Page 41 of Crystal Iris #1

Thirty-Four

“Creativity is magic. Don’t examine it too closely.” – Edward Albee

T he club is packed, as usual, leaving us barely any room to move on the dance floor.

“Maybe it’s time we find a new place,” I tell Akira as someone bumps into us. “This place is getting too popular.”

She lifts her glass to mine, doing our usual cheers. “I love this song!” she says, pulling me to dance. I take a sip of whatever she ordered for me; it tastes artificial and girly. She says it’s new. “They were almost giving it away for free.”

We dance together for a while until she meets someone. I tell her I’m going to the bathroom to give them some space.

I pass the ridiculously long line and head straight for the sink and mirror. As I’m fixing my hair, my vision blurs for a split second. Maybe that new drink is out of my league . I check my phone and see Akira’s text: I’m outside.

Why is she outside? Is she ready to leave with that guy? We haven’t been here long. I head toward the door, looking for her.

I’m almost there when I black out.

My senses are overloaded; a strong chemical smell wakes me up. My vision is completely blurred. I can’t even make out where I am. What the hell was in that drink? I hear voices but no music. I don’t remember getting out of the club. Did I fall? Pass out? Maybe someone found me.

“Akira?” I call.

My voice is weak, too weak for anyone to hear me. I try again: “Hello?”

“She’s awake.” I don’t recognize the man’s voice.

Two big figures move closer. I try to move back, only to find I can’t. I’m tied to something. I shake my head. Where am I? I beg my brain to wake up, but the fog is too heavy. I try to move my hands— they hurt. They’re tied up tight.

I manage a scream. “Help!” My voice echoes. My eyes are still working hard to form faces. Panic sets in.

My breathing gets out of control; my body shakes as I try to free myself from whatever is holding me still.

“Easy, bunny. You’re not going anywhere,” I hear the man say.

I try moving again; my wrists burn from the motion. I scream again, this time a little louder.

“Nobody can hear you. Save your breath. You’re going to need it.”

Shit. This is not good. I try to focus on my breathing. I need to think. I need to think. I need to get out of here. Akira! She’ll know when I don’t show up. She’ll call the cops. Someone had to have seen me if I was taken. The club was packed. Someone did. I try to calm myself. Someone had to.

“She needs time. She’s too high. I’ll come back in an hour,” I hear another man say. “Do not touch her.”

I let the words sink in. I have one hour.

I hear a door open and close. It’s loud. It has to be a gate. Where am I? How long have I been here?

The drink —if someone put something in my drink, did they put it in Akira’s too? I panic for her .

“Easy, bunny. You’re so… fresh,” the man says, licking my face.

I manage to spit on him.

“Feisty… just how I like it,” he says, grabbing my face.

My head is killing me. I scan my body. My legs are tied up.

My wrists are tied up. My vision still isn’t one hundred percent, but I can feel whatever I’m on wearing off.

I close my eyes and listen to my surroundings.

I can hear cars; I must still be in the city.

No other voices—just the man’s heavy breathing and footsteps. I need to find a way out of here.

My mouth is dry.

“I need water,” I say.

“You don’t get to ask for things,” the man replies, spitting on the floor.

“Please, he won’t be happy to come back and find me like this. Water will help.”

“Smart one, aren’t you?”

“Please, just a sip.”

He brings something to my lips. I drink it. It tastes clean.

He comes closer and takes a whiff of my neck. “You smell so… sweet.”

I know better than to fight him off. I need to somehow get him to play along.

“Why am I here?” I ask.

“That’s not for me to say.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m your hunter, little bunny.” He keeps chewing something.

“What do you want from me?”

“I’m just the hunter. I do what I’m paid to do.”

“And what were you paid to do?”

“Bring you here.”

“And not touch me,” I remind him. “My wrists… they hurt.”

“I can’t untie you.”

“It’s not like I can go anywhere. My legs are still tied. Please.”

“I said no. ”

“How about some food?” I beg.

“I don’t have anything here.”

“You could get something. You have an hour.”

“I’m not supposed to leave.”

I take a deep breath. I need to think. My vision starts to clear; it’s dark, but I can see the man in front of me. He’s maybe in his forties—an unkempt beard covers most of his face. I try to take in as much information as I can—about him, about where I am, about what happened.

“Where did you find me?”

“You don’t remember? That filthy place. The club.”

“How did you manage that? You must be… highly skilled, for people not to notice… you taking someone.”

“Nah. People looked away. You were passed out, they thought I was helping you.”

“What did you put in my drink?”

“Something to tire you out. It should be wearing off soon.”

He walks closer, and I say, “Please, I need to use the bathroom.”

“Can’t do anything about that.”

I can see lights outside. This looks like a warehouse. I can’t see the walls properly. I look at my feet. The floor is kind of wet—something leaked. Something reeks. And my purse is nowhere to be seen.

I decide to take another shot. I yell for help.

The man comes closer. “I’ll shut you up if you scream again.”

I yell again.

He’s angry, he slaps me in the face. “The next one will hurt,” he says, even though I’m pretty sure he’s already left a mark on me.

“You are not supposed to hurt me,” I remind him.

“He’ll understand if you don’t cooperate.”

I let myself calm down, my face burning where his hands hit me with force.

I don’t speak again for a while, I wait until my vision clears. Whatever they gave me is gone now, and I feel every bit of the pain in my wrists, legs, and face.

I need a plan. Someone will notice I’m gone. Akira will know. I look around—she isn’t here. I feel a flicker of relief. Hoyt knows we were at the club. Maybe he called me. No, it’s late. He probably hasn’t.

“I’ll pay you,” I tell the man. “Whatever he offered you, I’ll double it.”

He laughs. “It does sound like a good offer, but he’ll find me. He’s not the type you mess with.”

“They’ll know when I’m gone. My boyfriend will know. And he’ll have you killed if you don’t let me out.”

“I don’t think anyone’s coming for you, little bunny. You were alone in the club, weren’t you? If I were your boyfriend, I wouldn’t have let you go dance like that—alone.”

“He didn’t know I was there, but he’ll know when I don’t come home.”

“He didn’t, huh? Then maybe you are worth the fun.” He comes closer and uses his hand to feel me. He caresses my breasts and I want to vomit.

The man’s touch brings something to mind— Hoyt. Would he know if I’m hurt? Could he sense it? Is he too far away? I’m not sure how his sixth sense works. I never asked about the distance. Maybe he’d only know if I were really injured. I need to be in pain.

I scream again, this time at the top of my lungs. The man lunges at me. He slaps me once, twice, three times. My chair falls back. “Bitch!” I hear the man say. I yell again.

“Do it again and you will regret it,” he says, pulling my hair.

My head pounds. I can feel blood in my mouth and running from my nose. That has to be enough.

Whatever’s on the ground is now all over me.

I realize: what could Hoyt even do if he knew? He’s too far away. Even so, he knows I’m in the club. He’ll call the cops. If he can sense me... two thousand miles away... I’m too far. I’m close to crying in desperation when I see the gate open.

I recognize him instantly. The red hair gives him away, even from behind. Darion.

“I told you not to touch her.” He steps closer.

“Darion? Please, help me,” I beg.

“What the fuck happened?” He asks the man, not making eye contact with me.

“She screamed. I had to shut her up.”

“Fuck,” Darion mutters, coming closer.

“Are you still high?” he asks me.

“No. Please, Darion, untie me.”

He’s looking at me head to toe. He attempts to touch my prism but he pulls back immediately. It burned him.

“Fuck! Make it stop!” he yells.

“What?” I ask.

“I need you to take it off,” he demands.

“I’m not taking it off,” I tell him.

“The hell you aren’t.”

“Is that why you brought me here?” I ask.

“You didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“That I was after it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Years. We’ve been after you, after it, for years,” he tells me impatiently.

“How... do you... know about it?”

“It’s not time for stories. Now take it off!”

“You’ll need to untie me first,” I say.

“Fine.” He pulls out an army knife and cuts the rope. I rub my hands together. “Now, take it off.” He points the knife at me.

“I can’t,” I reply. I need to think—and fast.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I can’t. It doesn’t… want to be of f.”

“Control it.”

“I can’t. I don’t know how.”

His eyes darken with anger. He kicks a chair nearby.

“If you think this is a game, you’re very mistaken. I’ll cut it off if I have to.” He’s yelling now.

“You know just as well as I do that it won’t let you.”

“Then tell me how you did it. How you… kindled it?”

“Kindled it?”

“Awakened it.”

“I don’t understand,” I say. I really don’t.

“Don’t play dumb. I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m not. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That’s the only plan I have—stall. For as long as I can, until someone finds me.

I have no weapons, no phone. All I have is this—this conversation.

“We tried for years. Nothing. You obviously figured it out. Tell me how you did it.”

“What do you mean you tried for years?”

“How did you get it?” He’s pissed, but he’s willing to talk. I’ll take it.

“My mother gave it to me.” I have to give him some truth—enough to keep this going.

“It wasn’t hers to give.”

“What are you talking about?” What is he talking about?!

“She stole it.”

“She would never.”

“You have no idea who your mother was, do you?”