**Authors note* I was going to make the chapter longer, but I had left the previous one on a cliffhanger, and my friends were asking me to hurry up, so please enjoy this, even if it's short.*
I whip around to face the guy from the horse. His eyebrows are raised with mischief, impishly grinning, with a scar climbing the left of his chin. A sparkle in his eyes glows like a sharp piece of glass. He has brown hair with a scruffy look; As if he dressed up for a western movie. He’s even wearing boots, jeans, a red shirt, and vest. Also, he’s got a pistol. Pointed at me.
“I’m looking for something, too! I’m looking for a girl, who, hmm yes, about your height and age, with green eyes like yours, and oh, maybe strawberry-blonde hair, who is feeling cooperative and will get on Dunes here nice and quick. Have you seen her around?”
“She was looking for trouble, wasn’t she?”
“Oh, yes. Please hop aboard to begin your ride with Mr. Sparks.” No choice. I climb onto the horse, and we ride through the desert.
Hours later, we finally stop.
“Off you go,” Sparks says playfully. Pushing me off Dunes is not my kind of playful, (OW) but I see him grinning anyway as I pick myself up. “Hands behind your back, please.” He handcuffs me tightly.
“What are you? Time police?”
“In a way, yes. Quiet now.” He lifts me back on the horse. Riding is more tiring than you’d realize. My legs are sore.
Soon, we stop again. Sparks warns me not to speak, before blindfolding me. I can still hear sounds anyway. The ringing of a phone. Mumbled voices. Then, finally, a ringing in my ears. My head throbs, like every time I time-travel. Then the blindfold is ripped away, and what I see makes my head throb even harder. Seriously, I might pass out. Because what I’m seeing? It doesn’t exist. Like, it’s impossible; but there it is anyway. It’s a building, completely white, but it’s twisted. It’s shaped in an infinity circle, except square at the same time, somehow. I glance at Sparks, and nearly get a heart attack. He’s wearing a suit of white armor, like a Storm Trooper, but without a mask. Quickly glancing down, I’m relieved to find that I’m still wearing my own clothes.
I open my mouth, just to ask something along the innocent lines of HOW WHY WHAT, but Sparks waves me off, texting on his phone. Now I understand why my mom calls them anti-social.
“Are the handcuffs even necessary?”
“I can’t even trust you to stop talking. Why would I trust your hands?” He had a point. Sparks finished texting, and put away his anti-social device. He holds up the stupid blindfold.
“Did you take that off just to show off?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” Now that I’m blinded, we ride towards the building (I think). The rest of the day went like this:
We get off the horse, Sparks yanking my arms to lead me.
I hear somebody whispering, probably Sparks and a guard.
I try not to walk into a wall.
The blindfold is taken off again, and I’m shoved into a small room, approximately the size of a walk-in closet. I think it is a closet. And that’s it. Because even though my mind was racing, as soon as I touched the floor, I fell asleep.
“. . . and, if you don’t wake up, we’ll assume you're dead and we’ll throw your corpse out.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Fred,” the familiar sound of Sparks’ voice finds its way into my ears.
“Like she’s valuable?” A laugh, between the two males. I sit up.
“Did you have a good rest, Sleeping Beauty? You’ve kept us waiting for a while now.” The other man (Fred?) said. I cross my arms.
“It wasn’t my choice.” More stupid laughing.
“Choices will be rare for you, here. Follow us,” says Sparks. We walked down the hall, upstairs, through another hall, went right, right, left, downstairs, another right, and then I lost track. They probably went the long way on purpose.
“You’re going to interrogation,” Fred tells me, “and if you do it right, you get breakfast.”
“How do I do it right?”
“By answering the questions correctly, not talking back, not stalling, and not being sarcastic.”
“But I like being sarcastic.” Sparks shakes his head.
“At this rate, you’ll get breakfast when everybody else is eating lunch.” That was probably true. We walk down a few more hallways before stopping at the interrogation room. I expected it to be painted white or gray, entirely empty, with a window in the middle, and a chair on either side. Instead, it’s painted sky blue, with a neon green carpet, and multicolored couches. The wall is covered in crayon drawings, and preschool-style holiday crafts.
I honestly think it’s offensive. What am I, five? This is completely unprofessional. Fred must’ve seen the look on my face.
“It’s psychology.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“What did we say about talking back and being sarcastic?” Sparks says, shoving me into the room with a scowl. I’d totally step on his foot or give him a nice kick, but he has his pistol with him. I’d rather not deal with that.
The men lock the door behind me, and I’m left alone in the play room.
