by A. M. Hooper
“No, I'm not,” Cephas replied coldly, like he regretted it.
“Well, then. Emmaline is definitely an enticing, beautiful young woman . . .” Cephas’ eyes shot up to meet Dominic's. “Were you ever lured in by her beauty? I imagine that would make your job even more difficult.” Cephas looked back down at the rag in his hand.
“No. She's only a girl.”
“But you're only a boy.” Dominic's smile was growing. He must have known how pull his strings, because Cephas stopped what he was doing and glared at Dominic.
“My job does not allow for distraction—not even guilty pleasure. Of course she's gorgeous, but it takes more than a beautiful body to keep me from finishing a job.” He returned his eyes to the object in his hands. I felt my breathing increase in indignation. I sniffed to keep my tears away. A beautiful body: that’s what I was to the only man I had ever fallen for, to the man who had murdered my mother in cold blood. I felt gumption pumping through my veins—the gumption Cephas had planted in my mind—and I felt the urge to spit in Cephas’ face. Even now, though, my heart lighted at the thought that Cephas considered my body beautiful. What was wrong with me?! How could I have such little control over my emotions? I was flattered when an assassin dubbed me beautiful? I was seriously messed up. I couldn’t wait to grow up and get away from my teen hormones.
“So, Emmaline. What have you learned today? You've learned that your father is brilliant—”
“I already knew that,” I said spitefully. I shook my head, though it throbbed to do so.
“Well, well. Sassy little thing, isn't she, Cephas?” I saw Cephas smirk beneath his bowed head. How dare he smirk after throwing my feelings in my face!
“Let's see. You just discovered that Cephas murdered your mother in cold blood, and that he's taken care of countless other . . . problems.” His voice was very self-gratified. Cephas sat, working systematically with the small cloth. His face remained a cold stone, as it had all evening. “And you're about to learn what it's like to assist in something that goes against your saintly values.” His voice was laced with disgust.
“I'll never help you,” I spat, vengeance on my mind.
“Oh, how utterly cliché you and your father seem to be, darling. Cephas, could you?” the man motioned toward me and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples in exasperation. Cephas stood and picked up a cup before walking toward me. He offered the cup and I sat motionless. I closed my mouth tightly.
“Oh, just drink it,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and pressing the cup to my lip. I opened my mouth and swallowed, knowing I would eventually have to drink the liquid. Cephas looked away from my face until I had drunk the whole thing, then stepped away and flipped something through the air.
“A penny—for good luck,” he said, a slight smile appearing on his handsome face. “You're gonna need it,” he muttered, nodding to the man in charge. I caught the penny as it flew through the air—and everything went black.
CHAPTER 12
I awoke to a ticking noise, which somehow seemed comforting compared to the dripping water noise I remembered from last night—was it last night? I slowly opened my eyes, but the light was too bright. I shielded the light from my face and slowly allowed my eyelids to open. The light shone through parted curtains that hung on a window directly in front of the bed on which I lay. Fluffy feather pillows surrounded my aching head. I lay on top of a baby blue comforter, surrounded by four bed posts. Sitting up a little in hope I might assert my location, I noticed a small bedside table that held a tray with a tiny cup of water. I shivered, remembering the last thing that happened before I passed out. I sat up a little taller and looked to the right. Cephas sat in a red, wing backed armchair: it didn't look very comfortable. I concentrated on breathing, so suddenly disrupted was my calm awakening. As much power as his face had had to stop my heart out of admiration, it now had equal power to stop my heart's pounding out of fear. He stood suddenly and walked to the other side of the bed, picking up the glass and dropping a pill into it. He offered it to me and I shook my head.
“Don't worry, it's just aspirin. See?” he showed me the package. I still didn't believe him.
“Fine, don't take it. But it will help with the headache that you're about to feel in three, two—”
“Ow!” I muttered, putting my hand to my throbbing head. I narrowed my eyes at him. Why did he always know so much about everything? It was quite unnerving.
“Where am I?” I finally asked.
“I can't tell you that,” he replied, nonchalantly, as if it wasn't important. I glared at him.
“I'll get you some breakfast,” he stated, standing to walk out of the room.
“Cephas,” I spoke softly as he put his hand on the doorknob. He paused and stared at the floor, then pushed the door open and walked out. I felt a tear roll down my cheek, followed by another, and then another. I began sobbing, crying out all of my fear and hatred. I could feel the salt water burning as it streamed down my cheeks. Everything was so wrong, so different than I had expected. I had wanted to badly to get out of high school and move on to a more exciting, realistic life. Now I wished for a semblance of the easy life I’d had only a month ago—the time when my biggest problem was a boyfriend who liked to get drunk. After a moment I stopped, feeling cold to the situation. Smoothing the water drops off of my cheeks, I scowled at my own emotion. I was much too exhausted to rehash in my mind the details of my emotions from last night.
The door clicked and Cephas walked through the opening. He held out a bowl of cold cereal, but I folded my arms. He set the bowl down on the bedside table and returned to his armchair, staring at me. His quiet demeanor was ominous, so I spoke to break the silence.
“Where's my dad, Cephas?” I asked, though I doubted he would tell me. He stared at me, completely still. His elbows were propped on the arms of the chair, his hands clasped over his lap. His legs were spread apart, his feet flat on the ground.
“What did I drink last night?”
“Water. It had a dragged, and a tracking device. You can't leave, or we'll find you. Plus, the room is bugged. They can hear everything you or I say.” The flatness in his voice made me angry. He lied. He had lied about everything.
“What's wrong with you?” I said under my breath, barely gaining the nerve to say even that. His eyes narrowed, so I continued.
“You come into my life—I was perfectly fine—” he scoffed, but I kept going. “And you convince me that you're somebody worth trusting. Then, you kidnap my father and me, and now I'm stuck here with you!” My voice was getting louder, and Cephas looked away.
“You've taken my father somewhere, and you killed my—” I stopped. I couldn't even say it. I could feel tears coming on, so I pushed them away. I needed to yell. “You're the most selfish person I've ever met! You did all of those nice things for me: I told you things I've never told anybody else. You made me fall in love with you, and it was all a game! You go around, taking care of 'problems' so you can what? Make some money? I bet they pay you really well. Well, good—good for you," I stammered. "Now my dad's trying to do the impossible, and he'll fail. Then they'll kill him. You're real trustworthy, Cephas.” I scowled and stared at the ceiling.
“Your name probably isn't even Cephas,” I muttered. I met his eyes and we stared for a long time. His eyes turned the darkest blue I had ever seen. I searched his face, trying to find some semblance of the person I had come to know over the past few weeks. He just kept staring and staring. His expression remained the same—it was a mix between hot and cold, anger and unfeeling.
I felt something cold in my hand and looked down at my fist. I held something round, and I thought back to last night. Right before I had passed out, Cephas tossed me a penny. Opening my exhausted hand, my curled fingers revealed a rather shiny penny. My heart raced with a small amount of hope, though it was quite small. I looked at the penny, flipping it over and over between my fingers. Cephas couldn’t possibly have remembered my silly childho
od memory. But the penny had fallen out of my hand last night. The tinkling sound as it skipped across the pavement sounded in my ears as if I was back in that cold, wretched room. Somebody must have placed it back in my hand. I could hear Cephas’ heavy breathing across the room, and I looked up. His eyes turned sky blue—the color they turned when he was about to do something he ought not to do. He stood from the uncomfortable, red armchair.
“It isn't,” he said. I narrowed my eyebrows, confused.
“Isn't what?” I asked. He stood and made his way to the bed. He sat on the side and began to lie down. I immediately sat half way up.
“What are you doing?” I asked, scooting away from him. Screw the penny, there was no way I was letting this guy touch me.
“Relax. I promise I'm not going to hurt you,” he said firmly. I remained sitting up, unwilling to get close to the man who had killed my mother, among others. He must have sensed the fear in my eyes, because his expression softened and he took his legs off of the bed.
“I know you don't trust me, but just work with me here.” I looked into his eyes; they were so enticing. I felt the penny in my hand. I nodded and lay back down on the bed, sinking my throbbing head into the overstuffed pillow. It was so much harder to think with a headache. My surrender was more a matter of fatigue than approbation. I resisted the urge to sit back up as he spread full length along the bed next to me. I did my best to set my mind back a few days, to the time when I would tremble at even his slightest touch. If I was unsuccessful at rewinding my brain, I would likely scream at Cephas’ insinuative hands. Leaning on his left shoulder, Cephas placed his hand on my right shoulder, running his fingers the length of my arm.
“What are you doing?” I muttered. I could feel my body tensing.
“The microphones can't pick up whispers, and I need the camera men to be distracted while I talk to you. They'll just think I'm still doing my job.” His hand slowly ran the length of my leg and back up, finally resting on my abdomen. “Now can you concentrate on what I'm about to tell you?” I nodded, trying to forget that his hand was caressing my stomach.
“Good. Close your eyes.”
“Cephas, I don't think—”
“Please, Emmaline. Just do it. We don't have much time.” His whisper was so enticing, especially so near to my ear. I shut my eyes and focused on his thumb rubbing figure eights around my belly button. I imagined Cephas had never kidnapped me, and that he was a normal high school senior who loved me—and I loved him.
“That's it,” he coaxed, slowing his motions even more. “There's a back pack by the red armchair. I want you to take it.”
“What's in it?” I whispered.
“Things we need. Put it on. Now are you listening to me, Em?” I nodded, my eyes still softly closed. His hand moved back to my leg, playing around the line of my jeans. I heard him take in a deep breath. His touch was filled with longing, as was my quivering body, but my heart was overcome with disgust for the man responsible for everything awful in my life. But he was trying to help me, and a small part of me relished the tiniest ounce of hope. I hoped Cephas’ feelings were real and committal, and that he hadn’t really killed my mother. Oh, how I hoped.
“Run,” he whispered. “When I walk into the other room, go out the window, through the gate and cross the street. Turn right and run. I'll meet you. Just keep running.” His breath was warm against my ear. "Now, I want you to hit me."
"What?" I asked, surprised at his sudden change of topic. I heard him scoff.
"Just make it look natural, make the security watching think you're not about to let me take advantage of you," he whispered.
That word made the bile rise in my throat—advantage. He was taking advantage of me . . . again. Using me for his plan. Jerk. I nodded my head and smirked. Pulling my arm forward, I thrust my elbow into Cephas’ stomach. The air suddenly knocked out of his diaphragm and he groaned, releasing me almost instantly. He rolled over to his other side and got off of the bed, crouched over in pain. Muttering something under his breath, he shook his head as he walked to the door. His eyes flashed to the bag near the armchair, then rolled their annoyed emotion in my direction. My white teeth flashed a sarcastically sweet smile, and I winked. He smirked before turning to push open the door, disappearing through the opening.
Fear began to fill my thoughts, blocking my confidence, but I shoved them away as I climbed out of bed. I picked up the back pack as I hurried to the window. Now was no time for my childish emotions—I had to act. Undoing the latch, I climbed clumsily through the small opening. I made a run for it. Cephas’ indistinct shouting to his colleagues in the other room followed after me, though the light breeze paid the voice no heed, tossing it back from whence it came.
“She's escaped!” he shouted to the microphones in the house. “I'll follow her.” Pause. “No—it will be faster on foot: cars can't go where people can. Don't send help—I'll be fine!” I didn't hear anymore. I was running as fast as my legs would carry me. I ran out the gate and across the street. Looking around, nobody seemed to be watching me, so I turned right and ran. I ran for a while, and then I kept running. My dry tongue reminded me of my body's exertion, but I kept at it, pushing myself harder than ever before. Adrenaline was rushing through my veins, pushing me faster and faster. The sun beat on my neck—I was wearing different clothes. How did that happen?
I ran along a row of old houses. The neighborhood seemed nice, with white picket fences and painted mailboxes. I heard birds chirping as I whizzed past mature elm trees. No cars drove on the residential street. I saw an alley up ahead. If I turned into it, I might be able to hide. I started thinking maybe I could escape and find a way to free my father. Then I remembered the tracking device. They knew exactly where I was. I had no choice but to trust Cephas. He said he would come for me. Why would he help me escape if he was going to kill me? I ran past the alleyway, pausing only to make sure it was safe to cross the street. Plus, Cephas probably needed me for his own plan; he wouldn't kill me . . . right?
I got to the other side of the road. Ivy nearly covered a sign labeling the neighborhood: Vista Heights. I noted the name and kept running, passing house after house. I must have been getting close to a major road, though, because I heard speeding cars in the distance.
“Emma! Emma!” a voice shouted from behind me. I turned and looked—Cephas. I stopped and he caught up to me in a matter of seconds. He pulled me into the next alleyway, and I indignantly shoved his hands off of my shoulders. Breath forced itself out my lungs as we walked briskly down the narrow path.
"That was quite good acting back there," he began, quickening our pace. "I could have sworn I actually felt your elbow as it thrust into my abdomen." Sarcasm? Really? I shook my head in disgust.
"You're such a jerk," I mumbled. I would have shouted at him, but I had neither breath nor energy. Cephas let out an exasperated sigh.
"Yeah, well, get used to it," he muttered in response.
"I don't have to get used to anything!" I rebutted, angry at his complete lack of sensitivity.
"Look, can we not do this right now?" he asked, looking over at me. I scowled and dropped the conversation, but only because I ran out of breath. I needed full lungs to tell Cephas Bourdon just what I thought of him. We continued on in silence, listening to the cars zoom along the highway on the other side of the massive cement wall that separated the road from the ally.
“I wasn't sure you'd come,” I finally said, adjusting the backpack straps on my shoulders.
“Yeah, we're going to have to work on that,” he muttered under his strained breathing. We came to a chain-link fence.
“Can you climb it?” he asked, chucking his bag over the top.
“Yeah,” I muttered, pulling myself up the barrier. We climbed over the fence and I jumped off the other side. Cephas jumped after me and we ran down the pathway. High wooden fences lined the backyards, leaving a narrow asphalt path for us to run on. A dog barked as we ran past his yard and I jumped in su
rprise. I stopped running and rested my hands on my waist, heaving the carbon dioxide out of my chest.
“Why didn't you bring your car?” I asked, nearly out of breath.
“It has a tracking device on it,” he replied, stopping and removing my backpack. “Now, don't take me for some idiot: I do have a plan, but this has thrown a glitch in my plan. They weren't supposed to kidnap you for another day.”
“You knew they were going to kidnap me!” I yelled, instant rage taking over.
“Well, yes, but I had a plan. Everything was going to be just fine.”
“And now? Does this seem fine to you!” I asked, trying to look him in the eyes. He was intent on adjusting the backpack straps. He raised one eyebrow and made a clicking noise with his tongue.
“Now we're wingin' it,” he said. “Come on—we don't have that much further to go.”
“Well, I'm glad you have some semblance of a plan,” I said sarcastically. He smirked and we ran a little further. I could see the end of the alleyway up ahead. Cars. Finally, I was going to be around people. I considered screaming for help, but knew it wouldn't do any good. Cephas was too smart. We came to a large parking lot behind an even larger warehouse.
“What are we doing here?” I asked.
“You sure do ask a lot of questions,” he commented, walking briskly in between the vehicles.
“I think I'm entitled to ask a lot of questions,” I shot back, infuriated at his snide remark.
“I'm sorry,” he started. “It's just—I'm used to handling these situations by myself. I've never had someone else to worry about.” The words stung, but if he noticed, he didn't care. I kept moving, adrenaline maneuvering my legs quickly through the parking lot. We stopped at a motorcycle and Cephas threw his bag on the ground. He began fiddling with some wires.
“Are we stealing this bike?” I asked, disgusted at his lack of ethics.
“Kind of.”
“Kind of? What does that mean!”
“Look,” he said, his voice demanding. “You need to calm down, stop asking questions, and just go with it. I know this might not seem ethical to you, but my objective is far greater than somebody's bike getting stolen.”
