Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Hazel Eyes ❯ Transported ( Chapter 14 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Hazel Eyes

Transported

Chapter Fourteen

Introducing

(The Room of Pink)

Shoot me; right in the head, between the eyes is preferable.

If that is what it would take to get me out of here, then seriously, I wouldn't mind. What was with these people and handcuffs? My wrists were chaffing from the metal tong like objects connected around my wrists, I had lost a considerable amount of weight, so Dean had to tighten them just a little more then he normally would have.

I hiccupped. As Dean had tried to man-handle me and get me inside; I had had a panic attack. This was normal, I was an asthmatic who had gone a considerable amount of time without medication and I think the brink of all this stress finally got to me. The days before I had had some trouble breathing, but didn't think to tell anyone, I had totally forgotten I even had asthma. Everyone was still unaware of my health problem…

Mr. Myer's house was considerably larger then Dean's home, his main entrance was larger then my living room, bedroom and parents on-suit put together. The foyer was rather lush, with large windows and staircases coming out from every direction, making it look like the Queen of Hearts castle in Alice in Wonderland. With so many entry ways, I was starting to question whether this was a safe place to be in, if this Gage Myer was any more notorious then Dean, wouldn't Alec Harson be after him as well?

“The windows are bullet proof, and the doors have double locks inside and out”

Maybe Dean had a chip implanted into the back of my head while I was sleeping, giving him and his men access to my thoughts.

`I wouldn't put it passed him.' I thought disdainfully.

“That's the last thing on my mind Colt, I'm more concerned about your old man coming onto me, not whether your gonna' get robbed or not”

Colt tightened his grip on the back of my handcuffs, when I looked back briefly I didn't miss the disgusted look that crossed his face. What annoyed me is the question whether he was ashamed I would accuse his father of such things, or whether his father was actually liable to do it. I stopped walking slightly, which made Colt grasp me tighter against him, I in turn, turned my head and glared.

“You stiffened” he shrugged.

I kept walking.

“Ignoring me, okay, we can play that game”

Still walking and ignoring him, seconds later I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing at his response.

“Fine, be a bitch”

Maybe Colt had never played this game after all.

I stopped walking, but only because I was pulled to a stop by Colt. He harshly turned me to my right, almost shoving me into the door as he opened it. The room wasn't filled with torture devices like I had originally thought; it was actually a rather… fucking girly room.

Barbie and Bratz posters lined the wall's, a tiny white single canopy bed was rested in the middle of the room, a Bratz bed spread and matching pillow resting on top. The room itself consisted of pink and purples, two walls painted a light purple, the two other wall's a light pink and fairy wall paper lining the top rim where the ceiling started. If that wasn't bad enough, the hundreds of Barbie and Bratz dolls were certainly pushing my sanity a little to close to the edge.

Déjà vu, this room looked exactly like my four and seven year old cousin's rooms put together. The only good thing to ever come out of this room would be the feeling of being home, imagining I was simply staying at my auntie's house for a few days, bunking down with Jessica and Rose, her four and seven year old daughters.

“Our interior designers may have made a few mistakes; Diane and Jasmyn misheard and thought my father said his seven year old niece was coming to stay with us, not seventeen. Your new room should be ready in a few days time.” Colt explained, undoing my handcuffs. As soon as I heard the click and felt the pressure loosen, I rubbed my wrists gently to stop the bruising.

I wouldn't stay in this freaky room even if I was seven years old.

“Niece, huh?” I looked nothing like that old bastard.

Colt chuckled, walking around the room and taking a glimpse at all the girly things that made the room so creepy “Three times removed?” His nose wrinkled in obvious displeasure at the Ken doll standing upright in its packaging before throwing him back with the rest of its twenty-something Barbie girlfriends “Freaky.”

I shrugged, whatever floats the boat and keeps it from sinking, maybe sinking the boat would get me rescued.

Colt's next objective was to start fiddling with something on the dresser, next I knew he was jumping back, cusses flying from his mouth, using swear words I never even knew existed. Kind of ironic I would hear them in a room made for a child.

“Ask me a question and I'll tell you your future!”

It was one of those talking Bratz fortune teller doll's that stands up on its own. You ask it a yes or no question, press the button and it says something like “Absolutely!” or “No way, your hair looks great!” Something that has nothing to do with the question you asked. It amused me how Colt jumped back, like he'd never seen anything like it, my cousin Rose had one of those things, the only time I used it was when I was bored and asked questions like “Are you a shit head?” and it would reply “Absolutely!”

Funny times, I was actually glad those designer woman bought something like that; it would probably make me a little less home sick thinking about me and Rosy playing with it, while Jess sits in the corner pouting because her big sister and cousin wont let her join in.

I laughed and Colt glared, obviously not liking the way he was scared of a plastic object. He looked so out of place, here he was --- broad shoulders, lean muscles, cargos and a white tee-shit. He looked like he was about to go to war… or just came back from one. Standing in this pretty pink, tidy room, you would think G.I Joe got lost in the Barbie toys isle at K-Mart.

I walked casually over to the small vanity table where the talking doll was located, pressed the button and asked “Will I ever get home?”

I knew Colt was glaring at me, you can just feel it when someone's boring hole's into the back of your head. I pressed the button again and waited for a reply, ignoring the curt snort of “Wishful thinking” from the jubilant man behind me.

“It's a total yes!” it responded. I grinned.

“Will I get home anytime soon?” I pressed the button.

“Yes, that guy at school is so totally into you! Go for it girl!”

Turning around, doll still in hand, I couldn't help but laugh at the fowl looked plastered across Colt's face. Maybe I could learn to like it in this world of pink and navy after all.

“I think I liked it better when you were ignoring me and not talking” he muttered and I only laughed harder.

Dean tapped the twenty-two automatic pistol almost wistfully, as if trying to discern whether he should shoot Greg in the head or not and absent mindedly grunted to himself. Shooting Greg with a twenty-two? He may as well hit the guy with a fluffed pillow, at least then he'd feel something.

Arriving home without Skye Glenn in tow hadn't really shocked the men as much as the arrival without Colt Myer had. It was as if he had snuck away during the night, no one had noticed his departure, maybe which had something to do with the preparations for getting the girl out with as little notice from the authorities as possible. Holden and Greg hadn't been too happy, the least Colt could have done was say good-bye, not speed off on his motorbike into the night.

“So, he's not coming back? After five years with us, he's going home to daddy-fucking-dearest and just…” Greg was annoyed, more then annoyed, he was fucking down right pissed off. That boy had been like a brother to him; a companion, a friend straight out of high school and into the working world of crime.

“Guess so” Dean muttered, putting the pistol back into the side of his khaki pants.

Holden snorted from the other side of the office, his feet resting comfortably on a wooden chair and his arms up above his head. Dean probably would shoot him if he so much as got a speck of dirt on his ivory couch.

“Dean, you're a dear old chap, really you are, but rubbing your gun as if it were a woman's thigh isn't answering out damned fucking questions” Holden sneered, the easy tone in his voice soon turning into a growling loop of frustration.

Holden Blain, seaweed green eyes, sun kissed blond hair, he was your average surfer-dude kind of guy; to bad the ignorant accent in his voice soon deprived him of any great attributes. He was good-looking body wise and had a sweet face; until he opened his mouth to talk. Gutter language, Dean called it.

Dean ignored Holden, as he always did, and turned to Alice who looked in timidly from the door. He could hear the vacuum going in the room next to his and knew Tessa was back to her daily duties of house keeping. Strangely enough, Claudia hadn't bothered him in a while, which disturbed him to the brink of calling Alice down to his study.

“Alice, go and check on Claudia for me, I haven't seen her since I got back from Myer's estate”

Alice nodded, her pale blue eyes scanning Greg and Holden before disappearing back into the main foyer. Dean noticed a change in the charming old woman, she wasn't as lively as she had once been, and it was almost as if she were moping about Skye Glenn… It made him think maybe the woman had become a little to emotionally attached over the annoying pain-in-the-ass, then again, so had he.

As much as Dean would deny it later on, he felt a stab of guilt leaving the girl with Gage Myer. He snorted, but Greg and Holden didn't seem to notice.

`Your getting a little soft, no one's considerably worried she was sent to Myer, be glad she's gone' he told himself `Like you want a child running around your home any longer then you have to.'

Skye kicked and thrashed as Dean tried to restrain her, she was sobbing, hard. Why was she being so difficult?

It finally occurred to Dean that the girl was not sobbing, but finding it harder then normal to breath, her movements were still reckless and he was surprised at her strength. When he was younger and had a fight with his father, the man had tried to beat him black and blue but Dean had taken a wooden plank, maybe heavier then him, and beat his father away.

Maybe in desperate time's, people called on some inner strength, something from the divine intervention or some shit. Skye's thrashing seemed to ease and Dean slightly relaxed his muscles; divine intervention can kiss his ass.

“Let me go! Please, just let me go…”

It was a little late for begging, he wouldn't give in and he wasn't that weak.

So why did he hate the tone of her voice? Why did he just want that incessant pleading to stop, when dozens of times before he had gotten some form of sick amusement from the pleading of others?

He grunted when she pushed against the door frame with her hands, earning a chuckle from Gage who was standing not eight feet away. Dean had had enough, Colt had by this time shown himself from the stairway, in his hand was a pair of handcuffs he dangled from his finger. Dean nodded for him to come over and he did with little hesitation.

Dean slapped the handcuffs onto Skye's wrists, her breathing was slowly coming in and out in shallow breaths. Handing her over to Colt, Dean stepped back and smirked. Let King-shit deal with the Princess for a while.

King-shit, since when had he ever used that kind of insult before? He was already using the girl's colorful vocabulary, man, had he reached a new breaking point. Shit-head suited Colt beautifully.

By now Holden and Greg were looking at him oddly, maybe because he had zoned out for a good five minutes. Dean didn't know what was worse, letting them know that he did have moments where he just tuned everything out, or the fact he had just mumbled “Damn Princess” and “King-shit” about three times already.

“Ah, Dean, are you feeling okay…?” Greg asked hesitantly, eyeing his friend as if he had magically grown a second exterior.

Dean's eyes snapped open wide in sudden realization. Pulling at the collar of his shirt, he stood up and nodded “Fine Greg, why do you ask?” his voice was sweet, so sickly sweet that Greg edged back, blowing some of his dark hair out of his eyes.

“No reason”

Not a very good cover up.

Tapping sounded at the door of Dean's office, he turned his head and looked at the distraught face of Alice. He didn't need this right now, whatever was wrong; it wasn't going to end in celebrations or candied apples.

“Is there something wrong Alice?” he didn't mean to sound sarcastic or flippant, Dean was tired and really wasn't in the mood to deal with Claudia's tantrums or attention seeking.

“Sir… Miss Claudia is…” her voice was shaky; Dean also noticed the old woman's hands shaking uncontrollably. Greg and Holden looked on in confusion, although clutching their rifles in case anything severe should be said.

“Gone”

Tessa's small frame showed up in the entry way, pulling Alice gently away as the woman stared on in shock. Maybe the shock of finding Claudia's room empty and thrashed about beyond recognition was too much for the poor woman. Tessa was already loading her twenty-two Caliber rifle when Dean stepped forward, she wasn't sure if he was ready to run upstairs and see the scene for himself, or simply lunge at her in pure frustration.

“This better not be some sick and twisted joke, Tessa” Dean growled. This couldn't be happening; how the fuck could someone sneak into his home and just take someone he loved. Yes, Claudia may have been an even bigger pain the ass then a certain Australian girl, but she was still his family.

“Harson is going to die, no one kidnap's my family and-” before Dean could finish his sentence Tessa narrowed her stormy grey eyes his way, her frown deepening.

“No one deserves that Dean isn't that what we did to Skye Glenn and the many other girls we abducted? We took them away from their families and when it happens to us, it's the biggest crime in the world” with that said, Tessa shoved her rifle into the side of her belt and made a quick haste for the front door.

He hated it when she had the last word.

Final Words

Dean: “Damn”