Nor (Wattpad Featured Story, WriteAffair finalist)

Chapter 23: The Snatch

They are waiting for me when I come out of the D. Sullivan Building first day of school. An idling black van, door half-open. Tinted front windows. Shadows in the back. I hear them jump onto the sidewalk, shoes on stone, then feel the tug on my arms. A hand shuts my mouth and they drag me inside, the door shutting neatly. A few seconds seem too little for all that to have happened, but it did, and now, we're driving away.

Faces are above me, shadowed in caps. They're all dressed in dark, heavy, unassuming clothes. The figures range – large, thin, fit. I'm still not allowed to speak, but I can see bits of their features. Young. Older. Who are these people?

Ransom. I've just been kidnapped for ransom. Wow! On the first day of school too! It's not as if I can tell them thanks, I know, plus I'm doubting that they set that detail out of kindness to me. That was probably more for shock factor. Or impatience. Who knows?

One of them finds something he's been fumbling for. He leans over, tying a bandanna round my eyes. My hands are pulled behind my back and bound together, then they stuff a sock in my mouth. Thank God it smells clean. I remain where I am, lying in some guy's lap. I think of Maggie and my dad, Pia and Brian, Wes, Glenn.

Slowly, my cool non-worry starts to turn to healthy panic. I could die. I could be raped. I could have a minor part of me cut off to be sent to my house to alarm my dad and the police – an ear, a finger, a toe. It's not impossible (even it if it does sound dramatic and TV-ish)! Nothing is impossible! Not torture (World War I and II, people), not beatings (hatred taken out on a Sullivan child by possibly impoverished deviants), not anything.

I start to shake, my mind streaming with pleas, silent tears, negotiation ideas. I wonder how long it will be before I get to it – the point where the worst happens. Surprisingly, the drive is short, but there's quite a period of preparation before we get out. First, the impoverished deviants bustle about, whispering about something or other, then I feel myself moving, being carried. Then ... believe it or not, I'm stuffed into what feels like a sleeping bag.

Like a corpse, I'm hauled out into the day, but soon after, I hear the creak of wood, the light dies, and I know we're indoors.

There's a strange crackling sound as they walk, and I can hear other things too. Murmurs. Creaks. Footsteps. They go far back, giving me the clue that the room we're in is large, then I'm set down – with surprising gentleness – onto the floor. The bag opens, I'm pulled out, and the bandanna over my eyes comes off.

I blink. OK. First thing I see? People. A lot of them. Like a classful. They're standing around me in a dark but strangely familiar-looking space.

I can't believe it. It's ... the glass warehouse.

One of the men steps up and stretches his hand towards me. He's tall and straight-built, African-American, with a relaxed, good-looking face. He pulls me up and sits me in a chair facing everyone.

"Don't worry, Miss Sullivan," he assures me, arms over his chest. "Nobody here's going to hurt you."

I blink at him. My mouth is still stuffed, so there's not much I can respond with. I try to glance at him and show him with my eyes, and he purses his lips together, considering. Finally, he pulls out the sock, waiting as if expecting me to scream. But I'm not that stupid. I know no one's going to hear me through these industrial-thick walls.

"Is there something you want to say?" he prompts me.

I move my mouth for a moment, trying to get the cottony taste off my tongue. "Who are you?"

"Me, or us?"

"Both."

"You can call me Nate. I'm head of the Watchers."