Are You Ready?

"Come with us." Two burly men in gray suits grab you by the arm and handcuff you. "You know what you did." But you have no idea.

They shove you into the backseat of a black car with tinted windows. So tinted that you can't see out of them.

Your heart is racing, and your palms are sweating. The handcuffs are digging into your wrists, and you are biting your tongue to prevent the urge to shout out. You don't know what these men could do.

"Now, do not say a word unless we ask you a question. Also, do not touch anything unless we say it is okay. Got it?" You avert your eyes to the floor so as to not have to look at the men's hideous faces.

"I understand." You nod and the men turn back around in their seats and get the car going. You are surprised at how fast the car goes. You let your head fall back and hit the seat. You close your eyes and fall asleep quickly, despite all of the worries going through your head anyway.

---

"Wake up. It's time for your trial." Your eyes snap open and one of the men is shaking you. You are about to ask what he means by "trial", but remember that you do not speak unless they ask you a question and keep your mouth shut. Getting out of the car, you notice that the other man is gone. You figure that it really doesn't matter.

Looking up, you see a grand building; red brick, several windows, and a double door for the front door make it look more like the state capital than anything. At first you think it is beautiful, and then you feel a chill. The building is more eerie than beautiful now.

The man grabs you by the arm and leads you up the front steps and to the front door. You immediately notice a large brass knocker in the shape of a bull dog in the center of the door.

"Knock." You look at the man, but he is not looking at you. He is staring directly at the door, but you do as you are told. Even if you bolted, he would easily be able to catch you in his car. And you were already handcuffed; how far would you really be able to get?

After knocking, you rocked back and forth on your heels. Your heart had not stopped racing since the moment the men handcuffed you, and your palms were still sweating. The ten seconds that it took for someone to open the door were torture.

"Hello, Marshall. Is this the one?" The woman who opened the door was slim, and most likely in her mid-forties. She had a stern face, and wore a leather jacket over a white shirt and jeans. The woman scared you. "Yes. We found her walking most likely back to her home. Is that correct?" You snapped your head to him; surprised that he was clarifying with you.

"Yes, I was walking home from visiting my grandmother." The woman nods, you guess that your answer was acceptable.

"Follow me." Marshall (the man) grabs you by the arm again and practically drags you through the doorway before stopping suddenly.

"Ma'am? I was told that we were doing the trial now. Isn't it that way?" Marshall points to the left, while the woman is standing on the bottom step of a staircase to the right.

There is silence for a moment, and you take that chance to look around. The inside of the building is no different than the outside. It has a stately manner, and has a feeling of home. You quickly bury that deep inside your mind; you were captured and taken here. There should be no feeling of home here. But there still is.

“Now, who is in charge of this place?” You look at the woman and she is twisted around, staring at Marshall.

“You, ma’am.” You turn your head and look at Marshall; he seems to be disappointed.

“Then I say we go up these stairs and put her in one of the rooms.” Marshall nodded and the woman turned back around and headed up the stairs, Marshall and yourself not far behind.

At the top of the stairs, it is just a hallway, but the whole hallway is lined with doors. The woman motions for you to continue following her, so you do. The three of you stop in front of the last door on the right.

“This is where you will stay until we hold your trial.” You nod and sigh in relief when Marshall unlocks your handcuffs. Even though the second they’re off your wrists, he’s holding you. 

“There is food and water, and a good enough mattress with bedding to sleep on. I hope you are comfortable.” The woman opens the door and Marshall pushes you into the room, slamming the door behind you. You hear the door lock and know you’re stuck until they come to get you.

You quickly scan the room and your heart stops.

It’s your room. From home. 

Your hands fly to your mouth instinctively, stifling a scream. How do these people know what your room looks like back at home?

Well, let me explain.

Do you remember your old roommate, Vicky? You must remember her, because she was always messy and never stayed in her space. Plus she had tattoos all up her arms, so really there's no way for you to not remember her. Anyways, let's just say she did some bad things, and then some other bad things, and then left and moved to a different state. After framing you. There really was no way to put it nicely, was there? Anyways, that's why I wrote this. As you read this, you are walking home from your grandmother's house. And as you walk, the two burly men in gray suits are coming up behind you, with handcuffs. I hope that my writing helped you. Good luck! Not.

-Vicky