Seize(32)

“Ah, well, you see, she was dawdling around your building again, so I figured it was best if she was taken far away from your place now. Maybe the larger distance will put her off from escaping.”

His words don’t really sink in. All I can hear is far, far away. Meaning not the facility she was in before.

“What?” I stammer.

“Is the line failing?”

“No … I’m just baffled that you’d go this far to thwart me in my success to finally complete my assignment.” I weave my way out of my startled state with words. “It seems like you really don’t want me to succeed.”

“Sebastian, is that truly how you think about me? C’mon.” He bursts out into laughter. “You know me better than that.”

“I was finally reaching a point where I could almost finish it. How am I supposed to continue now?”

I hear him muffle a laugh again. “I’m glad you care so much about your assignment. Hubert here was worried that you’d been slacking off, but I see that you’re trying your very best to make it work.”

“Of course I am!” I yell, emphasizing the fact that I do care about the books and reenacting the scene that I was meant to do with her. In all honesty, I just want to wrap my hands around Hubert’s neck and choke the life out of him. “Why else do you think she’s so goddamn infatuated with me that she even managed to escape and come to my home? I don’t even know how she got my address. She’s a persistent one, that’s for sure.”

He laughs again. “I’ve noticed.”

Just the thought of him ‘noticing’ anything about her brings chills to my spine. They’d better keep their hands off her … or I’m going to cut them off myself before they die.

“Regardless, she’ll be taken care of,” he says. “You need not worry; you’ll get to finish your assignment. I’ll give you the details once we return. We’ll be accompanying you in your endeavors this time.”

“What? Are you kidding me?”

“Like I said, Hubert needs a little more confirmation that you’re on our side, which I’m willing to grant him if he behaves. You will proceed with your scenes once we’re all set up.”

I can already hear him put down the phone. “Wait!” I yell, but I’m too late. Before I have the chance to ask which facility she is at, he’s disconnected. Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

I smash the phone to the ground. It splinters into tiny pieces.

Nothing, nothing can fill the void left by her absence. Nothing can subdue this rage filling my body to the brim. I will find her and I will bring her back, whatever the cost.

But they won’t tell me where she is … unless I continue my work with their oversight.

Which leaves me no other option.





Accompanying song: “Follow me” by Muse





Seven months ago, I walked into our house to find my mother sitting on the couch with a stranger. Six months ago, he was there every day, dining with us, having breakfast with us, trying to tell me what to do. It was as if he was trying to replace my father, which was impossible. I’d let no one that close. My mother, however … she let him get very close. Too close.

One day I found her with a bruise on her wrist and a cut on her cheek. I remember her telling me that she had slipped on a rag and fallen on the tiles. Even back then, I hadn’t believed her, but what was I supposed to do? Fear came out with every breath she took. She was in denial, seeking love and comfort from a man who could not be trusted. All because my father was no longer here.

I didn’t just feel pity for her, I felt angry about the way she handled his death. Not that I had handled it any better—I’d stopped going to classes, dropped out of college, and went full-on party mode with my best friend, Ashley, just to escape reality.

When I came home with her after a long night of clubbing, he was there too, watching us from a corner, sitting in a chair that was not his. Drinking from a glass that was not his. Nothing there was his and yet he had marked it as his own like a dog pissing over that which he wishes to claim.

His eyes had this maleficent hint in them, and the way he shifted in his chair and set his gaze on Ashley had me cringing, clasping my legs in fear.

“What pretty girls you are … especially you,” he had said. “What’s your name again?”

“Ashley,” she’d replied with no regard toward his demeanor.

She didn’t notice his blatant stare, his narrowing eyes. This man could not be trusted. If I could kick him out, I would’ve done it long ago. Unfortunately, this was not my home. My mother called the shots.