Here it is, chapter 6. There's only a few more chapters left, I hope they're good enough... It's really not that great, but here ya go...
Chapter 6: Impossible
"Peter...?" I say, awestruck. "But how? How is he--?" I keep tripping over my words and sound really stupid.
"So, you sure you don't wanna talk?" Scar-face says, his gun pointed at Peter's head.
"I-- I--" I stutter.
He is just laughing his head off about how I'm floundering like a fish out of water. "I tell ya what. Since I'm so nice, I'll give you some to catch up. You Know. Before I kill him." His laughing is lowering, slightly, but not much. By letting us talk he probably just wants to make me want to keep him alive even more; therefore, it'll make me want to talk then he gets the schematics... What to choose, what to choose...
I nod, stupidly. I'm not going to let him kill Peter, though. I'll get us out of here. I promise myself that.
"All right, then." he says and puts the gun up onto his shoulder. He exits the room and gives me a wink. Creep.
I still can't believe it. The badly beaten boy in front of me is my brother. I just stare in disbelief at him until he wakes up.
He makes a moaning sound and slowly opens his eyes. "Wha...?" he groans, drowsily. He moves his eyes around the room, and the sight of me broke him from his stupor. "Huh...?"
"Okay, you're alive, that's good." I say calmly. My speaking seems to confirm that I'm not just an illusion because he breaks into a huge smile.
"James!" He throws his arms around me, then needs to lean back against the wall until he's not as dizzy. "How did you..?"
"What? Live? I don't know, I just did," I say, not really thinking that there was much more to it, "I'm more curious about how you ended up here though." It could be how I ended up here, but I doubt it.
He tells me the whole story starting with that night. He heard the gun shot and got out of bed. The man who broke in, which I now know is Scar-face, ran up the stairs after he shot me and found Peter walking around upstairs. Scar-face, who Peter calls Julius, hit Peter in the head with the gun and he was knocked out. When he woke up, he was here, and has been ever since. I suddenly feel awful for thinking that my life has been so bad, when Peter has been here for two years, being beaten and starved to the point of emaciation.
"And it isn't getting any better." I say.
"What do you mean?" Peter asks.
"You do know what brought this on, right?"
"All of this? No. I never really focused on it."
"Well, you know how Dad was so depressed that night?"
"Yeah..." I can tell that Peter doesn't get where this is going by the way he said the word.
"Well, apparently, Julius was trying to by some of his weapon plans off of him. He refused, obviously, and Julius was infuriated. He decided to come to our house in the middle of the night and steal the blueprints, and decided to kill and/or disable anyone in his way. He didn't get the blueprints, thank God, but I did earlier that night. I memorized all of them and now... I can't even count how many criminals have tried to get the plans from me."
"Really? I can't believe it. Oh, They probably thought that I knew the schematics too! That explains it."
"Either that or they thought that you were me. Those idiots would fall for anything. But... There is something I need to tell you... They said that if I don't give them the schematics, then they'll kill you... I don't know what to do."
"Don't sweat it. Just don't tell them, whatever you do." he says, as if he wanted to get killed.
"What are you saying? To just let you die? There's no way I would ever do that. I'd take the shot for you if I could. But there's no fooling them, considering we barely look anything alike now." I say, referring to his injuries and gaunt appearance.
"Well, then, what do you suggest? We can't just walk out. There's guards everywhere." he says and leans his head back against the wall.
"I've been some similar situations before. We just need to relax and leave it all to me." I say, way too over confident in myself. I actually haven't the slightest idea of what we should do.
"Whatever." he replies and blows some of the hair off his forehead, feeling defeated already.
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Whaddaya think? Not quite as serious as last week, but whatever.
-Demy
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