3Chapter 2: Dancer Doesn't Take Kindly to Her New Vampiric Associates, but Her Roommate Finds Interest in Fallon, Who Is Kidnapped By Opposing Agents. It's Dancer's Job To Rescue Him.
Dancer was whistling a song. It didn't seem that she realized she was doing it, but the painful silence would cause anyone to subconsciously try to break it. Stacy sat across from her as she ate some green grapes. She was trying to figure out what song Dancer was whistling. Dancer didn't realize she was whistling, so it looked like Stacy was staring at her for no reason.
"Unwritten by Natasha Beddingfield," Stacy finally spoke up, with Dancer oblivious to what she was talking about. "That's the song you were whistling. I suppose you didn't realize that you were whistling. I suppose you want me to explain the details of our mission. Who we are and who they are."
Dancer took a grape from Stacy and replied. "Vampires? Are you guys really vampires?" Stacy nodded. "Do you guys really drink blood and stuff like that?"
Stacy opened her mouth to respond, but she paused. She thought to herself while Dancer sat in awe and expectation. "I'd answer that, but what would I be getting out of it? I'll make you a deal, Dancer. I will tell you one fact about vampires in general if you tell me one fact about Dancer. A full name would be a good place to start."
"You're not getting that," she chided. "You might as well stop asking for it."
Stacy smiled. It was a half-smile, but it appeared to be as wide as Stacy could make it. "I'll detail the mission to you as much as I can without divulging certain aspects of it. Just like with humans, there are vampires who are content with their place in the world, and there are those who believe that they deserve more than they have been given. These are our enemies and as of now, they are your enemies as well. You will learn how to talk with a vampire, you will learn how to deal with a vampire and, if necessary, you will learn how to defend yourself against a vampire."
"Question. If I were Whitney Donovan, what would have been the next step of your plan?"
"You are Whitney Donovan," she insisted. Now, it seemed more like a repetition skill rather than an insistence. Was this going to be a recurring theme with Stacy? "You don't do any field work until the opposition makes a move. Think of this like chess. Actually, that's not a very good analogy. I'll come back to that later. Anyway, until we know what they're doing, you don't do anything. You'll just ready yourself for what's to come."
"And what exactly would that be?"
"Physical training, mostly," Stacy explained. "If your cover is blown for any reason—and we have more reasons to believe it will than not—you might find yourself in a position where your life may rely on your fighting skills. Obviously, we will provide back up, but we can't hold your hand. There will be a time where you will be on your own. I'll set up a training regimen with Antonio. Until then, you're free to go."
Dancer looked around the kitchen disbelievingly. For a second, she was expecting the field attacker to hop out of the fridge. She motioned to stand up cautiously, and then spun rapidly to face the fridge. Nothing was coming out, but Dancer was remaining cautious.
"Just so you know," Stacy told her, "if anyone was to come out of anywhere to attack, his or her best bet would be the stove, not the fridge. It's a lot easier to open internally. In other words, no one is coming out of the fridge. Now, if you walk up those stairs and down the hallway, you should come across the main lobby. You'll see the entrance once you're in there. Fallon should be waiting to take you back to the safety of your dorm room. We selected Fallon to drive you back because we felt you'd be most comfortable with him."
"How so?"
"If you thought we were trying to kidnap you elsewhere, Fallon would be the easiest to beat up, so there's no need to doubt our promise to take you back to the University. You may go. We'll pick up our conversation tomorrow." Stacy had finished her bowl of grapes, but Dancer hadn't gone anywhere. Stacy remained to stare at the human girl for a few seconds before finding no real reason to continue. She stood up and left Dancer alone in the kitchen.
Just like Stacy said, there was no reason to doubt her promise, and just as she said, Fallon was tossing a ball in the air as he waited by the van that brought the group to the building in the first place. It appeared the Mr. Clickity-Clack would be the one driving, which made Dancer lose faith in their decision-making skills.
Fallon was waving her over. "Come on. I don't have all day. I've got to take you back to Kent State before anyone really knows you're missing." Fallon opened the door for Dancer before sliding into the driver's seat and turning on the van. "Durai is on the phone with the dean of Kent State right now. He's trying to get your class schedule and see if there is anyway he can reschedule you so that your classes don't interfere with the training regimen Antonio has cooked up for you."
"Who's Antonio?"
"Our Director of Field Operation. He'll ask you to call him "The Brazilian", but don't listen to him. He just has an over-fascination with Heroes. Have you ever seen that show? It's really no good, if you ask me. Oh, by the way, Stacy has already spread the word to everyone else. We are not allowed to tell you any fact about vampires in general until you, Dancer, tells us something about Dancer."
"We'll start off right now," Dancer suggested. "My name is Dancer."
"Already know that. Try again. How about where you were born?"
"Portland, Maine. Now, do vampires really drink blood?"
"Yes," he replied, "but just answering that as a yes or no question really gives off the wrong impression. Vampire movies aren't entirely wrong; it just makes it seem much harsher than it actually is. Yes, it is possible to bite someone on the neck and drink his or her blood in that fashion. If a vampire were to drink blood directly from a human, the neck would be the optimal point because it tastes the best, the skin is the softest, and it immobilizes the target if bitten correctly. However, through the right channels, one can purchase blood that has been preserved. It tastes just as good as direct blood with none of the hassle."
"And where does that blood come from?"
"That's another question for another day, Miss Dancer. Unless, of course, you're willing to pony up another Dancer fact?"
"Another day, then," she replied. She looked out the window to see that Fallon was now pulling into the parking garage at Kent State. He parked seamlessly into a narrow parking where the black Suburban was a little over the line and the yellow Mitsubishi was almost tasking up three parking spots. Fallon's flawlessness was a clear outlier in the parking lot of students who most likely had just returned for a kegger.
"Tomorrow then?" Dancer asked.
"Not yet," Fallon replied before he unbuckled his eat belt. "I have a duty to see you to your room safely."
"As a vampire?"
"As a gentleman."
Dancer shrugged and allowed Fallon to silently accompany her across the ground and to the dorm building where she resided. Most of the people in the building didn't give Fallon and notice, and those who did simply found his casual attire to be out of sync with the colder temperatures in Kent, Ohio. Dancer unlocked her door and outstretched her hand to make sure Fallon wouldn't follow her in. "Okay. Here is where we split. I will see you tomorrow Fallon."
"Then I will see you tomorrow as well."
Just as Fallon turned to leave, Dancer's roommate Lisa was coming up the stairs to come in. "Dancer! I've been calling your phone all day. Mr. Hanson called the University because he was worried after you left with some strange individuals and that Whitney never showed up for your date. On top of that, there's no answer at Whitney's apartment and he's not answering his phone either. There's something else I'm supposed to tell you about Whitney…."
"I guess I'll just take my leave," Fallon said.
"You have a cute accent," Lisa noticed before turning her full attention on Fallon. "Hi. I'm Lisa Crick. And who might you be? I don't care what you say as long as you don't say you're anyone's boyfriend."
"Aren't you direct? Actually, I hate to tell you this, but I do have a girlfriend back in Indiana."
"You do?" Lisa and Dancer said in unison. (Lisa said it out of shock and despair. Dancer said it out of disbelief.)
"Yes, well, I'll be off." Fallon gave the girls a crooked half-smile before ducking out into the stairwell. "I'll wear him down," Lisa promised herself.
Fallon headed back down the stairwell quickly, occasionally glancing back to make sure Lisa Crick wasn't close on his tail. He walked fast across the chilly grounds and back into the parking structure. He fumbled around in his pockets to retrieve the keys and just as he put it into the car door, he felt the cold barrel of a gun touch his head.
"You're Durai's little tech boy, aren't you?" the holder asked. He was a blond man with a twisted grin. Fallon didn't answer, mainly because he knew he wouldn't have to. A second man grabbed Fallon by the arm and pulled him into another van parked across from Fallon while the first man kept his gun on his head.
"So you have Whitney Donovan if I'm not mistaken," he told Fallon. "I don't know how you guys got to her so quickly, and without us noticing, but that's not going to stop us. If they want you back alive, they are going to trade us Whitney Donovan."
Night came upon Ohio soon after and Dancer tried to get as good of a night sleep as she possible could. She had an Introduction to Psychology class at 8:30, but the events of the previous day were making hard to put her mind to rest. Before she knew it, it was already 5:00 A.M., and she didn't feel all that rested. Dancer groaned as she slid out of bed. To her left, she could see Lisa sleeping, but there was someone in the partial darkness standing in between them.
"What the Hell!"
"It's me! Stacy!"
"I repeat: What the Hell!"
"That training regimen is going to have to wait a little bit. Fallon never returned last night. Antonio took a crew and found the van deserted some miles north of here. Fallon is missing, and I believe that your safety may be in danger. We need to find Fallon."
"No," Dancer said in the quietest yell she could do as to not wake Lisa. "You need to find Fallon. I need to find some place to lay low until you've resolved this little sticky mess. Does that sound okay with you? It sounds okay with me."
Dancer pulled her head back under the cover, but her relaxation was short-lived when Stacy grabbed the girl by the ankles and easily pulled her off the bed as if she were a feather. "I need the security tapes for last night around the time that Fallon dropped you off. Can you acquire that?"
Dancer was raised not always tell the truth, but telling the truth would force her out of bed. Dancer could tell by looking at Stacy that she was a human lie detector. "Yes, I can. Come on." Dancer took a few minutes to slip on some more comfortable clothes and managed to brush her hair slightly before Stacy began to rush her out the door. Dancer took Stacy outside of the door building almost to the other end of the campus: to the campus security office.
Seated at the desk appeared to be one lone officer, a portly young man who appeared to be his late twenties and running solely from the caffeine given off by multiple cans of soda and the occasional candy bar. Dancer leaned over the counter and he looked at her expectantly. "Greg, I need to see the security camera footage for last night from around 8:30 or so. Can you do that for me?"
"Why should I do it?" he said with a smile.
"You know why you should do it," she replied coyly. Greg smile turned into a devilish smirk before he stood up and led the two ladies (he didn't even question Stacy) down into a back room with a monitor displaying numerous cameras around campus. Greg sat down at one of the computer terminals and began to open random files until one of the camera screens on the monitor turned black. Greg pointed at Dancer, who looked at the screen. Stacy followed suit.
"Okay," he said as the recording from the previous night came up on the monitor. "This is about 8:30. There's you coming out a van with some guy. Okay, then a few more cars park. Then, the camera shuts off." Just as he said, the screen goes into white noise, which persisted for about a minute. "Yeah, the wind took out the camera. Dylan went and reset it." The camera came back on. Fallon's van was gone, as were two other cars that were there previously.
"What do you think of it?" Stacy asked Dancer.
"I don't know," she said. "I was going to ask you that. I brought you here so you could figure that out!"
"We work as a team, or we fail. I need to know your opinion before I can give mine. I can be trusted to state my opinion after you say yours, but I don't trust that you will say the same thing after I say my opinion. Understand?"
"Yeah, fine," she replied begrudgingly. Dancer pointed at Greg, who understandingly rewound the tape and played it again from parking through the white noise. "I might just be going out on a limb here, but when Fallon parked, he park perfectly. I don't know if that's common with you guys, but I think it might be. College students are all either high or drunk, so the fact that another car parked perfectly like Fallon is suspicious to me. Maybe you guys have perfect vision or something."
"You must use all the knowledge you've attained, Dancer," Stacy chided. "That hypothesis does not make sense. Durai wears glasses. You know that."
"It was just a guess," Dancer defended. "I don't know what else to think."
"Let's try not to stereotype. Just because there are two other cars missing after the white noise does not automatically mean that Fallon was taken in one of those cars. The fact that Fallon's van is missing probably means that he was taken in the van. The other two missing cars were probably University students."
"So that means that whoever took Fallon had been waiting all day, or at least since he sent the e-mail. How did they know to stake out Kent State? Do they know who I am?"
"Let's not worry about that right now." She turned to Greg. "Go back to earlier today around 6:00. Fast-forward until you see a car where no one gets out of." Sure enough, a black Toyota stopped at 6:17, and no one got out. "That's our car, and according to the current surveillance camera, it's still there. Thank you, Greg." Stacy, holding Dancer by the sleeve, left the building and walked back across campus to the parking structure. They came up to the abandoned car and Stacy called headquarters. "Have Durai look up a license plate for me: 56T-RE2. Call me back when you have a match."
"Can I go now?"
"You cannot go back until Fallon is back safe. If you're not going to work with us as a team, then you might as well let yourself get captured. They will deduce that you are not Whitney Donovan, and your missing boyfriend will be once again in danger. In other words, stop asking that."
Dancer grunted and Stacy cell phone rang. She answered: "Good. Okay. Thank you." She turned back to Dancer with the new Intel. "The license plate is registered to a man named Alfonso Ortiz. What's our plan of action, Whitney? Again, I ask not because I don't know, but because I want to know what you think."
"I think you should just tell me what you think," she said. Stacy simply shot her a glare. The cell phone rang again. Stacy put on speakerphone.
Durai's voice could be distinctly heard on the other end. "The ransom call just came through. If you think you know what they're asking for, you're right." Durai played the recorded message: "You know who we are. You know what we want. You will get your tech boy back safely if we get Whitney Donovan. Taylor Park. If you're not there by 6:00, the boy is dead. Hope you care, for his sake."
"I don't know what to do," Dancer told Stacy before she could ask. Stacy seemed to accept her response this time around.
"You head to the meeting point. I'll meet up with you there after I pick up something important. Durai will meet you there as well."
"What about that Antonio guy? Isn't field work his area of expertise?"
"He's occupied right now. We do not have time to continue this conversation. I will meet you at Taylor Park soon." Stacy spun around so as to ignore any other words coming from Dancer and entered her car. She drove off, leaving Dancer with nothing else to do but to get in her car and drive over to Taylor Park. The drive consisted mostly of Dancer swearing at both herself and Stacy. Unfortunately, the drive only took five minutes nowhere near enough time to expel everything she felt.
There, Durai was waiting for her. She was sitting on a park bench facing down a handful of other people standing across the field. One of them was Fallon. "Do not step past that yellow marker," Durai ordered her. "We have agents dispatches in the trees and bushes. We have this area completely protected. That yellow marker shows the extent of that protection. If you pass it, you are liable to be captured without Fallon's safe retrieval."
"I understand," she said, slight annoyed at the long explanation he gave for such a simple idea. "Is Stacy here yet?"
"No," Durai answered. "I'm trying to stall the best I can."
"I can see her!" the blond man standing next to Fallon said. "The woman you claim to be Whitney Donovan is standing right next to you Durai. I see no reason why we can't get this trade on as soon as possible. The sun will be up in half an hour. You can stall all you want, but you and I both know that I can last out here longer than you can."
"We are waiting for Stacy," Durai demanded. "We have no way of proving that is the real Fallon. She will be here momentarily with the device we need to prove whether or not this is the real Fallon." Fallon, whether real or fake, seemed distressed by Durai's words. The blond man cracked a smile and simply took a seat on a beach near where he stood while the larger man kept a close grip on Fallon's left arm.
"Stacy is taking her sweet time," Durai observed. Dancer was standing some distance away, so those words were obviously not meant for her. Durai sat in silence for another minute or two (with each passing minute, his patience grew thinner). Finally, another car, Stacy's car, came driving up and parked next to Dancer's car.
"Good!" the blond man yelled. "Everyone's here. Now we can get this party started. Right, Durai? Unless you have something else to stall for. Might a remind you that you have about twenty minutes before sunrise."
"We're all here," Stacy interjected. "More importantly, there's someone else here of dire importance. We will be getting Fallon, but we will not trade him for Whitney. We have someone else we believe you'd be interested in." Suddenly, the opposing group realized there was no verification device. Stacy walked back to the car and pulled a woman, bound and gagged, from the passenger side seat. Immediately, the muscled man holding onto Fallon released his grip.
"That's my wife!" he yelled.
"Ortiz!" the blond man chided. "We are here for Whitney Donovan. I don't have time for your personal life to interfere with my business!" Ortiz didn't seem to care for his tirade and shoved his down into the grass. Ortiz turned towards the group and began to dash across the field towards them.
"Take him out!" Durai ordered. Dancer's eyes widened at the sound of the words, and at the calmness in Durai's voice as he said it. His wife squirmed in Stacy's arms, but she couldn't move. There was nothing she could do to prevent Durai's order, and Dancer felt the same way. She turned back just into time to hear a shot ring out and Ortiz suddenly stop running and hit the ground. He wasn't moving.
"I think I've overstayed my welcome," the blond man yelled. "We'll have to do this another time." The blond man grabbed onto Fallon's arm and began to drag him back to a car parked on their side. Dancer stepped forward, but Durai extended his hand to prevent her from going any more. Just then, gunners from the opposing organization came out of hiding and gunners from Durai's organization came out to confront them.
"This is going to get loud," Dancer observed bust before the intense firefight broke out. The blond man slid safely into the car and began to drive off. Dancer saw him pull out onto Flint Street and turn left. There's only one intersection he could possibly head through, and Dancer knew she had the opportunity to cut him off. Dancer entered her car and pulled out of the park without Stacy or Durai noticing her absence.
Dancer saw the sign for Weaver Avenue as well as pretended not to see the sign that read "No Right on Red" (Honestly, who follows that sign anyway?). The blond man's car was coming south as Dancer was coming north. They were the only two cars on the road, and there was only one chance to do the one thing Dancer had to do.
Instinctively, she cut the wheel hard to the left and situated her car horizontally on the opposite lane. The blond man hit the brakes, but Dancer prepared herself for the impact, which still caused her to jostle greatly. Once the car stopped moving, Dancer slipped out of her wrecked car and ran over to the driver's side door of the blond man's car. She pushed the door, which was off its hinges, and pulled the injured blond man out of the driver's seat. He was disoriented as she held his tightly by the collar. It was at this point that she realized Fallon was not in the car with him.
"Where's Fallon!" she ordered.
His disorientation prevented him from being able to answer her question. Instead, another man came from behind her and answered her question. "He's fine." The voice carried a Latin American accent, and it was coming from none other than the field attacker. "My name is Antonio Oliviera," he said as he extended his hand. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate you on completing the field test portion my training regimen."
A/N: What can I tell you other than Antonio is one of my favorite characters? He's one to watch, along with the blond man. Both of them will play a major role in the next chapter.
As always, whether you like it, love it, hate it, or consider it rather tepid or lukewarm, I implore you to review. Thanks in advance!