Chapter 1: Best Friend

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 716

Mint Wallows was peacefully walking home after a long night shift. He had been working hours upon hours patrolling the streets, and not even one arrest to pass by the time. It had been exhausting, but he was relieved he could finally go home, relax, and stop mindlessly driving.

He huffed and tugged on his coat, adjusting it as the windy air blew it around. He fixed her messy blonde hair, shoving the loose strands behind his ears. He needed a haircut; it was to his shoulders now. He grumbled as yet again a gust of cold air smacked his face, blowing around his coat, bag, and hair.

"'s only another twenty minutes before I can lay in bed, eat pizza, and watch shitty TV shows." He mumbled to himself, letting out a small laugh.

Mint was now confronted with a road, so he quickly looked both ways, and ran across the street to a closed supermarket. He decided on going around back as cutting through the parking lot got him to his house faster.

He did think going behind a building at 1:00am was a bit of a risky choice, especially having seen many crimes scenes and knowing all the predicaments the victims of have gotten into. Despite that, he shrugged the fear off his shoulders and reminded himself he was armed. He often wasn't the most thoughtful when making decisions, but he could get himself out of trouble.

Out of nowhere, Mint felt himself fall onto the concrete pavement. He looked behind him and realized he tripped over a package. He must've spaced out while thinking.

He felt a presence and looked up. He saw a fairly tall woman standing in front of him with a surprised expression in her eyes, though her mouth was shut. It was dark, but through the dim street light a hundred feet away, he swore he recognized her. The several scars across her face and the wavy, somewhat curly blonde hair with golden highlights; it hovered just above her shoulders. She wore a warm jacket, gloves, pants, and boots. Could it be?

Mint looked over and saw a truck with some boxes still in it. He realized she was probably unpacking the truck for the supermarket.

Mint suddenly felt extremely embarrassed and swiftly got up to his feet, dusting himself off. He must have looked like an idiot, walking alone behind a store then tripping and falling over a box. Yet, now he was a little less embarrassed and wanted to look a little closer, not on the ground with hazy eyes, to see if it really was who he thought it was. He felt weird though. He felt like if it was, the recognition would have already happened. He had seen her around lately too, just happened to be at times where he couldn't spare a second to say 'hi'.

The woman had not spoken yet. Neither had he, and that was weird for him. Normally he could spark up conversations very easily. Why couldn't he find his words? Why couldn't she find hers? Or did she know where her words were? Maybe she just wasn't picking them up.

Mint was quickly feeling more and more exceedingly uncomfortable. There was a certain heaviness to the air that now made this interaction not just weird, but unsettling. He felt sick to his stomach with anxiety, and he wasn't an anxious person. He felt he should just walk away and forget about this ever happening. He felt like he should speak up so he could confirm her identity, but he felt himself stuck.

The longest, most grueling seconds of his life were abruptly ended when the familiar woman jumped forward and grabbed him. Her face was an apathetic frown, as a matter of fact, still was -- it hadn't changed. She had her arms wrapped around his waist. Her taller, bigger frame allowed her to hoist him over her shoulder and keep him there, grasped still at the waist.

Mint tried to catch his shock. This couldn't be her, could it? He wished there was more light; he could hardly see her facial features. In a panic, he fumbled for his gun. The woman began to carry him towards the truck.

"Let go of me!" He screamed, "I'm an officer! I have a gun!"

Mint just screamed in a panic whatever he thought would deter his attacker, but it was hopeless. He did manage to pull the handgun out from his holster, but due to the position he was in, it was an easy grab for the kidnapper.

"N-no! No...!" He cried.

The woman, quick and with ease, tossed Mint into the back of the truck. He scrambled to get out, but she shut it just before he could escape. He hoped the security cameras caught what happened, and that he would be alive long enough for someone to see the footage in the first place, long enough to have that possibility of finding him.

Mint got startled from a small thump from the outside. He thought the woman may have leant against the back, but he heard a small tap.

"What...?" He whispered so quietly hardly even he himself could hear it.

A recording started to play. It sounded like a woman's voice; it was a bit low, had an flat tone, and a strong French accent. That was it! That was her! That voice was unmistakably her! It was her! This person was her! This kidnapper was her. His kidnapper was her.

"It's good to see you again, Mint." Was all that the recording said.

Mint laced his fingers through his hair and slowly slunk down to the bottom of the truck, wondering why, after six years of an empty disappearance of contact, would his best friend do this.

Submitted: February 27, 2018

© Copyright 2020 Misha Drahoslav. All rights reserved.


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