help but accept the logic of my answer. The more we talked and the more times I answered his “what abouts” logically, the more appealing the whole idea came. We talked for hours and ordered dinner there at the parlor. Frita never showed up. But we crafted an amazing plan. A plan to escape to a world where people shared our views and thoughts. A plan to leave behind all those who said “fuck you” whenever we said something different from the rest. A plan to forget all those who live their lives every day without a single original thought.

It would be our grand escape.

[Wulfi]

This has gotten me really interested. I'd really like to read more! You're such a great storyteller. =)

[Griffin]

Our Grand Escape: Chapter Two

James and I started making plans the next day. We discreetly researched different areas of New York City to settle in, how we would make a living, and began over-thinking every detail. Weeks passed and Stephanie starting joining in our planning. James accidentally broke up with Frita. He’d been very zealous and involved in the preparation of the escape and he just stopped seeing her. A minor setback, but he’d have another girl in his clutches by the following week, or so he said. I advised against it, saying that we’d be leaving within months.

“More than enough time for me,” he argued back.

In fact, the very day after we decided to make our home in Brooklyn, he found another girl. He must have been on some sort of exotic name hunt when he found Sheena. Jamesy and I decided to take a day off from our planning, give ourselves a break, and head back to the ice cream parlor. Steph had to work, so I got to play the valued “third-wheel” role.

We sat in the same spot where the idea for our grand escape became real. This time around, however, we were privileged to observe another variety of non-con. These were the “skater punks”. We all know a group of them. They’re whiter than most because they think they’re black. “Wigger” being the accepted vernacular. Still sort of longish hair, some spiked, some mohawk, all failures. Really “cool” hats, long shorts, and skateboard shoes without any skateboards nor do they know how to ride one. Others had the increasing popular trend of sports socks and flip flops. Instead of the other crowd that stay in their darkened corners, these non-cons jump around like orangutans, cussing at rocks, shoving each other every which way, guzzling liter cans of energy drinks, and trying to draw as much pity toward them as possible.

“Alright Bri-Bri,” James started, “analysis time. Emos versus wiggers. Go.”

I paused for a moment, collecting my argument. “Well, skaters are harder to ignore. They’re more...vibrant, I suppose. More noticeable.”

“Good, good. Continue.”

“I also argue that they are more conformist than even the gothic kids,” I half-said, half-thought out loud.

“Really?” James inquired. “Why’s that?”

“Well...,” I thought, “the goth/emo crowd is that way because they wanted to be different. I think these guys just think they’re flat out cool. They have no ulterior motive. They are just following friends, media, and advertisement.”

James started in light applause, “Very well said, my friend. You will be a welcome companion for me all throughout the land of Brooklyn.”

“Well, my girlfriend is paying for the freakin’ apartment, so I’ll think the contract will state you have to be my companion.”

He garbled something through a mouthful of milkshake. I didn’t have time to ask what he said. Sheena just walked in. He swallowed his shake, spun his seat (handing me his shake in the process), and hopped out, walking his suaveo-coolo Jamesy walk to his new girl. She was quite a sight. I’ve never seen these girls before. I wondered how Jamesy found them. She was just barely taller than me, shimmering black hair. Her face, slim and straight, suggested an Asian ethnicity, but her voice carried light Russian accent. He’d been on a streak of foreign girls lately. I never tried to figure out how they wound up with him.

The rest of my outing was spent how any third wheel spends an outing: quietly. Before James and Sheena left, James pulled me to the side and pulled his dad’s lock off his neck before shoving it in my hand.

“Hold on to this for me, will ya?”

“Why, what’s up?” I asked as I shoved it in my pocket.

“I sort of overplayed the macho factor with...with...”

“Sheena.”

“Sheena! That’s it,” he smiled. I shook my head with a smile as well. “Anyway, don’t want her to think I’m too sensitive or something. Just, hold onto it for now. I’ll pick it up in a few days. Thanks Brian!” He slapped my shoulder and ran off to Sheena. I walked home from there.

More weeks and even more planning passed. James seemed to entirely forget about his dad’s locket. I kept it in a safe place regardless. We were coming up on the end of August when our grand escape was reaching its final stages. We had an apartment all picked out, bus tickets ordered, but nothing was packed. With our parents constantly roaming about, we’d have to wait for the last minute to being packing before sneaking out. James, Stephanie, and I all wrote goodbyes to our parents ahead of time, not telling them where we’d be. “It’d only complicate things” was the final consensus.

It was about a week before our leave date. I was pacing my living room, spinning a yardstick through my fingers while watching whatever familiar movie I found on HBO. I couldn’t sleep from all of the anticipation. My parents were away on business, so I decided to stay up. It was 2:30 or so in the morning. I wasn’t tired. Good thing, too.

I heard the soft thud of a car door being gently closed. I passed the window on my pacing route and saw a normal ‘ol black car parking itself across the street. The people across the street didn’t own a black car. A figure, a man, got out of the driver seat. I couldn’t tell if there was someone in the passenger seat, but I saw a shadow of some sort. The man pulled something out of his pocket and pointed it at the streetlights. Only my curiosity kept me watching. He pointed this...something at a light for a few seconds, and then it went out. He did this until my street was pitch black.

This caused me a little worry. Only through my boredom did I decide to investigate. I couldn’t tell where he was going, but he was nearby. I didn’t hear another car door. I scrambled to turn off the lights and the TV and listen. I tightened my grip on the yardstick out of some sort of primal instinct.

My breath was light and silent. I stood stock still, peering into the pure black of the street. I closed my eyes. I listened for anything. A breath. A footstep. Anything. Anything to ease my almost reasonless suspicion.

And there it was! A rustle, followed by a “shhht”, which I knew was a swear said under his breath. He was coming for my house and brushed the massive grassy plants near our side door. I moved, barefoot and silent, to the end of the side door hallway. A faint “kch kch krrrrch” sound could be heard. I assumed he was picking the lock. My grip tightened again. A final, “kerkch!” and the door swung open with just a tiny creak. Adrenaline began to rush through my body, but I forced myself to stay put and ambush him. I had the ultimate element: surprise.

He took light steps forward. I took in one silent breath and held it. Once he cleared the hall, I let him take a few more steps before striking. I clenched my lips together and, as quietly as possible, swung the yardstick at the perpetrator’s head. It did a fair job.

A powerful crack from the yardstick snapping in half came a split second before the man’s shout. He was facing away from me, so I kicked him in the back. He shouted again, staggering forward. From a dim hall light in the next room, I could make out he was far taller than me, so I acted quickly. He turned to face me and I threw a sloppy punch at him as he did. He took it in the cheek, but I recoiled back, not expecting it to hurt me that much. He rushed me, but I managed to somehow duck to the side, grab a piece of the yardstick, and smash it over his head again. The whole thing was one big goddamn blur. But, he was now unconscious. Finally, I thought, a fight I actually won.

Taking a moment to catch my breath, I turned the lights on to examine this guy. He looked to be in his late thirties. A good 6’3”, he wore black pants, a dark blue jacket, and a black polo shirt. It had the label, “REM” in a blocky script. I found his wallet in his pocket and checked his ID: Simon Wells. I tried to make sense of all this, but my adrenaline was keeping me from thinking totally straight. My breathing continued heavily, trying to make some vague logic. All of the sudden, I heard a loud static cackle, then a rough, scratchy voice, “Simon? Simon, is the perimeter clear?”

OK, so this wasn’t just one guy. I had to cover it and, through a mixture of adrenaline and impulse, found the walkie-talkie on his belt, cleared my throat, and said through a rough cough, “Yeah, all clear.”

Static came back, “Simon? What’s wrong with your voice?”

“Kid hit me in the throat,” I coughed again, hacking, then spitting. “I’m fine though.”

My words hung in the air. The other man didn’t respond for what seemed like minutes. I nervously looked around, making sure I couldn’t be seen. Sweat formed on my forehead. My breathing intensified. The static response almost made me wet myself. “Alright. Well done. The rest of us will be there in ten minutes to locate the locket. You won’t be connected in any way.” Then the line went dead.

The words echoed in my ears. “The rest of us...ten minutes...locket...”

They wanted James’s locket?

Why would they want that?

Brian...stop thinking...they’re coming.

I have ten minutes to escape.

My mind kicked into overdrive/survival/super mode. Simon’s wallet was still in my hands. I grabbed the money (about $100), his ID, and a business card with the same REM logo. Ten minutes...gotta get out of here. I ran back to the living room, flipping on the lights. I grabbed my school backpack, opened it and just dumped the contents onto the floor. I did grab a pencil, Sharpie, and notebook from the school stuff and dropped them back in the backpack.

I ran to the kitchen, snagging small things like granola, crackers, peanut butter, and water bottles, and a knife, just in case. From there, I went to the second floor. My house has three floors: ground, second, third. No basement. In the media/game/random room, I grabbed my cell phone, iPod, GameBoy DS, and my beloved camera. I debated grabbing my laptop, but it was fragile and I figured I didn’t have the time to gather the mouse and power cords, so I slid it under a cabinet for safekeeping. I then noticed a roll of duct tape on a side table. I grabbed that. There was also a roll of electrical tape. Snagged that too. Satisfied, I charged across the floor to my bathroom and shoved a toothbrush, toothpaste, comb, deodorant, and whatever else was caught in that rushing, sweeping armful. I was about to move on, but I stopped, remembering the first aid kit in the lower cabinet. I grabbed that. Breathing heavily, I made for my room on floor three.

Here, I grabbed a second shoulder bag as my backpack was filling up. I didn’t have the time or patience to lace up my new Chuck Taylors, so I settled for my old, beat down Pumas with the laces forever tied. I threw a pair of jeans, some shirts, and a crapload of socks into this second bag, and then quickly pulled on my belt and jacket. Under my bed, I reached for my secret money stash hidden in a SpongeBob candy container. I grabbed the piles of bills and tossed them in my bag. Last I counted it was around $300. It would help. There was also a lighter in my money container. I slid it into my back pocket. Last thing I grabbed was my wallet and keys, but then I noticed something. Something on my desk that I couldn’t really take, but didn’t want to leave behind.

It was a scaled down, wooden model of a T-Rex skeleton. My brother and I made it when we were kids. He died recently in Afghanistan and it was the only tangible memory I had of him. Sort of like Jamesy’s locket. I loved my brother...

I swore as I heard another set of car doors, letting myself get distracted. I grabbed the dinosaur and stashed it in a small, hidden compartment behind a row of coats in my closet. As I did this, I noticed a glimmer. It was the shiny polish of James’s locket. In my rushing, I forget they wanted it. I shoved it in my pocket before leaving my room. I heard the front door open from downstairs.

...shit.

I looked around hastily. I knew I couldn’t get to my car if they were out front. There were no exits on the second floor. But a last-ditch on the third.

I think this qualifies.

It was in my parents’ room. A window. I pulled it open as far as possible then kicked out the screen. The gap wasn’t large enough for me to actually jump out of it. I just kind of had to drop. My instincts kicked in and said it was a bad idea, but I didn’t really have a choice. I stuck my leg out the window and sat myself on the ledge. The drop seemed pretty perilous, but the thudding footsteps coming up the stairs forced my decision.

I dropped.

I was falling.

I hit a bush.

Oww.

Hardly thinking, shocked from the drop, hurting from the bags smacking into my side, not even caring about the bleeding cuts on my arms, I ran toward the woods in my backyard and ran away from my house, following the edge of the woods until I found a place where I could rest.

This wasn’t the escape I had in mind.

[Wulfi]

Fabulous! You really have me on the edge of my seat, I can't wait for more!

[Golden Emblem]

I really enjoyed it Griffin, and I want to know what's in that locket.

Also, great use of the theme.

[Griffin]

Our Grand Escape: Chapter Three

I couldn’t begin to describe how terrified I was, running blindly along the trees, having no bloody idea what was happening. I ran for what seemed like miles, hopping a fence or two, my legs growing steadily wearier and my packs getting heavier. When the trees ended, I forced myself to stop and rest. I bent over from exhaustion, placing my hands on my knees, catching my breath. I only took in three breaths before collapsing.

I shoved my bags to the side, lying in the cool grass, feeling my lungs work to regain oxygen. In those moments, I tried to make some sense of what just happened. One guy broke into my house. I kicked his ass. Then, at least two more guys came in, because the guy on the radio said “we”. And, they wanted James’s locket. So, they must have some sort of technology to track the locket or...

Or they already got to James...

I opened my backpack and frantically dug around for my cell. I found it, flipped it open, and slammed my thumb on the three button to speed dial James’s cell. It rang once...twice...three times...come on James...four...five...

“What the hell do you want?”

“Oh thank God,” I sighed.

“Do you realize what fucking time it is?”

I didn’t. It was nearly three in the morning. “Ryan, relax. It’s me.”

James almost didn’t catch the fact that I used his alias as he was still half-asleep. We always used our aliases, Ryan and Andy, to confuse new friends. But I wanted to play it safe. Those guys seemed pretty hell-bent on getting that locket and they may be tracing our phones. Hopefully, James would get the hint and follow along.

“Yeah...alright Andy. I’m fine. What’s the problem?”

“The movement has to be put on hold. We need to meet. Now. Prepare to receive code.”

A couple years ago, James and I devised a secret code that we still use today. It was very simple, but unless you knew the key, it was very hard to crack. I waited for a minute, letting James ready himself and get paper and pen.

“Alright,” he said, “I’m ready.”

“12J. P3 dash 5J dash 1T dash Z12 dash 18B. End.”

I spoke this code with about three second intervals between each dash. A few more seconds passed after the “end” before James’s response, “Alright. Code received. ETA 32 dash 105.”

“Bring stuff. Bye.”

I exhaled deeply. At this point, I was so glad we made this code. It may have ensured our safety.

The code was second nature for us. If the number was first, like 12J, you took the number plus the number of the letter. 12+10 (J) to get the coded letter. 12+10=22=V. But if the letter was first, like P3, you subtracted. 16 (P)-3=13=M. The code I told him was VMOUNT, which stood for Victory Mountain.

Victory Mountain was an old, beat down shelter that was used in king of the hill paintball battles. It wasn’t really on a mountain, but it was the highest point in our town. James and I named it that. Eventually, people stopped playing and we still had control, so we claimed it as our own. Now we use it as a regular hangout spot.

He told me he’d be there in approximately fifteen minutes. Our numbers were coded too. Just subtract. 3-2=1. 10-5=5. 15 minutes. I was just about there myself. I began walking for Victory Mountain.

I arrived at the old shelter in seven minutes. Adrenaline was still fresh in my body, so I decided to run. The small, three room shelter was situated atop the crest of one of the few hills out in the fields surrounding the town. No one really knew why it was there, but the kids a few years back converted it into a paintball fort. As such, the windows were boarded on their lower halves, a crude barricade of old furniture blocked the doorway, and there was even a makeshift pillbox on the flat roof if someone had the time to scramble up the boards nailed to the side of the wall without getting shot. Even since it has been out of use, James and I remodeled a bit.

The windows were entirely boarded now, making the place look forsaken. People didn’t often wander into forsaken buildings. The furniture barricade was disassembled and instead a numerical code lock guarded the front door. I entered the five digit code, 00000, and walked into the main room. I used my cell to find the candles scattered throughout the room and lit them with my lighter. A large table with various papers and a map or two rested on it. Four chairs sat at each side. Notes, drawings, pictures, articles, and other documents from years past were posted on almost every inch of wall.

The storage room was locked with a different numerical code, 54321. Inside there were numerous creations James made in his spare time: wooden weapons wrapped in duct tape, perpetual motion contraptions, rubber band crossbows, that sort of stuff. Flashlights, matches, a first aid kit, spare candles, maps, books, and other miscellaneous aids filled the five boxes along the wall. The shelves held various snacks and coolers on the floor kept the drinks lukewarm.

The third room had no lock, as there was very little in it. It did, however, contain a ladder and hatch to the roof. The pillbox was removed from the room and converted into a lookout post. From a distance, it looked like a chimney, but it allowed a panoramic view with the binoculars kept inside.

I dropped myself in one of the chairs and took assessment of my injuries. Two gaping cuts on my left arm bled all over my shirt. My right arm suffered various scratches that had clotted already. My knuckles were bruised from fighting off Simon Wells. And a massive bruise was forming on my right side from when I fell out the window. I used the gauze from my first aid kit to wrap the cuts on my arm after applying an antibiotic cream. I bandaged my right arm too, just to be safe. I flexed my fingers, feeling the pain from the bruising. Not much I could do about that. My neck was sore, but again, couldn’t do much. I decided to head up to the lookout post and watch for James.

He arrived ten minutes after me. He, too, had a couple bags with him. I told him to “bring stuff”. Glad he caught what that meant. “OK, what happened?” he said almost immediately.

I took a seat and sighed heavily, “Sit down. It’s a long story.”

I told him about the car outside and the lights going out. I told him about Simon Wells. I told him about how the voice on the radio said, “We’ll be there in ten minutes” and my frantic rush to gather whatever I could. I told him how I jumped out of my third story window. That made him laugh. He always joked about doing that.

“One last thing,” I said.

“Being?”

“They wanted your locket.”

“My...oh shit you still have that don’t you!” he shouted.

“Mmm.”

“You have it with you?!” he panicked.

“Yeah,” I grumbled as I pulled it from my pocket. He took it from my hand and breathed out, ashamed.

“Holy shit. I completely forgot about it,” James said, head in his hands. “Oh my God. You’re like, the best friend ever, Bri.”

“Don’t mention it. Any idea why these guys wanted it?” But then I remembered a detail I left out, which James might know. “Wait...does the company name REM mean anything to you?”

James’s head shot up. “How d’you know about them?”

“That Wells guy’s shirt had their logo on it,” I told him, not understanding his concern.

James then said the last thing I expected, “My dad worked for them.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Simon Wells regained consciousness about thirty minutes later, lying in the backseat of his car, head throbbing with pain. When those guys came to him with the job, he expected it to be simple. He’d break in, taze the kid, say “All clear”, and get paid five grand. They said they’d even put in a good word with Remington! They’d take care of the kid. They’d cover the break in. They’d care for the locket.

He groaned as he sat up. He was across from the house he was just in. He got out, staggered as the blood rushed to his head, and then jogged to the house after he recovered. Inside, five men overturned every container, looked in every cabinet, searched every corner. Wells spotted the man who came to him with the job, saying his name was Smith. That was it. Smith saw Wells rubbing his head, approaching him. “Mr. Wells, glad to see you’ve come to,” he growled.

“What happened?”

“Well, your incompetence allowed the boy to escape, most likely with the locket in tow.” Wells noticed that the man spoke with a very slight slur between syllables and put a sharper accent on hard sounds, like “escape” and “likely”.

“The kid ambushed me! Hit me over the head with a goddamn yardstick!” he responded defensively.

“And here I thought your hardheadedness would aid you.”

The constant condescending tone of his man made Simon want to kill him. He towered a good seven inches over the wiry little man, but remembering that kid knocking him out put a sharp decline on his self-esteem.

After a pause, Wells asked, “So, what now?”

“You find the boy.”

“Wait, what? I thought I was done with this...” Wells asked, dumbfounded.

“You failed us Mr. Wells. We need that locket. And you need the money.” Wells’ head dropped. “Don’t let him get away this time.”

Wells nodded. He headed back out to his car and drove off.

Inside the house, one of Smith’s men came running toward him. “Boss! Look what I found.” He handed Smith a framed picture of Brian kissing Stephanie on the cheek.

“This is the boy?” Smith asked.

“Yes sir.”

“And the girl?”

“His girlfriend, we presume.”

“Clearly,” Smith muttered. The boy didn’t know the value of the locket, but he knew it was important. Thanks to Simon’s ineptitude, he mistakenly told the boy that they were after the locket. He figured best to have a bargaining chip.

“Mr. Black,” Smith said slowly, referring to the man with him, “find me this girl’s address.”

A grim smile ran across Black’s face as he realized what Smith had in mind. “You got it, Boss.”

[killerinstinct]

I was literally on the edge of my seat while reading this, and I nearly fell off.

I so can't wait for the next chapter!

[Bitchy Grammar Queen]

Sept 2, 2009 15:28:51 GMT -5 killerinstinct said:

I was literally on the edge of my seat while reading this, and I nearly fell off.

lmfao

[Hauskaz]

rofl

[Deleted]

lol

[Golden Emblem]

Hey, I nearly did the same thing.

[Griffin]

Brace for long chapter:

______________________________________________

Our Grand Escape: Chapter Four

“Your dad worked for these guys?!”

“Yeah,” James said. “He worked with them for a long time when I was a kid. Then, when I was nine, he stopped. He took on jobs with all these other companies. But a few months before he disappeared, he told me he was ‘working on a big project with those rem boys’. He would talk about it all the time, but I never figured out what it was.” I was about to say something, but James saw my question and said, “I don’t know much else.”

This whole ordeal was just getting stranger. I tried to digest this information as best as I could, but something just wasn’t clicking in my head. I pulled my shoes off my sockless feet, giving them a chance to breathe, now that we could rest. I opened my mouth to ask further questions, but James’s face stopped me. Whenever he talked about his dad, he always seemed unfazed, but you could see sadness and a bitter pain behind his usually bright green eyes.

With my adrenaline wearing down, I felt what it means to be truly exhausted. All of my muscles relaxed from the prior shock and sudden exertion. They felt wobbly, but they were resting now. I looked up at James and smiled lightly. “We should get some sleep,” I said.

He nodded lightly and went to drag a couple of old sleeping bags out of the storage room. This wouldn’t be the first time we had to stay the night on Victory Mountain. Usually, we’d light a fire and talk about guns and swords and old battles and girls and features and who had the best rack. He’d tell me about his latest girl experiences and prod for intimate details about Steph and I and he’d ask if we had sex yet. Then I’d lunge at him and we’d wrestle and dramatically kill each other a number of times until we were too tired to move. But tonight, I couldn’t stay asleep. Too many questions remained unanswered.

I woke up a couple hours later from my fits of restlessness. James was flat out asleep. Don’t know how he managed that. To break the norm, I pulled on my jacket and some socks and dragged my sleeping bag up onto the roof. It was cold, but it was the good, crisp, near-morning cold. I crawled into my sleeping bag and stared at the stars. Whenever I looked at the stars, my mind always jumped straight to Stephanie.

On our very first date, we watched a movie on a portable DVD player out in the park during those miraculous summer nights. Eventually, we just lay beside each other, staring at the stars. We didn’t say much, but there was a moment where our eyes met. My chocolaty brown and her shimmering blue.

I don’t believe in love at first sight. Love is something that has to grow. But at that very moment when we caught each other’s gaze, I knew I could love her. Something, somewhere in my head or my heart or wherever told me this could work. Before we knew it, our lips were together. I still remember feeling the chills run down my back when her hand crept up onto my neck. I still remember the softness of her face when I rested my hand on her cheek. I still remember the sheer timidity and nervousness in her voice when she said “I love you”. And I remember being just as scared when I said “I love you too”. But we believed we could make this work, and we did.

It was a pleasant thought to fall asleep to.

* * * * * * * * * *

Stephanie was struggling to stay asleep. She woke up, her hair tangled in her face. She brushed it away, looking at the clock. 4:30 AM. She groaned softly. I hate not sleeping, she thought. A car door closed outside, but the young girl had just woken up. It didn’t really register.

She walked out to her kitchen and filled a glass with water. The back door of her single floor house was located only a few meters from her kitchen. She didn’t hear the two men slowly picking the back lock. Except in the case of Simon Wells, Smith didn’t send those not fit for the job. Stephanie rested her elbows on the kitchen counter, sighing, watching the seconds tick by. It was the lock being broken by the frustrated intruder that caught her attention. She took soft steps over toward the door to ease her suspicions.

Even in the light, she probably couldn’t have seen what just happened. The first man shot up from behind her and pulled her arms behind her back, tying some rough cord around her wrists. The second came forward with a strip of cloth at face level and stuffed it in the front in her mouth, reaching around her head and tying it, muting her screams. She dropped to the floor defensively, kicking and grunting at her assailants. She flopped helplessly, trying to get her foot into their shins or testicles. She felt an extreme pressure on the back of her head and then everything went black.

Two minutes later with Stephanie unconscious in the backseat, Mr. Black called Smith.

“Yes Black?”

“We got ‘er, Boss.”

“Good. I can always count on you, Black.”

“Aww, Boss. You’re too kind.”

“Ignoring that. Take her to Victor until Wells learns where the boy is.”

“Aye aye Boss.”

He was about to hang up when Smith stopped him, “Oh, and Mr. Black?”

“Yeah Boss?”

“Send me a picture.”

* * * * * * * * * *

I woke up still on the roof. The sun had just risen and I assumed James was still asleep. My muscles were stiff, either from the cold or just because they were recovering. I stumbled in half-sleep down to the main room and shook James awake. He groaned at me, shooing me away, but then realized he wasn’t in his home. He got up groaning anyway.

We ate some granola bars and chips washed down with lukewarm soda for breakfast. I checked my phone for the time, but noticed a couple of new text messages from an unknown number. I read the message. I read it again. It didn’t make sense.

“Wuzzat?” James said through a mouthful of Lays.

I opened the next message. It was a picture message. My jaw dropped. James came to my side and couldn’t believe his eyes either.

First message: You have something important of mine. I have something important of yours. This is day one. Give me what I want within three days or you’ll lose what you care for most.

Second message: Call me when you want to know where she is. -Smith.

The picture broke my heart. Stephanie...my Stephanie...lying in the backseat of a car. Hands tied behind her back. Gagged. Unconscious. I quickly checked the time of the message. 4:51 AM.

* * * * * * * * * *

Day One.

“I was asleep...” I said, completely shocked.

“Brian, you couldn’t have known.”

“I was asleep. I could have called her!” I got up and paced around the room, anger and hate for myself growing. “I was fucking asleep, wondering what the hell to do, and didn’t even think for one fucking second that they might try to use her!”

“Brian!” he shouted desperately. “Unless you called her the moment it was happening, you couldn’t have helped her!”

“I...!”

I paused. I knew he was right. Despite all I thought I could’ve done, I knew James would force rationality and logic at me. I clenched my fists to the point where my veins almost burst. I slowed my breathing, trying to get my mind back in control. That was disrupted by a new message coming in on my phone from a different unknown number. I opened it. I stared at it for a few seconds.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to move.”

I turned my phone to show him.

Third message: Don’t worry Brian Hall. I’m sure you and James Anderson will find her alive, as long as you comply with us. S. Wells.

The picture attached was of Victory Mountain. He found us.

We looked at each other, trying to think of what to do. James opened his mouth to speak.

BANG!

We dropped to the floor instantly. A bullet hole could be seen in the wood paneling of one of the windows.

BANG BANG!

Two more gunshots. One pierced the wall and the other ricocheted violently off the metal lining of the roof.

“They’re not going to kill us,” I whispered over to James. “They don’t know where the locket is.”

He didn’t reply. We lay there, waiting for whoever was out there to leave. Ten minutes later, we heard the familiar sound of a closing car door. We instantly got up, reading each other’s mind, and gathered all of our stuff. We pulled on our shoes and jackets and got ready to run. We stood at the door, my hand on the latch, and we talked out our plan. We would run down the hill, away from the gunshots, and make our way back to my house.

“Wait wait wait, my house?”

“Yeah. Do you really think they’ll still be there? Besides, we can’t go to my place. My mom’s there. Your parents are away. Its hide-and-go-seek meets reverse psychology.”

“I was with you up until that last part,” I said.

He sighed. “What’s the most basic unwritten rule in hide-and-go-seek?” he asked me like I was an idiot.

“James, just make your point.”

“You never hide in the same place twice! You, the hider, know that’s the rule, and so does the seeker. So, you do hide in the same place because the seeker knows you won’t hide there again.”

“Makes as much sense as anything else that’s been going on. Let’s go.”

I pulled down the latch and we ran. Within a few minutes, we rounded the hill and were backtracking to my house. We took the wooded route to cover our tracks. We knew these woods well enough to make it back to my house. On the way, I remembered the list of questions that I had last night. Now would be as good a time as ever to ask them.

“Hey Jamesy?”

“What’s up?”

“Who’s REM anyway?”

“Remington Electronic Mechanics,” he said rather casually.

“Sounds fancy,” I replied.

“They’re pretty state-of-the-art. I did some research last night on my phone.”

“You were asleep the entire time...”

“Nah, I woke up late when you were on the roof.”

“Whatever,” I gave in. “What did you learn?”

“Well, on their main site, they say they use the highest of tech computers, processors, remote controllers, communications, things like that, to further the advancement of the modern workplace or some catchy bullshit like that,” James said. Not too happily either.

“But I dug around for some third party opinions,” he continued, “and loads of people love them, but others hate them,” he paused and chuckled. “You’ll love this Bri. They say that REM is bringing ‘too much conformity to the workplace’.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “What the hell does that mean anyway?”

“Well, supposedly REM has been on the rise mostly in Europe, but has recently taken up shop over here. In Europe, people complain that most computerized workplaces look identical now and that these companies are losing their identities.”

“That’s just hilarious.”

“I know, right? But anyway,” James continued on, “besides the conformity bit, former employees complain about the higher ups bending and even breaking certain rules to achieve a certain contract or summat. Sometimes they scapegoat the peons or make false promises, but some of these formers hold true to these guys using blackmail, kidnapping, and even murder to achieve their goals.”

I don’t think James realized he lumped “kidnapping” and “murder” in the same list. That really made me uneasy. He continued anyway,

“And in lieu of them breaking into your house and...”

Now he realized his vocal blunder. He struggled to cover it up.

“And well, uhh, basically they uhh...I mean I think these, uhh, these stories hold some degree of truth to them.”

“So what are we going to do?” I asked.

As I asked this, we came up on the edge of the woods, my house clear in the distance. No cars were in the driveway and, as far as we could tell, no one was inside. Then James’s answer made me remember what an amazing friend he is.

“We’re going to get Stephanie back.”

We ran up to my house. No one was inside. We settled down inside after checking for cameras or microphones or things like that. When James was searching the downstairs, I found the key to the gun locker my dad kept in his closet. I made sure James didn’t know about the pair of handguns and the boxes of ammunition I stowed away in my backpack. I also slid his hunting shotgun, loaded with birdshot, into a more accessible place in case someone came back. We decided the house was clear, but still kept our voices down.

Night came quickly. I decided to use my laptop, happy to still find hidden, to do some research of my own. I didn’t find much that James didn’t find. But then I remembered the locket. There was a connection between REM and James’s father and that locket. I called James over.

“What’s your dad’s first name?”

“Shawn. Why?”

I entered “Shawn Anderson AND Remington Electronic Mechanics” into Google. James didn’t stick around. The first result that popped up was a link to a news article from nearly ten years ago.

Remington and Anderson Paving the Way into the New Millennium

Isaac Remington and Shawn Anderson, two of the nation’s greatest technological minds announced a new project, codename Atlas, promising to revolutionize the workplace of tomorrow.

The article continued to describe what James had discovered. This made a link between REM and James’s dad, but it didn’t mention the locket.

I went back to the results page and found another article.

Remington Electronic Mechanics Losing Credibility

Only a year after promising a new technological revolution, Shawn Anderson, co-operator of Project Atlas, bailed on partner and company CEO Isaac Remington, claiming that Remington’s means do not justify the end. No further statement was given by Anderson. Remington also refused to comment.

Alright, so this sort of explains why James’s dad left the company. I was so close. I dug around more and found what I needed.

Remington Betrayed. Ex-Partner to Pay?

Two weeks ago, Shawn Anderson, once a member of the team prepared to take the technological world by storm, abandoned his business partner, Isaac Remington. Remington took the following week off to recover and make a new plan. But when he returned to the Project Atlas mainframe, he found himself locked out by a supposedly unbreakable code. Today, one week since the lockout and after the world’s best code breakers, technicians, and hackers consulted, Remington remains on the outside and claims his ex-partner as the culprit.

“James!”

He came over and read the articles. He never knew this, he said. “Gimme the locket,” I said. He handed it to me. I checked the back, the front, and even the chain. I opened it and looked around the edge and underneath the cover. Nothing was there. I sighed and closed it.

“What were you looking for?” he asked, completely confused.

“A code. That last article. This Remington guy got locked out of his system all those years back and was forced to restart. That Project Atlas was the original, but he restarted and made it happen. All that stuff in Europe is the remake of Atlas. But there must still be something important on that mainframe. It’s still running and it’s still locked! The picture in your locket is from nine years ago. The timeline fits! Remington needs the code to the system and I think it’s on your locket.”

“You’re crazy.” He snatched it back, but it slipped and fell open on the ground. The picture was jarred loose. I scrambled to pick it up. I was about to put the picture back in when I noticed a small gap along the edge. James yelled at me to stop messing around, but I ignored him. I stuck my fingernail into the gap and pried it open. James grabbed my shoulder in protest, but I shoved him off. I noticed something in tiny print engraved under that thin flap of metal.

“Wait!” I snapped, turning back at James. I pointed out the engraving. “See that?”

“What? See what?” James took it from my hands and squinted, trying to what was engraved. As he struggled, I pulled a water bottle from my backpack.

“Give it here,” I said. I focused my vision and used the water bottle like a magnifying glass. When I got a good look at the engraving, I almost wasn’t surprised. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said is near disbelief.

“What’s it say?” James bothered impatiently.

I took a few more seconds to decipher the message then handed the bottle and locket to James. He was more shocked than I, but could read the message with ease.

“Really? This is too convenient...” James muttered.

“Hey. This actually gives us a fighting chance now.”

[killerinstinct]

Aaaaargh the suspense! It's killing me!

[Griffin]

You liked it though, right?

[killerinstinct]

Indeed I did

[Griffin]

I edited the ending of Chap 4. If you care.

[Griffin]

Our Grand Escape: Chapter Five

Now we knew why Wells and that Smith guy were after James’s locket. All night long, we deduced, analyzed and planned. Everyone’s involvement so far could somehow be traced back to REM, so Smith was likely a powerful player in this game we got dragged into. Now we had the power to get my Stephanie back alive.

“What I don’t get is why this Smith guy took Steph in the first place,” James said, rereading the engraving.

“When Wells busted into my house, I knocked him out,” I started. “I faked being Wells on his radio and I assume it was Smith who I talked to. He said he was after your locket. Later, when he saw Wells unconscious, he must have figured he talked to me and he accidently told me the significance of the locket. That’s why he took Steph. He needed a bargaining chip.”

“Well, I do believe we have a chip with a little more weight,” James said.

“Yeah. But, I don’t care if our “chip” fails. It could blow up Japan for all I care. I’m getting Stephanie back.”

“We’re getting Stephanie back, you idiot.”

I nodded to him. James was a true friend. We didn’t talk much after we discovered the secret. It was almost too good to be true. I was happy to fall asleep in my own bed tonight.

* * * * * * * * * *

Victory Mountain was in such an isolated place. No one heard the sounds of automatic gunfire tear through the old wooden walls. Those boys were inside with the locket. The gunfire ripped up the upper half of the wall, hoping to scare those boys to death and surrender. If not, Smith would just tell his men to aim a little lower.

Ninety seconds of bullets later, no noise was heard from inside Victory Mountain. Smith directed a lower aim and the four gunmen obeyed. Four AK-47 clips later, Smith told his men to hold their fire and move in. They did so. Three and a half minutes of walking and five minutes of confusion later, Smith’s men returned empty-handed. No dead bodies. No locket. No nothing. Just a torn up building.

Smith’s face showed no change of emotion. He simply told a lackey to call up Mr. Wells for him. The lackey did so immediately.

Smith arrived at the site known as “Victor” twenty minutes later. Victor was an old warehouse he found when he first arrived in this town. He thought it might prove useful at a later date. Turns out it’s also the perfect place to stow a kidnapped girl. Mr. Black and two others were standing guard. Simon Wells arrived five minutes after Smith. Mr. Black directed Wells into one of the back rooms of the warehouse. Smith was waiting for him, sitting at the other end of a large conference table.

“Have a seat, Mr. Wells,” said Smith in that slightly slurred accent of his.

“What’s going on?” he asked casually.

“Oh, well I’m glad you asked,” Smith said as he rose from his seat. He sauntered slowly toward Wells’ end of the table. “I just got back from that shack on the hill where you said the boys were.”

Wells smiled. “You got it, didn’t you?”

“Actually, no one was there,” Smith said bluntly. A worried expression crossed Wells’ face.

“What the hell do you mean ‘no one was there’? I saw them in there!”

Smith continued his slow pace. “Mr. Wells,” he said, slurring the “s”, “were there any holes in the building when you saw it?”

“Holes?” he questioned, thinking for a moment. “No. None. The windows were boarded up.”

“My men noticed three bullet shaped holes when they scouted the building.”

“Oh, yes. That was me.”

“You shot at the boys?” Smith said, three quarters up the table.

“Well, yeah! To let them know we mean business!” Wells said confidently.

“Did you possibly consider that shooting at the building would let them know we know where they were!?”Smith said, slamming his hands on the table.

Wells jumped and swallowed hard. “Umm...well...no, sir.”

Casually, Smith pulled a .45 revolver out of the holster on his side, covered by his suit jacket. He kept it to his side, but Wells was aware he had it now. “You’re incompetence,” putting heavy slurs on that word, “sickens me,” he said sharply. Smith pulled back the hammer of his revolver and pointed it at Simon Wells.

This entire time, Stephanie was sitting against a nearby wall. Shackles were around her right ankle and left wrist, anchored and welded to the concrete floor. Black’s men were nearby, shotguns slung on their backs. She couldn’t decipher the situation whatsoever. But she saw the two men enter the room across the warehouse and she could hear the loud noises from inside. First was a loud thud, being Smith slamming his hands on the table. Silence followed for about ten seconds. Then, a crash, a rattling of the locked doorknob, followed by pounding on the door, within two seconds. More thrashing sounds and a single voice yelling came quickly after. She began to feel rather nervous. A little more struggling, silence, and finally, a gunshot.

Smith walked out of the room and called Black over. “Put him with the rest.”

The sound of Smith’s voice echoed across the warehouse into Stephanie’s ears. “The rest...” she thought. She suddenly became terrified for her life and began to cry to herself.

“Why am I even here...?”

* * * * * * * * * *

Day Two.

I set my alarm to wake me at 8AM. I usually sleep late, but I couldn’t afford to waste any time. James had to struggle to wake up and eventually I just shoved him off the couch. We ate breakfast and began making plans. We obviously had to call Smith. Otherwise, we’d have no possible way of knowing where Stephanie was.

“What’re we going to say?” James started. “We can’t just trade Steph for the locket. My dad must have had a damn good reason to lock Remington out of his system.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Suddenly, it seemed like our chances of winning just got lower. We had to somehow keep control of the locket and get Stephanie back.

“This is some game, isn’t it Bri?”

“Yeah.”

“It seems to me,” James said, “that we need to hold the locket and get Steph back to win.”

That seemed about right. And if that’s the case, it’d be practically impossible for us to win. I kept thinking. There has to be a way to play the system a little. I fumbled around with the locket in my hands. Then, it hit me.

“Wait,” I thought out loud, “we don’t actually need the locket.”

“Sorry?”

“The locket isn’t what’s important. It’s the message.”

“But Brian...the message is engraved on the locket. We need the locket.”

“No, we don’t. And, you’re wrong. We can trade Steph for the locket. It’s that simple.”

James stared blankly at me for a few seconds. “You’ve lost me.”

“Hear me out.”

I explained my plan to him. So what if the message was engraved in the locket. Smith doesn’t have the key to decipher it. We trade the locket for Stephanie. We get her back, Smith sees the code, but then gets all pissy and we leave before he has the chance to get the key from us.

“Seems like a nice idea on paper, but don’t you think Smith has the upper hand here, Bri? He probably has men and guns and a better understanding of just what the hell is going on here.”

I thought this over. We did need a better understanding of the situation. “I think it’s time to call him.”

“We don’t have a plan!”

“Jamesy, this isn’t a movie. We don’t just get one big dramatic phone call to the bad guy. We need more information and this is the only way to go about doing it.”

James reluctantly agreed.

“Alright,” I said confidently. “Let’s do this.”

I flipped open my cell phone and maneuvered to the message Smith sent me yesterday. I dialed the number, put it on speakerphone, and waited for the pickup.

“Ah, Brian,” said Smith’s accent harshly, “a pleasure to hear from you.”

“How-de-do, asshole.”

“Oh, come now. This isn’t the time for insults. I believe you called to negotiate.”

“Where’s Stephanie?”

“Oh, she’s with me, Brian! We’re on our way to New York.”

“New York?” I said from reflex.

“Thought we’d still be in Ohio? No. See, you two were so hard to track down, I decided to draw you out. And Stephanie mentioned a nice apartment in Brooklyn. I figured we’d head there. I assume you still have the locket?”

I couldn’t speak. Part of me wanted to give chase right now so I could pound the living shit out of this guy, yet part of me couldn’t help but relish the irony of the entire situation. I hung up the phone and looked seriously over at James. “We’re going to New York.”

Smith’s boys didn’t trash my car when they broke in, thankfully. James and I took the time to pack extras of everything for the maybe eight hour trip to the apartment we picked out as part of our grand escape in Brooklyn. I printed directions off MapQuest and, only an hour after waking up, we set off for New York.

* * * * * * * * * *

The trip was long and boring. We didn’t get lost thanks to the glory of MapQuest. We talked about what we were going to do once we arrived in New York. Smith definitely held the upper hand. I felt like it was up to me to devise the plan to save the day. After all, it was my girlfriend being used as the bargaining chip. My greatest plans have always come to me in my sleep, so I decided to take a nap. James was driving anyway. I crawled into the backseat, laid down, and slept.

“Brian...”

I heard it. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.

“Brian...?”

I shooed it off. I was trying to sleep.

“Brian...Brian!”

I opened my eyes. I was in my house, lying under the covers of my bed. Stephanie sat on the edge of the bed beside me. “Oh my god, Brian,” she said, putting a hand to her chest. “You had me worried.”

“Uhh...wha?”

“You kept talking in your sleep about horrible things. How’re you feeling?”

I tried to talk, but my throat felt like sandpaper. Stephanie leaned over and placed a wet towel on my forehead. Only when I felt the coolness of it did I realize how blisteringly hot I was. Her hair tickled my lips when she leaned over me and my eyes caught a nice view of her cleavage. “I feel so sorry you have to be cooped up in your room all the time.”

I nodded. I felt horribly sick. But having Stephanie with me made me smile. She got up walked over to my desk and picked up a mug of something. She extended her arms to me to take it. “Here,” she said softly, “drink this.”

I took it and smelled it. “Tea?”

“It’ll make you feel better.”

“Steph, you know I can’t drink tea.”

“I didn’t say it was tea,” she said as she scooted closer to me.

I was confused. “It looks and smells just like tea, Steph.”

“Trust me.”

“It’s not tea?”

“Brian...,” she leaned in and whispered in my ear, “trust me.”

James conveniently hit a pothole or something and that woke me up rather quickly. I grasped at my subconscious to the gather the details of my dream. It all made sense now. I had the perfect plan. “Get off here,” I told James.

“Why? Need to piss?”

“I need a pawn shop. That town down there looks like it has one on every corner.”

James got off the highway at the next exit and we drove around this little country Pennsylvanian town. True enough, we saw three pawn shops all within a quarter-mile. I snuck James’s locket into my backpack and told him to wait in the car while I went inside.

Twenty minutes and two pawn shops later, I found the right place. I found exactly what I was looking for. The shopkeeper noticed my interest and said it was forty bucks. I pulled a fifty out of my wallet, “Keep the change.” She handed me the lynchpin to my plan. When I got back outside, James asked, “What’d you buy?”

“Can’t tell you.”

“Can’t tell me? Why not?”

“Trust me Jamesy.”

“Whatever.”

We got back on the highway and I slipped my purchase into James’s backpack. If my plan was to work, he needed to be convinced what he saw wasn’t actually the real thing. He needed to be just as unaware as Smith. He needed to trust me, which I believed he did. This seemed like the best course of action, but it would be tricky convincing James to walk into this seemingly without a plan. It would one of the biggest risks of my life, but I felt I was up for it.

* * * * * * * * * *

It was about 7PM when we arrived at our apartment in Brooklyn. Technically, it wasn’t ours since we hadn’t paid for it yet, but the door was unlocked and three keys were sitting on the nearby end table labeled “James”, “Brian”, and “Stephanie”. Under the keys was also a message.

Listed below are directions to Remington Electronic Mechanics Research Center. There is an entrance to the basement levels in the back. The code is 58372929. Stephanie is getting lonely and your window is closing. –Smith

“Brian...” James started. He stuttered with some words, but couldn’t get a sentence out.

“What’s wrong?”

“You have no fucking clue how scared I am right now...” he said so quickly, almost ashamed.

“James, you are one of the most skilled people I know. This isn’t something out of Dan Brown where guns and intellect will save the day. This will be a battle of wit and words. Do you realize how godly we are in those departments? I’m counting on you to trust me tomorrow. Don’t doubt me. We have the upper hand.” He didn’t seem swayed by my words. I reached into his backpack and tossed him what I got at the pawn shop. “Here,” I said.

“My locket?” he asked.

“It’ll make you feel better.”

“How will looking at my locket make me feel better?”

“I didn’t say it was your locket.”

“It looks just like my locket Bri.”

“Trust me.”

“It’s not my locket?” James opened the locket and saw the picture of him and his dad inside.

“James...trust me.”

[killerinstinct]

Oh damn, I love where this is going. Looking forward to the next chapter!