Chapter three...
Three days passed quickly. Nieves stood at the edge of the Weeping Willows forest, watching the sun sink below the horizon. She checked her weapons one last time. Katana secure at her hip, bow strapped across her back, arrows in their quiver.
"My, my, beautiful as always."
Nieves spun around, hand flying to her katana. Vincent Von Bastine leaned casually against a tree, that same infuriating smirk plastered on his face like he always wore.
"You..." Heat rose to her cheeks.
Before she could stop herself, her fist connected with his face with a satisfying crunch.
CRASH!
Vincent flew backwards and slammed into a tree trunk with enough force to shake the branches above. He slid down slowly, leaves raining around him as he coughed.
"Cough... cough... that's one hell of a punch, my queen," he managed to say, his voice cracking as blood trickled from the corner of his lip.
Nieves's face burned even redder now. She crossed her arms tightly and looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. "Don't call me that. And stop wasting my time! Tell me about Garrick."
Vincent pushed himself up from the ground, still grinning like an idiot despite the blood on his lip and the dirt covering his expensive coat. "Always straight to business, aren't you? No 'how are you Vincent?' or 'thank you for the information Vincent?' Just straight to—"
"Vincent!"
"okay okay, So touchy." He dusted himself off. "Garrick i—"
Tap. Tap.
I felt something touch my shoulder. My concentration broke completely and I jolted up in my seat like I'd just woken from a deep dream.
I looked up slowly and removed my headphones, the music still playing faintly as they hung around my neck.
It was the guy who'd been reading that thick book behind me.
"Hi," he said simply.
My face immediately turned red, heat rushing to my cheeks so fast I thought I might catch fire. I started stuttering like an idiot.
"H-h-h-h-h-h hiii!"
The guy scoffed. "It's late already."
"Late?" I glanced toward the window, confused.
The sky outside was pitch black, not a trace of the afternoon sun that had been there when I started writing.
Oh my gosh, I must have gotten completely carried away, I thought as I hurriedly packed my bags and books, shoving my notebook inside.
"Mind if I walk you home? It's pretty dark out there," he offered.
"No, don't worry. I can walk home by myself," I said quickly, maybe too quickly, and stormed out of the classroom before he could say anything else or see how red my face had gotten.
The moment I stepped outside, the darkness hit me. It was really dark. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket to turn on the flashlight.
The screen remained black, it was dead.
"Argg!" I groaned out loud in frustration, shaking the useless device.
The guy came out with his school bag, holding up his phone light.
"Mind if I walk you home now?"
I didn't know him. But I couldn't find my way on this dark night.
"Y-yes," I managed to whisper.
We started walking toward the road, through the sidewalks. It was a very long walk. Throughout it, nobody talked.
Then the guy finally broke the silence.
"I saw you writing back there. You write your own novel or something?"
I took a long time before finally answering, wondering if I should tell him. "Yes. I write my own book."
"Cool. What's the name?"
"It's... umm... A Broken Reality,"
"Hmm... nice name. Well, I'm a writer myself," he said, and I could hear the genuine interest in his voice.
"You are?!" The words shot out fast because of my sudden excitement, louder than I intended.
The guy's face shifted back in shock at my outburst. "Y-yeah. The name is actually similar to yours. It's called Broken Vampire."
"Vampire?"
"Yeah, I've read a lot of books and watched series like Vamps Diaries, so yeah, I love them," he explained with growing enthusiasm.
I laughed at his humor.
We walked in silence for a bit longer, then he said, "Oh right, I'm Arthur, by the way."
"Liane," I replied.
After ten more minutes of walking through the dim streets, we were almost at my house when a van driving down the street suddenly stopped beside us with a screech of tires.
Three men came out, and the streetlight glinted off the metal in their hands. All of them were holding guns, the barrels pointed casually in our direction.
Fear gripped me and I could see Arthur stiffen beside me.
Immediately, Arthur stepped in front of me, his body covering mine like a shield.
"Wh-who are you?" Arthur stammered.
"Who are we? Hahaha, he's a funny lad," one of the men said, his laugh cruel and cold.
"Who we are doesn't matter, kid. We just want payback for what your father did to us," another one said, stepping closer.
Father? I thought to myself.
Then Arthur said desperately, "But my father is dead! What more do you want?!"
"Hahaha, yes, your father is dead. Committed suicide like the coward he was. But he forgot to pay us back the 400 million dollars he stole from us before he took the easy way out,"
400 MILLION DOLLARS?! The number was so huge it didn't even feel real.
The amount alone shocked Arthur into complete stillness. He froze, unable to move.
"Come on, boys, let's get this over with," a man called from inside the van.
"What about the girl, boss?" one of them asked, gesturing toward me with his gun.
"Girl? I don't care, end her too, we can't have any witnesses," the voice from the van.
"Ok, boss."
End me? No, no, no. I don't wanna die. My heart was beating so incredibly fast I thought it might explode from my chest.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
One of the men shot four bullets into Arthur's chest in quick succession. He dropped slowly, his eyes wide with shock as he collapsed to the ground, blood spreading across his white shirt.
I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat, and started running blindly into the darkness, but I couldn't get far with my legs shaking so badly.
One of the men chased after me.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Seven shots fired into my back, each one like being hit with a sledgehammer.
I fell forward hard, my bag flying off my shoulder as everything scattered across the ground in a mess of papers and pens.
My notebook landed right in front of me, the pages fluttering open.
As I drew my last breath, I stretched my arm toward it with trembling fingers, desperate to touch it one more time.
"A writer must always protect their story."
My dad's voice flashed through my mind so clearly, a memory from years ago when he was still alive and would watch me scribble in my notebooks for hours.
"Do you think I'll ever have the courage to write my own book father?"
My father turned and smiled. "Yes you will, my baby girl, yes you will."
I blinked once, slowly. My vision started to blur at the edges. I heard the van engine roar as it drove away, leaving me alone on the cold pavement.
I blinked again.
And then...