38: Homeward Bound

Quincy St. Martin

It’s only three in the afternoon. I should go and hang out with some friends or something. That would stop me from thinking about Caspian, at least for a little while. It sucks that most people I know hang out with Travis too. It’s not his fault, but I don’t want to see him so soon after the awkward way I turned him down this morning.

What? I know I should’ve handled it better, but he caught me by surprise.

I pick up my bag, open the front door, and jump back in fright. A tall figure looms on the front step.

“Quincy St. Martin?”

His face looks familiar, but I can’t place him.

“Who wants to know?” I ask him suspiciously while trying to push the door closed.

Instead of answering me, another guy steps in, pushing the door to open wider and forces me to take a step back. This guy is younger and even bigger with a scowl on his face. Now I remember where I’ve seen them.

Time to run! I swivel, ready to bolt, but a big hand grabs the collar of my shirt and roughly pulls me back.

“Your mother and your uncle, Beta St. Martin, sent for you. You’re coming home with us. You have ten minutes to pack your bag,” the first guy says, confirming my suspicion.

“No! This is my home. I’m not going back to the Loup Noir Pack!”

“You are coming with us!” growls the younger guy, shaking me with his hand that’s now curled around my neck.

The other guy places a hand on his wrist, and he slowly unwraps his hand and lets me go.

“Listen, we’ve been looking for you for weeks now. Either you come with us peacefully or I’ll let Enzo here deal with you. Believe me, you don’t want that. Either way, you’re coming with us.”

Oh God! I feel sick. This is my nightmare coming true. I never want to set foot in Loup Noir Pack territory again! Ever!

I look around the room. I’m standing right between the two of them. The guy Enzo makes a move to grab me again, and I lift my hands up. “Okay, okay. I’m just going to, uh, go pack,” I tell them quickly.

My phone is in my bag. How do I get to my phone without them seeing it?

“Don’t try anything funny,” warns Enzo.

“Give me your phone,” says the other guy.

“I don’t have a phone,” I quickly tell him.

“Marc, the bitch is lying,” says Enzo, holding out my phone, which he somehow fished out of my bag.

Ughh!!! There goes plan A.

A second later, Enzo crushes it between his fingers while giving me a snarl to show that he’d rather be doing that to my head instead of my phone.

I gulp loudly. Poor thing! I’m going to have to mourn the death of my dear innocent phone some other time. Right now, I have to think of a way to escape.

Well, on to plan B. Maybe I can try the back door or the window.

“Enzo, get her to pack quickly. Make sure she doesn’t try to escape through the back door or the window,” says Marc.

Oh, give me a break! Seriously? Can this Marc guy read my mind or something? I have no plan C. I pack haphazardly, hardly knowing what I’m stuffing into my duffel bag while Enzo follows me closely. Too closely. He snarls a few times when I almost trip over him.

I manage to stuff my bear, Oliver, into the bag before he grips my upper arm and roughly drags me out of the room.

He’s so strong and violent I feel like a ragdoll. I know there will be bruises on my arm and probably around my neck too. There is another man waiting for us outside, and I learn that his name is Don.

Don drives the old white Toyota Corolla that we’re traveling in. Marc is riding shotgun, while the short-fused Enzo sits in the back with me. Yay!

The car sucks.

No, I’m not being a snob because I’m used to Caspian’s fancy car or anything. I’m just stating a fact. The car really sucks.

Let me explain a few things that lead me to come to this conclusion.

First of all, the AC doesn’t work, but they refused to open the window because they don’t want me to shout for help or try to jump out of the moving car. I’m suffocating in here.

The second reason: This vehicle stinks. It smells like cigarettes and puke, and lying at our feet are empty McDonald’s boxes, dirty wrappers, cans, cigarette butts, and other stuff.

So, double suffocate.

The third reason: The seat is kinda sticky. I don’t even want to think about why. Oh, gag!

The fourth reason: The radio doesn’t work, and I’m getting bored. So, what’s a girl to do?

Yeah, a girl talks. Only Enzo has a stick up his ass so big and so far up that he roars for me to shut up every few minutes.

It’s a day and a half in the car, and he’s tearing his hair out. Literally. He’s going to go bald by the time we reach the pack’s territory if he’s not careful.

Oh, I mentioned that to him too. The way he roared? That man needs to find a positive outlet for his aggression or find inner peace. Do yoga or something. Namaste.

The fifth reason: I’m handcuffed to the car.

Well, that’s kinda a long story, but let’s just say that somebody got stuck while trying to escape through a tiny window of a washroom at a gas station. How was I to know that the window was going to be that tiny? Or has my ass grown big? Huh. Oh, well. Besides, I was getting desperate. So yeah, that sucks. Big time.

“You are all pigs,” I say. That’s my closing statement.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up!” Enzo roars. He raises his hand to strike me but stops when Marc gives him a warning look, as usual.

He lowers his hand and drags it through his dark hair again. I know Enzo is dying to kill me.

I have to confess, I kicked the car window the first day to break it. Newsflash: Tempered glass doesn’t break easily.

I’ve considered asking for help from neighboring cars, but I know better. No humans are a match for these wolves. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill to get what they want and to protect their secrets and privacy.

I wish Caspian were here. I miss him. I miss him so much my heart aches. I bet he could kill these bastards with no trouble at all. I whine in my most annoying voice about needing to go pee the rest of the way. This time I mean it, but none of them will listen.

Stupid werewolves! They won’t stop to let me pee even after I promise not to run. Not even after I threaten to pee right there in the damn car.

Not that I won’t try to escape if I get the chance.

***

My head hurts. Where am I? I open my eyes to an unfamiliar room. The smell is kinda familiar, though I can’t put a finger on it.

The room is spacious, and the bed that I’m lying on now is huge with a mostly ivory and red colored quilt cover. The walls are eggshell cream with a few artworks on display.

The heavy velvet window covering is red and gold. The fleur-de-lis etchings along the crown molding look familiar.

Loup Noir Pack house! They have fleur-de-lis engraved everywhere in the house. Now I remember. What a nightmare. I never wanted to be here again, yet here I am.

Whose bedroom is this?

They must have drugged me or something in the car because I can’t remember much beyond Enzo yelling at me and me whining about wanting to pee. I remember hearing Enzo calling me ‘the worst assignment ever’ and ‘a little girl-devil from hell.’ I wanted to protest and tell him that I take offense to that statement.

I am not a little girl. But my eyelids were too heavy, and my tongue seemed to stick to the roof of my mouth. I think that I managed to slur something back before I passed out, but I’m not sure.

I think they’d finally had enough of me. I guess I should be thankful that they didn’t poison me. Now I have to figure out how to get out of here.

I try to get up, but my head feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton and my limbs are sandbags.

I might have dozed off again in the middle of plotting a way to escape. I’m jolted awake by the sound of a doorknob being turned.

The door opens, and the person I never wanted to see again is walking in with a big sly smile on his face.

“Hello, my sleeping beauty. Welcome home,” he says. “You’ve been away far too long.”

A shudder of disgust runs through me. Old Mr. Maddox.