Connected

Chapter One

I should’ve never left her. That stupid trip could’ve waited until I knew for sure that she was okay. But I’m an i***t and left her. And now, she’s gone and it’s all my fault. I broke my promise.

Three weeks earlier…

I woke up to the bright sun blinding my eyes. The sun? Wait, I quickly rush over to the window tripping over my feet.

Oh no.

Looking outside I see not only is the sun raised high in the sky like mid-day, but blood is everywhere. Staining everything. The grass and the trees now dyed red, and clumps of guts are all over the place. But there are no animals or bodies.

What happened?

A large hand is placed on my shoulder. I twirl around, only to see a beast. A hideous beast covered in blood. I try to take a step back, but I’m already against the wall.

It’s been three f*****g weeks, and they still haven’t found anything. The legal system is such a joke. People just don’t disappear out of thin air. Especially someone who loves to be around her family and friends.  

He towers over my 5’2 frame, his skin disgusting jungle green and caked with dried mud and blood. His eyes, raw sienna and tumbleweed brown, captivate my attention. How can something so hideous have the most beautiful eyes?

“What happened? Who are you? What do you want?” I question, not trusting this...this beast.

“I will answer your questions when you come with me. Now, get ready to leave,” he says in a low voice.

“I’m not going with you. Who do you think you are?”

Does he really expect me to leave with him? A hideous stranger covered in blood and god knows what?

“You will come with me,” he demands me like a dog, “whether you want to or not.”

“Well, I don’t. Go away.” I try to shove past him, but he just keeps blocking my way.

“You do not work anymore my love, so don’t fret about it a moment longer. Well, you do. Just not what you’re used to doing.” He then takes something shiny out from his back pocket. Before I can see what it is he stabs me with it. The needle squirts something into my vein, making everything go black.

Apparently I’m crazy. She’s not even a real person and I’m hallucinating, at least that’s what the cops and doctors are telling me. But I know she’s real. Theresa Xallner, my sister, is a real person. They don’t know what they are talking about.

I wake up to a pounding head, it’s sunset outside. Standing up from the enormous bed I see three black doors, all of which are closed. I lightly step to the first on my right, trying to make as little noise as possible. I need to get out before he returns.

Behind door number one is a huge bathroom, fit for royalty. Everything seems to be made out of shiny grey marble. The tub looks as if it can fit four people comfortably. The shower is just as big, and the tiles on the bottom of my feet are ice. Looking into the mirror above the two sink counter, I see that my hair is a rat’s nest on my head. Oh, well.

Remembering the task at hand, I head to the second door. Upon opening it I see it’s a closet packed with clothes. An island in the middle, with drawers on both sides. The third door squeaks as I open it. I hold my breath, waiting for a sound to indicate that somebody has heard me.

They say I'm not handling the pressure of being an FBI agent well. That I’m cracking, but I'm not. They didn’t even check the house, the last known place she was seen at. Heading back home, I just can’t shake this strange feeling, like I'm lost yet know that I’m not.

When I walk into her room the door creaks. I expect to see the room as it always has been, but it’s not.

Where her bed was pushed against the far wall is a dirty old grey couch, with stuffing coming out. The overflowing oak bookshelf replaced with one almost empty. The desk in the corner with a filing cabinet, the dressers with a TV and video games.

Walking further into the room something glints in the light under the coffee table. Bending down I retrieve a needle, empty of whatever fluid it contained.

This is it! This is surely evidence that will clear my name, and bring her back.

Slowly I creep down the stairs, stopping every so often to listen. So far, so good. They seem to go on forever, just like the hallways do. After what feels like forever I reach the bottom step. Just then the door opens.

Eyes wide, I stare at my captor who doesn’t seem to notice me yet, but his acquaintance does. Lightly nudging him, the new stranger nodded his head over in my direction. My captor looks at me and smiles a tiny innocent smirk.

“My love, you’re up so soon. Is something the matter?” My wide ocean blue eyes dart between him and his acquaintance. “I’ll call you later Brendan, you can go for now.” Nodding obediently Brendan walks back out the front door. The door to my freedom.

I’ve been sitting in this office for twenty minutes already. What’s taking him so long? Morgan said that he would be right with me. Just as I stand up to leave, Officer Seals enters the tiny office.

“Sorry I’m late Easton, I got caught up for a minute. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” He sits down in the chair on the other side of the cluttered desk.

“I know everyone’s thinking I’ve gone off the deep end, but I looked in her bedroom today. I found this needle.” I put the plastic bag on the desk where he could see it, or hopefully not lose it.

“I see,” he rubbed his chin like he was deep in thought. “Where exactly in her room did you find this at?”

“Under the coffee table. You could do some testing to see what was in it, and to hopefully get the person’s DNA who took her.”

“Okay, this shouldn’t take longer than an hour or two. Would you mind staying here while I run the tests? It won't take long,” he promised.

“You got it Brendan, I’ll wait in the waiting room.” I start to stand up but he tells me otherwise.

“I’d prefer if you’d stay in here, to keep things on the down low. Away from gossiping ears.” he gave me a polite smile before walking out.

After Brendan leaves I glare at the monster. Quickly, in three strides he's standing directly in front of me.

“What's the matter?” He asks reaching out to hold my hand. I jerk back, crossing my arms before I fall backwards.

“You'd said  that you would answer my questions, so I want them answered.”

He smiles, showing his pointed fangs. “Someone’s feisty today, but I did promise you answers. Follow me love, you must be starved.”

The kitchen is just as pretty as the rest of the house, everything still being gray marble, white tile, or black. He opens multiple cupboards before standing in front of me.

“PB and J or a different sandwich?”

“Who are you? Why did you take me? What do you want?” I fire at him instead of answering his question.

“You're very persistent. I took you because you're mine,” he growled the last part at me.

Bewildered I yell, “I’m not yours, and I never will be you creep!”

“Theresa, you're mine. Now eat your sandwich.

“H-how d-do you kn-know my name?” And there is no way in hell that I am eating something he made.

“I know everything about you Ms. Xallner, well mostly everything anyways.” He smirks.

Backing away I question him again, “Who are you? What do you want? How do you know my name?”

“Eat the sandwich, then I’ll tell you everything.”

“No! I'm not eating anything. Not until I get some answers.”

“Please love? Don't make this any harder than it already has to be. Eat the sandwich.” He looked pleadingly at me with his breathtaking eyes.

“One bite and that's all.” What if he's put something in it to make me sleep again?

“For every bite you eat, I’ll answer one of your questions,” he negotiates.

I’ve been waiting here for two hours and twenty-seven minutes. He said he would push it, and that at most it would take two hours. Having enough of the games I stand up and walk towards the testing rooms. Passing by a door I hear, “He's not in his right mind officer Seals. I think it would be best to have him admitted to River View. Th-.”

“No, he’s not like Marandia Wells. We just need to get him back on the medicine he's stopped taking, that's all.” Brendan defends me.

“He may not be like Marandia or Alex Bloomer, but by the time he is, it will be too late to help him. If you want to help him, he needs to go to River View, it's his only hope.”

Quickly and quietly I rush back to the front of the building. They want to send me to River View? Marandia Wells doesn't ring a bell, but Alex Bloomer? Where do I know him from? Think, think, think.

Alex Bloomer.

That was the name of the guy who lived next door to us and would watch us from time to time. He moved away to the next town over I think.

Picking up my phone I dial a trusted friend on the force.

“Agent Zoski, I need the address of a Mr. Alex Bloomer. I need it within the next half an hour,” I rudley demand into the phone on Brendan’s disgusting desk.

“But sir, you’re not on duty, and I-.”

“I don't care, just get me the address this is very urgent. It's a matter of life or death.” Not caring as to what Ms. Zoski has to say I hang up the phone on her.

As terrible as it was to eat something he made me, I needed the answers. Apparently he came across the other ‘creatures’ who own the land where I live. He went into their territory to get me, one thing lead to another and a fight broke out. A ‘small price to pay for his love.’ He does know almost everything about me, hes been stalking me for a while now you could say. His name is Richard. He wants his mate, but I don't understand what that has to do with him taking me. And what does he mean by mate? 

“Why did you take me then?”

Exhaustedly he sighs. “Because Theresa, you are mine. My mate.”

“Don't call me Theresa, or love, or yours, or your mate,” I deadpan as I take another tiny bite of the strawberry jelly and peanut butter sandwich.

“What should I call you then? Muffin? Sugar? Pineapple?” He asks.

Ignoring him I ask my next question, “Who do you think you are? To parade into my house and take me against my will?”

“I am your mate, you-.”

“Aren’t my mate!” I rudely interrupt, “just stop talking about mates! No, forget I said that. What exactly do you think is a ‘mate’?” At this moment I wish looks could kills, because he would've been dead long, long ago. Looking behind him, out the window, I notice that everything is covered in a black blanket called night.

“Mate is the person were destined to be with. And my gods have chosen you, but believe me, I would never  have chosen a mortal like you to be my mate. My pack isn't going to accept you easily either. You're going to have to show them that you are worthy of being their Luna.” This has to be a joke. I mean mate, pack, gods, luna? Sounds to me like someone has been reading too many w*****d stories written by teenagers.

“That's an amazing joke. Now tell me the truth Richard.”

“I did goddammit!” he roars slamming his fist down on the granite counter tops, making me jump. “That's enough  questions for one night, go to bed.”

“Hypothetically speaking, if all this mumbo jumbo  about ‘mates’,” I wave my hand around, “is real, then what are you exactly? Because your skin in an ugly, terribly ugly, green color.” Actually, with no dried mud or blood it looks pretty, but I'll never tell him that.

“I said enough questions Theresa. Go. To. Bed.” He spits in my face before walking away. At least I finally got some answers. But why did he get so worked up over the last question? I mean, he was the one who said that I could ask anything I wish.

This is it.

277 Harbord street.

It's nothing I thought a 37 year old bachelor would live in. It's a one story, tiny hut, painted hot pink. The door ugly melon, and the shutters periwinkle blue. A unicorn either puked on it, or he really is crazy. Hell, no one I know, no girl I know would live in a hot pink house. Not even Sally Johnstine from high school who owned everything in hot pink.

Tap. Tap. Tap tap. Tap. 

I wait a few seconds but still don't get an answer. I knock again, noticing the curtain on the right shift. I knew he was there.

“Mr.Bloomer,” I call out, “I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Go away! Can’t you read? The sign says no ‘soliciting’.”

“Sir, I'm not here to sell you anything, just to ask you a few questions.”

“Go away or I'm calling the police.”

“Sir, it's me. Easton Xallner. You used to watch me and my sister when you lived next door to us. I was just wond-.”

“Easton Xallner never had a sister you crook. Go away!” 

“Why does everyone keep telling me that? Mr. Bloomer, please. It really is me, Easton Xallner. When you were 19 and I was 7, you used me as your little brother with autism who would die before the age of 19 to get girls.” I must seem crazy to the wildlife in the woods, talking to a man through a closed door whose not accepting that it's me.

“H-how’d you know that?” His raspy voice from smoking since he was eleven sounds right on the other side of the door.

“Because Alex, it's me. Easton Xallner.” After a pause all I could hear is the dancing of the leaves, and twenty-five locks unlocking. The door flung open, and I'm greeted with a poor sight.

Alex Bloomer looks terrible, and that's a compliment. His shirt has a bunch of holes and stains on it, and his boxers are tattered. It looks as if he hasn't shaved in years, and his head is bald. His eyes are sunken in. He looks 79, not 37.

“Why by golly, if it isn't little Easton Xallner.” He talks like a grandpa too. He takes a step out and squishes me in a hug. I don't think hes showered in a few months.

“Come,come on in,” he ushers me inside, “I’ll Answer any questions you have to the best of my knowledge. Sorry about the mess, I never get visitors.” His house smells worse than he did. Papers, garbage, food, and clothes are everywhere.

“Sit on the couch, just shove everything onto the floor. I'll get us a beer.” Sliding everything onto the floor, I stare at the couch. White stains are covering the black fabric, and some look freshly moist.

I have three options here. One, I could stand and get my answers even though I’ll be rude. If I’m rude he’ll probably kick me out, so I wouldn't get my answers. Two, leave and forget about the whole thing. And three, sit on the couch and get all the answers I can.

I choose the last, I need some answers.