Hostage

The sky was an ocean of blues and purples and greys and the air smelled fresh, like wet bark and upturned soil. A streak of lightning split the heavens, briefly illuminating a sizeable brick-and-mortar building situated on the back road of a quaint town square. Other than the faint yellow light filtering through a ground floor window and the lone, white van parked on the gravel, the place appeared to be completely void of life; silent except for the clamour of nature’s turmoil outside.

An asparagus-green delivery car putted up through the iron gates, black smoke sputtering from its exhaust pipe as it drew to a halt outside the building’s main entrance. The sky flashed once again and a girl got out, wincing as the cold clutched her lean frame. Shivering, she ducked back into the car and retrieved a green baseball cap into which she tucked her shaggy mahogany mane. The gravel crunched beneath her Ugg boots as she circled around to the trunk and retrieved two large paper bags, pressing them to her stomach to gather the warmth of the meals inside. Slamming the boot shut with her elbows, the girl took a deep, tired breath before trudging up the sloping yard to the building’s entrance.

Tucking a bag under her chin, she raised a fist and pounded on the chipping oak door. A chilly breeze tugged at the hem of her jacket and she scrunched her nose at the foul stench of burnt garlic that stuck to her skin. She waited two minutes before pounding on the door once again, an impatient frown puckering her forehead as her ribs gave a violent shiver.

“Hello?” her voice grated up her throat as she struggled to be heard over the wind’s thunderous bellows. She knocked twice more. “Food delivery!”

The building groaned as a ruthless autumn gale moaned through its alcoves and thunder clapped its castigating hand. Rain began to spit down in translucent white curtains and the girl huffed, bowing her head to shield her eyes. A soft yellow light gleamed in her peripheral vision and she retraced her steps back around the building until she reached a set of steel double doors. Red paint flaked at the handle and crumbly rust encrusted its hinges. Pressing the orders to her chest, she kicked out sharply, her foot meeting the metal with a deep pang!.

“Hello!” she called once again, “Pitrelli’s Pizza!”

There was a shrill screech and the door was swung open to reveal a tall boy dressed in black skinny jeans and a white v-neck t-shirt. He had a long, oval face with large brown eyes and a slightly up-turned nose. His arms rested against the frame, the hairs standing on end as the wind teased past the thin cotton of his shirt.

“Can I help you?” The girl felt herself burning beneath his stare; his lips parted and his head cocked to the side as he raised a hand and ruffled his long, chestnut hair over the crooked line of his side parting.

“You ordered from Pitrelli’s Pizza.” She raised the paper bags, lips curling into an awkward smile. “Right?”

The boy shrugged, lowering his hands from the doorframe. “Yeah, I think,” he frowned, eyeing the orders. “Just a sec- Justin!” he bellowed. The girl flinched as his voice struck her sensitive ears. “Justin! The food’s here!”

“And?” a voice replied.

The boy rolled his eyes, “Come pay!”

“I don’t have money, Eric,” the voice snapped, “Tell Nick to!”

The boy sighed, rubbing a hand over his smooth chin. He looked at the girl apologetically.

“Sorry, give me a minute.”

The girl nodded stiffly, her jaw freezing as the meals began to cool quickly in her arms. Moments past before the pounding of footsteps on carpet thumped through the house and a different boy appeared at the door.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “How much?”

“Twenty-two dollars and-” she looked up at the boy and her breath hitched in her throat. A fire ignited in her gut as she watched him leaf through his wallet, completely oblivious of her reaction. It felt like decades before he finally looked up and met her gaze, and by the time he did, the fire had spread into an inferno engulfing her entire body.

“Analeigh?” his jaw slackened and he blinked hard, squinting at her trembling figure. “Analeigh Belford?”

She couldn’t speak. Her voice had made a hasty escape and she wished in vain that her mind and body had been smart enough to follow. Instead, they’d glued themselves beneath his incredulous stare with something that she hadn’t felt in over a year. It made her feel queasy.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

She was still ogling. Inside, she could feel herself cringe with embarrassment but she just couldn’t drag her eyes away. She was terrified that if she did he’d disappear and she’d lose him forever – again.

It was him. Nicholas Santino. It was really him.

Analeigh was so captivated that she didn’t notice how completely soaked to the bone she had become. Her body had noticed; her skin shivered and her bones quaked uncontrollably as she grasped the food bags in her ice-numb hands. The green cap atop her head had become so drenched that it appeared black, and the hair beneath it stuck dark and damp to her scalp and forehead. Suddenly, the weight in her hands vanished as the wet bags tore through and the food containers hit the ground, pasta and garlic bread spilling out onto the cement.

“Fuck!”

Nick was first to react, scrambling to his knees and scooping the mess back into the containers. Analeigh watched him for a while before joining him on the cement, carefully avoiding his prying fingers. She didn’t know how she’d respond if their hands were to brush. It was out of her control, as it always was when it came to Nick Santino.

“I’m delivering your food,” she uttered quietly, wiping her hands on her jeans. She observed him from the corner of her eye; she half-hoped he hadn’t heard her.

“What?” He looked up, flicking Alfredo sauce from his fingers.

“Y-you asked what I was d-doing here,” She cleared her throat with a soft cough, avoiding Nick’s bright orbs as they searched her face. Slowly, he stood and she followed, catching raindrops in her palms to clean her saucy fingers.

“You work at Pitrelli’s Pizza?”

She nodded. “He’s my uncle.”

“But you’re not Italian, are you?”

“No,” she shook her head, scuffing her Uggs against the cement. “He’s my aunt’s husband.”

Steady screens of rain continued to fall from the sky and Nick’s copper crop darkened to a bland auburn, pasting across his brow. His long-sleeved plaid shirt clung to his body and he gnawed the inside of his lip, scratching his cheek in contemplation. His mouth open and closed as he searched for words and Analeigh watched him hopefully.

“What happened to-” he faltered. A hand came up and he scratched the back of his neck before he tried again. “Ana, what happened to your modelling?”

Analeigh’s heart staggered and her lips trembled as a look of pure distress fleeted across her face. He caught her eye, her baby-blues brimming with tears, and he instantly regretted asking.

“I should go,” she muttered, swivelling around. A hand reached out and clutched her arm, yanking her backwards over the threshold and into the building.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, “Don’t go, Ana.”

There was a loud crack and the two jumped, their torso’s bumping together. They looked around in alarm, searching for the source of the noise. Had the place been struck by lightning? The crack came again and Nick threw an arm over the girl as grains of plaster sprinkled from the ceiling. His eyes grew as a man hovered in the doorway, a big, black rifle grasped in his hands and aimed at the two youngsters. Nick pushed Analeigh behind him, pressing her between the wall and his back.

“Both of you, hands behind your head, down on your knees- now!”