No Strings Attached

Chapter 3

No Strings Attached

III

"Why don't you come out here and face us like a man, you sick freak!"

Pudge screamed that at the top of lungs. Fists raised and ready to fight, he wasn't in the mood to mess around. Carrie snatched his arm and cried, "Don't provoke him!" The desperation in her tone was enough to loosen his stance. A look into her eyes and he saw how disturbed she was by the nightmare. Sure, being a strange place was stressing, but to have that much despair? What had happened here? Trying to be strong she shook her head and rid her eyes of the tears. The sight had done its work, though, and Pudge had softened.

"You two seem cozy. Let's find some place where you can be alone!"

Pudge felt something yank on his arm and gravity ripped him downward. The ground was gone, like a trap door had opened at his feet. Carrie was still holding onto his arm and she didn't let go as he tumbled down. His chin cracked against the floor as he plummeted, and it gave him just enough time to throw his free arm up to hold on. For a few seconds he tried to gather what was happening; he could see Isaiah's feet as he rushed toward them and feel Carrie clinging to his arm, screaming. Isaiah knelt down and reached for Pudge's hand, but between being disorientated and Carrie pulling him down, he wasn't able to keep his grip.

Isaiah watched helplessly as Pudge and Carrie disappeared into a thick darkness, only the sound of Carrie's voice echoing back. By the time he reached the spot they had just been, the floor had returned. His hand crashed against the floor and he jammed his wrist. Instinctively he shook the injured joint and gripped it. Concern had entered his mind so heavily he couldn't even process fear any longer. He shouted agonizingly at the empty spot. "Carrie! Carrie!"

"Such a short lived reunion! That's okay, I won't let you get bored!"

Miranda watched the scene in disbelief. It wasn't even the sight of Pudge and Carrie being swallowed by the ground that frightened her. No, the sound of Isaiah's frantic screams were much more harrowing. Thomas once again found himself clinging to her. She wasn't sure whether she should say anything. Even if she did, what was she supposed to say? Indecisive, all she could do was place an arm around Thomas and stare worriedly at Isaiah.

Steadily, Isaiah rose back to his feet, his sore wrist dropped and his cool demeanor returned. Miranda placed one foot forward before another shift in their world sent her flying forward. A once even ground abruptly sloped. Angled so much that no one could stand, the three remaining kids found themselves half sliding, half rolling down the hallway. Taken off guard, Miranda didn't even have time to register what was happening before she reached the bottom of the makeshift slide.

Isaiah had grinded to a halt first; his face screeched against a tile floor, cutting his cheek. Quickly he turned around, somehow having the mind to prevent Miranda and Thomas from suffering a similar fate. Miranda found herself dodging the floor when Isaiah used his body as a shield. Before she could thank him, he had let her go and caught Thomas, also.

They tried to catch their breath and slow their hearts, all knowing it was best to be levelheaded than panic. Miranda checked Thomas for injuries while Isaiah took in their surroundings. It appeared to be a kitchen, with cabinets stained a pretty mahogany color, the newest appliances, and fresh fruit on the counter. No windows were there and the only door he could see was located in the opposite corner. He looked back to check on Miranda and Thomas; where they had just entered, a new door had appeared.

Miranda caught the shock that flashed on Isaiah's face. Still knelt next to Thomas, she asked, "What should we do?"

Isaiah walked away. Her eyes followed him as he reached a counter and picked up a small knife. "We should grab supplies here. Though to be honest, I'm not sure how safe carrying a knife around would be," he joked, a small, awkward laugh escaping his lips. She wanted to laugh with him, to assure herself and the others that this was all good fun, but her lips remained tight.

Next, Isaiah rummaged through the cupboards. He pulled out a glass, inspected it, and put it away. The sight reminded Miranda of her thirst. She asked, "Think you can get some water for me and Thomas?"

"Oh. Of course."

Untrusting of the water there, yet not seeing any other options, Isaiah grabbed a total of three cups from the cupboard he was searching and filled them up with water from the tap. Before he even dared give any to Miranda or Thomas he sniffed it, stuck his index finger in it, and had a drink for himself. It was safe. A bit harsh on the fluoride and chlorine but no worse than what he had back at home.

He handed her a glass and then bent down to give Thomas his. Quiet as they enjoyed the drink, the three sighed as the cool water soothed them. Miranda offered a thanks, to which Isaiah merely waved. Half of the glass gone, Miranda said, "I guess we should try and find Carrie and Pudge."

Isaiah shook his head, "No. First, we should get out of here."

"But, that girl seems important to you."

A hand went to his face, as though he was about to adjust glasses that weren't even there. The hand uneasily ran through his hair as he said, "She is. But I'm responsible for you and Thomas, too. We'll get help for the others."

It was obvious how painful it was for him to say that, but he did it anyway, probably to help convince himself that it was the best course. Still, the comment seemed strange so she asked, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen," he answered automatically.

"I'll be thirteen on Saturday," she said, offering a detail he didn't inquire about. Both were aware that this small talk was taking their minds off things.

"Saturday, huh? That's my dad's birthday. I miss him."

"You don't get to see him much?"

"He passed away."

"Oh."

Uncomfortable under his gaze, she shifted. Thomas just passed looks between the two older kids in front of him. Isaiah always had his eyes narrowed and he continued eye contact with Miranda no matter what she was doing or saying. Still cuddled close to her, Thomas could feel how her heart had fluttered and changed its pattern several times now, revealing her fears and anxieties. Isaiah, despite his calm presence, wasn't a calming person to her.

Isaiah wasn't an i***t. He could read people. To make it worse, Miranda wasn't exactly good at hiding. Her eyes danced around, looking into his only briefly before she tore them away. Her knee was bouncing, partially from the adrenaline but also because of her insecurities. Unsure how much of her apprehension was caused by him, he decided to focus on Thomas for a moment.

"What about you, Tommy? How old are you?" he asked, his voice gentle and caring.

Thomas shook his head and whispered, "I don't know."

"Well, do you know when you were born?" Miranda offered, deciding to remain a part of the conversation.

He thought about it and then said, "I think fifty."

Miranda tensed, seemingly understand what he meant. Isaiah, however, was too confused to question him more. After battling within herself, Miranda said, "Sweetie, what do you mean? 'Fifty' isn't a date."

"1950 is a date," Thomas argued, defiantly crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

Isaiah paled; he shot a look over to Miranda and acted as though Thomas wasn't even there when he said, "That means he's over sixty years old. This kid is not over sixty years old."

Thomas suddenly welled up with tears and his pouting lip quivered. "Sixty? Does that mean momma is dead?"

"No. No, no, no, Tommy. I'm sure that's not the case," Isaiah cooed, placing a hand on the kid's head and ruffling his hair. Thomas looked up to him and ceased his tears when he saw Isaiah smile. "We're going to get you back home where I'm sure your mom is waiting for you."

Miranda felt her heart melt at the scene. Isaiah handled it so well. It was clear he was a natural with kids. Yet a fresh thought lingered in her head. Not only did they need to survive and escape this nightmare, they needed to find out what was going on. If Thomas was sincere and correct, he'd been locked away in that strange house longer than some live, having never aged a day. What kind of sick, disturbing hell had they landed in?