Hostage

Nick couldn’t hear anything past the manic thumping of blood in his ears. An excruciating ache pulsed at his temples and the room seemed to ebb and surge and sway around him. He squinted at the man in the doorway, his brow puckered and his moustache shifting like a thick, black dustpan brush around his mouth as it contorted into aggressive words of command. He jabbed the gun and Nick felt Analeigh flinch at his side, a frenzied whimper escaping up her throat. His biceps began to ache and his scalp throbbed with the weight of his hands. The man jabbed the gun again before pointing it at the ceiling and firing a shot. Nick ducked, the blast rousing him sharply from his deaf stupor. Plaster rained down around their captor, dusting his head like specks of white dandruff.

“I said, on your knees!”

Nick snubbed the hot flame of fear claiming his joints and dropped down, Analeigh scrambling after him.

“Is there anyone else?” the man barked, scrutinizing the girl’s cowering figure. Her skin prickled as his steel-grey eyes bore into her, a faint smirk tugging his sinister mouth. He frowned at their silence, directing the gun at Nick and jostling it in his grasp. “Well?!” he pressed impatiently.

Nick licked his lips, his tongue like a dry sponge on the chapped skin. “There’re five in the green room,” he nodded at a door to his right, fighting to keep his tone level. “And a security guard in the parking lot, I think.”

A sound from outside dampened his words and the two looked up, leaning sideways to get a better view through the open doorway. Analeigh squinted, making out the stooping figure of another, younger male treading up the drive. A dark, oblong shape was grasped in his arms, dragging gauchely through the wet gravel, and his large, wet hoodie clung to his gangly frame. Moments past before he finally reached the building, his shoulders slumping as the parcel was released.

“Bring it in here and shut the door,” the man ordered gruffly. His hard eyes remained fixed on the hostages as his tongue slicked over his yellowing teeth, the saliva thick and grey. The boy sighed, bending down once again to pick up the article before heaving it roughly over the threshold. There was a deep thump and Nick felt the ground quiver beneath his shins as the object was dropped to the carpet.

“Oh my God...”

Nick felt like he’d been butted by a bull, right in the gut. His nostrils flared, raking for air and his hands wrenched at his ginger crop. Analeigh took in the tight, yellowing skin, the blind, glassy orbs and the scarlet blood still spilling from the bullet hole in the centre of its head. She keeled over, retching, and the thick stench of bile joined the metallic odour of crimson iron. Nick lowered a hand and rested it on Analeigh’s back.

“Hands on your head!” the man snapped, advancing forward. Nick retracted his hand quickly and replaced it on his crown. “Now, where’s the bathroom?”

“Through the Green Room.” He swallowed hard as cold metal pressed into the nape of his neck. Analeigh cried out, the man’s rough fingers wrapping around her arm and yanking her to her feet.

“Take us there.”

Nick stood, glancing wearily at Analeigh before taking the door to his right and leading them all down a long, sparsely lit corridor. As they neared the end, the soft sound of unplugged guitars and the tapping of drumsticks filtered through the walls, and the man motioned for Nick to stop. The younger male then stepped forward, retracting a small handgun from the back of his trousers before giving the door a sharp kick.

“Hands on your head, down on your knees!” he bellowed. Nick stumbled as he was thrust forwards into the Green Room, composing himself enough to amble towards another door at the back. He felt the alarming burn of eyes on his skull, drastically contrasting the iciness of the barrel now raised and rammed into his head.

“Is this it?”

Nick nodded, the gun rubbing through his hair.

“Go in and sit down.”

He did as told, fists clenching and lips pulling into a tight, straight line. Analeigh was shoved in behind him and the door was slammed shut, the lock clicking twice before the room was met with silence. Nick slid down the wall and watched as Analeigh bee-lined to the toilet, curling over with her hands grasping the seat. She spat sharply before a heavy flow of liquid spilled from her mouth into the translucent blue water, the pressure convulsing her entire body. He hastily removed his eyes as a clear, sticky liquid dripped from her lips and instead focused them on a pink rubber duck sitting on the edge of the sink. He reached up and grabbed it, squeezing it with white knuckles as he tried to ignore the throaty sounds resonating around the bathroom.

Minutes past and the girl grew silent; Nick trained his eyes to the wall, tracing the floral patterns apathetically. His mind was buzzing with so many questions that they all hazed together in a big blur of confusion, and after a few moments he found himself reverting into default-mode, numb and vacant. Analeigh finished emptying her guts and moved to the sink, cringing at the burn in her throat as she gargled to clean her mouth.

“Are you ok?”

She paused, water gushing from the tap. Her blank gaze landed on his reflection in the mirror.

“Does it look like I’m ok?” she scoffed.

He frowned, put-off by her prickly response. It awakened a beast within him, a beast that blamed every hardship, every lonely night; every failed relationship on her. It had taken him over a year to cage, but now here it was, teeth-bared and emotions raging.

He scowled, “You look like shit.”

“Well, I feel even worse,” she spat. “Thanks for asking.”

“No problem, babe.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever the fuck I want.”

Analeigh turned off the faucet, wiping her palms down her jeans. Turning sharply with her hands propped on her hips, she advanced upon the boy, her steps reverberating off the tiled walls.

“I see you haven’t changed,” she said, studying his determined jaw.

“Unlike you,” He cocked a brow as he scanned her physique. “I barely recognized you under all those...clothes.”

She raised her arms and wrapped them around her sodden middle, cheeks warming traitorously. “You’re a dick, you know that?”

“And you’re a narcissistic attention whore,” he smiled sardonically. “Or has that changed with the attire?”

Analeigh huffed, stomping to the other side of the bathroom and slumping down against the bathtub. Her chest ached and her head spun, she didn’t need Nick’s crude witticisms on top of that. Pulling her knees into her chest and draping her arms around them, she spun around so her back was facing the boy. A draft breezed in from the gap under the door and a violent shiver captured her body, her teeth chattering upon her lower lip.

“Take your clothes off.”

She started, brow creasing into a glare. “What did you just say to me?” she hissed.

“You can wear my shirt. If you stay in those you’ll get sick for sure.”

“Don’t pretend you care.”

He sighed, pulling off his lumberjack. “I’m not pretending.”

Analeigh turned around tentatively and took the plaid shirt from Nick’s outstretched hand, careful to avert her eyes from his tattooed chest. Then she climbed into the bathtub and snatched the curtain shut.

“You can’t be serious,” Nick jeered, rolling his eyes. He watched as her shadow shifted behind the screen. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all, Ana.”

She ignored him, pulling his lumberjack over her cold, damp skin and hopping from the bathtub. His eyes traversed over her bare legs and her hands instinctively flew to the shirt’s hem, tugging it lower over her thighs. Years ago, such a look would have given her the elated feeling of power she once thrived for, but Nick was right, she’d changed since then. He started at the movement, snapping from his daze, and cleared his throat.

“Is that better?”

“A bit,” she muttered, smoothing the material over her behind as she sat opposite him on the shell-shaped bath rug.

The two sat in silence, examining each other with guarded eyes. Despite what Analeigh had said, Nick had changed a lot too. She noted that his bland, brown hair had been dyed to a light copper and he looked broader, stronger-boned than before. Something about him held a mature, classily confident air and with a slight swell in her chest, she realised that their time apart had marked his transition from boy to man.

“We never got to talk things out.”

Analeigh blinked hard, clearing her mind of thoughts from the past.

“What?”

“We never got to talk things out,” he repeated, dropping the duck and wringing his hands in his lap. “We never really discussed what happened.”

“Well, whose fault is that?” she replied curtly.

“Yours, I believe,” he said, tone bordering on annoyance. She opened her mouth to retort but he cut her off. “You didn’t return my calls, Analeigh, and when I got home from tour you’d moved out.”

“Didn’t you want me to?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, running a hand through his mane. “Did you want to?”

“Yes.”

Nick looked up and gripped at the floor, heart faltering. “What?”

Analeigh didn’t miss a beat. “After hearing that lovely little song of yours, I wanted to get as far away from you as physically possible.” She resisted the warble threatening her voice, struggling to keep her tone nonchalant.

“What song?”

Analeigh cocked her head to the side, feigning deep thought. She felt her nose prickle and her temperature rise as the lyrics materialized swiftly behind her lips. As hard as she’d tried, she could never forget them. They’d been branded into her flesh forever.

“Maybe she’s pretty but I don’t need a girl like Annabelle- is that right?” She said them quickly, but, adopting his voice, the words played slowly in her mind. She narrowed her eyes to disguise the hurt that suddenly plagued them. “Analeigh Belford- Annabelle.” She looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Very clever, Nicholas.”

Nick gaped, “Analeigh I-”

“Save it.”

He shook his head, digging frantically for coherent syllables amongst the mush in his cranium.

“Analeigh, I didn’t mean for you to-“

“Hear it?” She stared at him, a crazy gleam in her eye. “Well, I did, Nick. I heard it loud and clear.” She breathed hard, fighting to contain herself as her eyes prickled with salt.

“And, as it turns out, Annabelle doesn’t need you either.”