Jack woke with a start, gasping. He could've sworn he had just been running through the forest, searching for something that coudn't be found. His sanity, maybe?
He groaned, sitting up in his bed. He stood and stretched his sore muscles, grabbing a shirt to pull on over his head. He flashed back to the day before. Amelia wasn't an easy girl to track. And she was so frustrating. "Stalkerish tendencies" she had said. It automatically irritated him.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. "Dude, are you up?"
Jack recognized the voice. He walked over to his door. "Gabe? What the hell are you doing outside of my apartment?"
"Hello to you too. Can you please open up?"
Jack rolled his eyes and flung open the door. Sure enough, a teenage boy with a lopsided grin was standing in the hallway. He brushed his wavy black hair out of his eyes and loped into the apartment.
"Gabe, I really don't have time for this right now."
"Time for what? All I wanna do is talk."
"Yeah, right. All you ever want to do is 'talk'...and hit on girls."
Gabe shrugged. "Can you blame me? It's hard not to flirt when you're this good-looking."
"You know, I don't think I've ever met anyone as vain as you."
"Thank you."
"Seriously, man, why are you here?"
Gabe's smile faded. "Myron wants to see you."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know, he didn't tell me. He just said it was urgent. I think it's about that girl you're tracking."
"Amelia? She's my charge, you know that. Tatiana's yours."
"Yeah, yeah, I get that. But he wants to discuss something with you."
Jack sighed. "Okay, I'll go see him later today."
Gabe smiled. "Cool. So, Amelia. She feisty?"
Jack rolled his eyes. "Like you wouldn't believe. She makes me want to punch the nearest wall."
Gabe chuckled. "She sounds fun!"
"Yeah, man. She's a whole barrel of fun," he said bitterly.
"Just be careful, okay? Our job isn't exactly 'safe'. It can get dangerous out there."
"Gabe, come on, dude," Jack punched him in the arm. "I always am."
Gabe gave him a doubtful look. "Yeah, and I'm the Queen of England," he said sarcastically. He became serious again. "Look, I overheard Myron talking about Amelia the other day. Her history isn't... pleasant. She sounds like bad news."
"Well what do you want me to do, Gabe? I can't just ignore her. She and I are connected. It's written in history. No matter how much I might not like it, I have to protect her. It's my job. Besides, I know every single detail of her past. I know what I'm getting myself into."
"Look, Jack, I'm not trying stop you. I'm on your side. Just try not to get yourself killed, okay? I know how hard that is for you," he smirked.
Jack glared at him.
"Damn, man. If looks could kill..."
"You'd be dying a slow, painful death. Preferably something with rope and nails."
"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. Now you'd better go. You know what happened the last time someone kept Myron waiting. Poof," He made a gesture with his hands, imitating an explosion. "No one ever saw him again."
Jack rolled his eyes. "You exaggerate too much. I'm leaving," he grabbed Gabe by the arm. "And so are you."
"What, you can't trust me alone in your apartment?"
"You act like the answer isn't obvious. Now go."
"All right, I can take a hint. But just remember what I said."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, Gabe. But my answer remains the same."
He stepped out of the apartment and locked the door behind him, hiding the key in a crack in the worn brick wall of the complex. He walked down the hall, leaving his tiny box of a home behind him.

Being home alone had never frightened Amelia before. She had always felt comfortable alone. But somehow tonight, the house felt eerie. The warm lights coming from the living room suddenly seemed dim and weak, and the once-comforting kitchen seemed cold and uninviting. She craved some kind of company, feeling suddenly lonely. She didn't feel right sitting on the couch in the living room, so she retreated down the hallway to her bedroom. When she reached her room at the very end of the hall, it was closed, which she found strange. She always left it open, except for when she was going to bed. She reached for the doorknob, feeling like something was terribly wrong. The door opened slowly, revealing lavender walls and a large queen-size bed. She flipped on the light and looked around. The desk that sat on the right side of the bed was untouched, with papers strewn everywhere, just as she'd left it. She stepped further into the room, as quietly as she could. Everything looked the same, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Maybe she was just being paranoid. She switched the light off and turned on her heel...
And fell flat on her face. She yelped, feeling around for what tripped her. Her fingers found something soft and... moving. She scrambled to her feet and reached for the light switch. She looked to where she had fallen and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Lulu! What in God's name are you doing in my room?"
The cat meowed a response and stared with golden eyes. Her tail twitched behind her. So that was what Amelia had grabbed while she was sprawled on the ground. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples, feeling on edge. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep tonight. Scooping up Lulu, she returned to the living room. After feeding the cat, she rummaged around for the number of the pizza place. Grabbing the phone, she called in her order. Left with nothing to do, she ended up calling the number that was as familiar to her as the back of her hand.
"Amelia, hey."
"Keenan, thank goodness you picked up."
"What's going on? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, it's just," she sighed, rubbing her face. "Today's been weird and I need some company. Do you think you could come over?" She hoped she didn't sound too desperate.
"Yeah, of course. I'll be there in a few minutes."
Amelia smiled. "Thanks, Kee."
She hung up, comforted by the fact Keenan would be there soon. She remembered all of the times they'd done this before; she'd call him and ask him to come over without providing a reason, and he'd show up without question. It'd been like that since the day they met in first grade. He had been sitting alone at a table, and she'd watched him with sad eyes, imagining how lonely he must've been. She had called to him, beckoning him to the table with her. He'd hopped up on a chair and smiled at her, grateful for a friend. She’d patted his hand, grinning, and handed him a crayon. Ever since that day, they'd been inseparable.
The doorbell rang, bringing her back to reality. She rushed to the door, thankful for Keenan's speed. She threw it open, revealing a smiling boy carrying two DVDs. He had messy blonde hair and hazel eyes that could see right through her. He was tall and lean, just starting to fill out.
"Hey."
"Hey, I hope you don't mind, but I brought over some movies," he said, gesturing to the thin boxes in his hand.
"Of course I don't mind. I need something to distract me, anyway," Amelia smiled. "Come on in."
Keenan stepped into the house and flopped down onto the couch. Amelia dropped down next to him and curled herself into a ball. She tucked her feet underneath herself and rested her head on her knees.
"You okay? You seem... quiet." Keenan stared hard at her face, searching for a sign that, despite her facade, Amelia really wasn't okay.
She knew he'd probably say something. He had this uncanny ability of knowing how she was feeling.
"Well, no, I'm not exactly alright. I met this guy today, and--"
"Oh no, a guy? I'd better grab some popcorn."
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up and just listen. Okay, so I was walking around by the market like always, trying to pass the time, when I got the weird feeling someone was watching me. You know, when you feel like someone's burning two holes in your back? Anyway, I was getting really paranoid so I started walking faster. I turned around a few minutes later, and there was this guy following behind me, dressed all in black--"
Keenan looked at her then, automatically concerned. She held her finger up, stopping his protest before it left his mouth.
"I panicked and ducked behind a crate of apples, hoping I could lose him. For a second I thought I did, but then he just... appears behind me and starts telling me all about my past, like I didn't know my own childhood. I was getting really pissed, so I went off on him and walked away." She took a deep breath, winded after talking so much.
Keenan just stared at her. "Wow."
Amelia ran her fingers through her hair, growing nervous. "Yeah."
"Mel, you need to do something about this. Maybe report him or something."
She shook her head. She'd been thinking this over. "No, not yet. First I want to find out how he knows me. If we tell the cops about him, I may never find out."
"And how do you expect to figure that out? Wander the streets of town, hoping to catch him following you again? No, I can't let you do that."
Amelia shrugged and sighed, leaning back against the couch. "I don't know, Kee. I just don't know."

Myron's office wasn't any ordinary office. In fact, Jack liked to call it his lair. It was its own little building constructed deep underground. Its walls were made of dark brown adobe, and it had thick windows with iron bars. Torches lined the halls and rooms, giving off little light. It was almost like a dungeon. In fact, back in the 1400's, it had been a dungeon. No wonder Myron chose it.
He made his way through the winding halls, stepping over uneven ground and avoiding the cracks. If you weren't watching your step, you could easily find yourself in a room with only a skeleton for company. Jack had learned that the hard way... more than once. He counted off the rooms, one... two... three... four... and turned into the short corridor that led to the room Myron claimed as his own. Half of the room was devoted to his books --which numbered by the thousands-- with shelves that reached the ceiling and even then couldn't hold his innumerable amounts of books. The other half consisted of a small oak desk in the shape of a horseshoe, and a large black round table. Jack, Gabe and the others all sat there when Myron called a meeting. It reminded him of the knights of the round table. He chuckled bitterly at the thought. He was no knight. He crept silently into the room, curious as to what conversation was about to take place.
"Jack. Please, come in." Myron's voice rose up above a plush, red chair situated in the corner of the room. And --surprise, surprise-- he had a book in his hand.
Jack nodded at him. "Myron."
"I'm sure Gabriel told you why I wanted to speak with you." He regarded Jack with a stern gaze, his eyes appearing older than his actual age.
"Not really. He only said you wanted to talk about Amelia?" His voice rose a little on her name, making his statement a question.
"Yes. But first, let me ask you something. You know of Agro and his abilities, correct?"
"It's impossible not to. We've been tracking him for years. You've taught us everything there is to know about him. Why? Is something wrong?"
"Not exactly wrong, per say. More unusual than wrong." Myron was obviously stalling. There was something he didn't want Jack to know. But you can't keep secrets from your allies.
"Myron. Cut the bull. What is it?"
Myron sighed. "Agro has... moved. And we're not positive where he's situated."
Jack's eyes went wide. "Moved? How is that possible? We've known his exact location for months! There's no way he could've moved without us knowing!" he said incredulously.
"Yes, well, he seems to have discovered we knew of his whereabouts, and decided to take action."
"How the hell coud he have figured that out? Only a few people have been entrusted with that information!"
"One of them was a mole. Someone on the inside."
"Well that's just perfect. Next you're going to tell me the world's ending in three days."
"Don't be ridiculous. If that were the case, we'd be long gone by now."
Jack just looked at him. "Is that all?"
"No. There's also some good news. We're gathering a group of skilled fighters to scout Agro's last known position, and track him from there."
"I hope you're including me in that group."
Myron didn't say anything.
Jack threw up his arms. "Myron! How could you exclude me from this?"
"We need you here, Jack. At the Academy."
"The Academy? Hell, Myron, anything else you wanna throw in my face?"
Myron ignored him. "Gabriel will be with you. You will both be protecting the Academy, in preparation for the possibility that Agro could attack it."
"But I don't understand why we weren't chosen to go with the group! Gabe and I have trained for this since we were kids! We're the most skilled fighters here."
"And that's exactly why you need to stay here and guard the Academy. We're almost positive Agro hasn't left anything behind to find at his last hideout. Sending scouts is simply precautionary," Jack's lips perked up at this. "It's not neccessarily the most important or most needed job."
"And what exactly are Gabe and I supposed to do at the Academy?"
"You will be protecting the students there, as I said. More specifically, Diana. She's vital, and you know that."
Jack gave Myron a look of absolute loathing. "So what, we're supposed to be her personal bodyguards? Satisfying her every whim, watching after her like a puppy?" His tone was acidic. "That doesn't sound very appealing."
"Many of the most important jobs aren't appealing, Jack. They usually require grueling work and much patience."
"Well, Myron, I'm flattered, really, but maybe you could find someone else to do that. Someone with more--ah, what was that word? Patience."
Myron was already shaking his head. "No, Jack. I've made up my mind. You and Gabriel are the most qualified to protect her. You are both skilled in the field and in hand-to-hand combat. If anyone were to attack her, you two would most likely conquer and kill."
Deep in the recesses of his mind, Jack told himself to remember that. Myron hardly ever gave out compliments, not to mention compliments that straighforward. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Does Gabe know?"
Myron winced. "No. Not yet. I was hoping you could tell him."
Jack barked out a laugh. "Sure thing, Myron. Just add it on to the list of things I don't want to do."
Myron dismissed his sarcastic tone and smiled. "Thank you. You may go now." He stood up from his chair and walked over to his desk, pulling out a quill and paper.
Jack just watched him for a few seconds, trying to communicate with his eyes how frustrated he was, before giving up and, sighing, stalked out of the room. He was going to enjoy telling Gabe.

Amelia woke up to three things: heat, light, and cotton. She slowly opened her eyes, before shutting them tight again as the sun nearly blinded her. She rolled over, trying to remember what happened last night. She had been watching a movie with Keenan, something about sharks that terrorized a crowd of teenagers... he had been watching her curiously, probably trying to figure out what she was thinking... her eyelids had gotten heavy, and she had had troubling focusing on the movie. Then she couldn't stay awake any longer. She woke up once, in someone's arms, catching glimpses of the hallway and the bathroom before she was set down, a blanket pulled over her. She looked around. She was in her bed. Keenan must've carried her. Aunt Jackie wasn't strong enough to. She sighed. He really was a good friend. Amelia sat up, rubbing her eyes. It was at least noon. The first thing she had to do was brush her teeth and take a shower. She stumbled to the bathroom, stopping to grab a towel. She fumbled for the light switch, accidentally knocking over a bottle of something in the process. After finding it and turning it on, she blinked and stared at herself in the mirror. Her hazel eyes were tinged with red and had two identical rings of purple bags. Her tousled brown hair had styled itself into a sort of knot, and Amelia knew that if she tried, she wouldn't be able to comb through it easily. She found what she had knocked over; it was a bottle of her favorite perfume, Le parfum de l'amour, translated as "The scent of love". She didn't remember leaving it in here. Shrugging off her paranoia, she turned on the shower, leaving her hand under the falling water until the temperature was to her liking. She peeled off her clothes, tossed them on the floor, and stepped into the shower. She stood under it for a few minutes, letting it rinse her skin of all of her fear and worry. All of her muscles finally relaxed, and she stretched, loving the feeling of warm water on her back. She stuck her face under the stream for a second, as an attempt to fully awaken her senses. She didn't think a shower had ever felt this good.
After scrubbing away any leftover traces of trepidation or frustration and washing her hair, she felt happy again. She stepped out of the small glass stall, wrapping a towel around herself and wringing out her hair. She looked at the mirror, foggy and distorted from steam, and almost screamed.
Written among the condensation on the glass were the words "I'M CLOSER THAN YOU THINK."
She threw open the door, searching for her aunt, for someone to explain this to her.
"Aunt Jackie? Aunt Jackie!" Her voice was on the brink of desparation. "Please, Aunt Jackie, answer me!" Tears had started to form in her eyes. She was afraid, and confused and... shivering. That last thought registered logically in her brain, and she went in search of clothes and shoes, so she could get out of there. She threw her hair up in a clip and dashed out of the door, grabbing her car keys on the way out.
She couldn't think, could only drive. She didn't know where she was going, only that she had to get far away, and fast. She drove for what felt like hours, stopping only once to get gas. By the time she started feeling like she should probably get back home, she was lost. She had passed many towns, and was now driving on an empty road, with only trees on either side of her. It was getting dark, and she didn't know how to find her way home. She started panicking. She hadn't planned any of this! She didn't grab her phone in her rush out of the house, and she used the cash she did have on gas. What was she supposed to do?
Breathe, she told herself. Just stop in the next town and ask for directions. She was glad at least some part of her brain was rational. She inhaled deeply, trying to relax and think things through. She stepped on the gas, wanting nothing more than to find civilization again. Amelia's eyes scraped the landscape, looking for a sign or a building, something that proved she wasn't the only person alive on earth.
Finally, she came across an old, dilapidated gas station. The paint was yellow and peeling, and the overhang was covered in rust. The tiny mini-mart next to it was beat-up and crumbling. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Although the door was filthy and covered in dust, there was a sign taped to it that said "Open". She pulled up to it, hoping to see someone inside. She peered through its windows, detecting no movement. She turned off her car and carefully stepped out. She looked around warily, expecting someone to come jumping out at her with a knife. A breeze blew her way. She sniffed the air. It was tinged with the scent of smoke. That's weird, she thought. I don't see any flames. She followed the smell, stepping over stray car parts and grease stains. The trail of smoke was leading her around the back of the station. Her heart was pounding; she didn't know where she was going or why she was even doing this. But her curiosity drove her forward.
She rounded the corner of the mini-mart, coming across two very large dumpsters overflowing with garbage. Food littered the ground, each in different stages of compost. It was a homeless man's paradise. She wrinkled her nose, fighting the urge to pull the collar of her shirt over it so she wouldn't have to inhale the ungodly stench emanating from the trash. She tiptoed gingerly through the piles, careful not to step on any of it. The last thing she needed was to slip on a banana peel and land in this mess. She'd smell for days.
A flicker of movement caught her eye, and she flipped her head around to find she wasn't the only one there.
There was a man standing behind her, watching her with lazy eyes. He was smoking a ciagarette, taking long drags and puffing them out slowly. His once-white wife beater had many stains on it, and his pants were in no better shape. His face was oily and unshaven, and his hands were covered in grit. He was smiling, his cracked lips straining against his scraggly teeth.
"Hey, sweetheart. You come here often?"
Ugh. Amelia practically shuddered at his poor use of a pick-up line. She cleared her throat. "No, in fact, I don't. I'm looking for directions. Do you have a map I could use?"
"That depends, sweetheart. Where you goin'?"
"Anywhere away from here." She threw him a repulsed look.
The man chuckled. "I like 'em feisty. Come with me, honey. I'm sure I can find you a map."
Amelia took several steps back as he started leading her towards the shop. She waited until he was well ahead of her before following. She wasn't about to turn into one of those gullible airheads that gets trapped with a filthy pedophile. She stepped behind him into the shop.
The first thing she noticed was the lack of light. It was too dim; most of the light was coming from the fridges in the back, full of beer. The second thing she noticed was the odor. It smelled like a mixture of stale alcohol and rotten food. Flies buzzed around her face, and she swatted them away, thoroughly annoyed. The man from the alley was rummaging around behind the cash register, searching for what Amelia hoped was the map she requested. He grunted, whether from frustration or strain from lack of physical activity, Amelia didn't know. He came up empty-handed.
"Sorry, baby, I can't seem to find you a map," He came back around the front desk. "But who says you have to go? You could stay for a while, and we could," he stepped closer, until he was a few feet away from her, "get to know each other."
Amelia was positively revolted. She was definitely not in the mood to be hit on. Especially by someone as vile as him. She laughed harshly.
"No. I don't think I want to get to know you. You seem like a dirty, pathetic asshole. Thanks for your time. Have a nice day."
She turned away, only to find she was being held back. The man had a hold of the hem of her shirt. "You don't know who you're talking to, sweetheart," he growled.
"Then please, enlighten me," she snapped.
He drew closer. "Well, I'm certainly not someone you want to mess with. And I don't appreciate that smartass attitude of yours." He pulled on her shirt, forcing her even closer.
"Let go of me, you filthy bastard!"
Hatred glinted in his eyes. He laughed cruelly and brushed his free hand against her cheek, as if to pet her. He snapped it back quickly, thrusting it against her face with as much strength as possible.
She gasped, her hand flying to where he slapped her. A familiar sting resided there, and brought with it a memory from years ago.

Amelia was lying under her bed, trembling. It wasn't long before her mother would be home. She had locked her door and placed a chair in front of it, as if that would help. She wanted so badly to run away, to just leave and never come back. The prospect of escaping was so tempting. She could almost smell the clean air, could almost feel the gravel under her bare feet as they pounded away from home. Home. That word didn't apply to this place. It was hell. A place of pain and misery. A hot tear rolled down her cheek. She quickly swiped it away. She wouldn't let her mother see her cry. Couldn't. She blocked all emotion from her mind, the way she always did. It hurt less that way. Her feelings couldn't be damaged if there were none to damage, right? She felt cold.
"Amelia! Where the hell are you?" Her mother's voice rose upstairs. She was back. Amelia retreated farther back under her bed, trying to make herself invisible. She didn't answer.
Her mother pounded up the stairs, her steps unsteady. "Amelia! Get your ass out here! Don't make me come find you!" Her slurred words floated under the door and found their way to Amelia's ears. She covered them with her hands; she hated her mother's voice. Hated everything about her. She could feel the vibrations through the wood floors as her mother stumbled closer to her room. Doors opened and slammed shut as she searched for her daughter. She was right outside the door now.
"Amelia," her mother cooed. "I know you're in there. You don't want to play this game with me. You'll lose." Despite the harshness of her words, sugar dripped from them, artificial.
Amelia tried to block those words from her ears. "You'll lose." As if there was a way to win.
Her mother rapped on the door. "Honey, please come out and talk to your mommy. I won't hurt you."
Amelia almost laughed at this. It was too late for that, wasn't it? No matter how much she wanted to believe those words, she couldn't risk it. Lies were so easily said.
"Amelia. Let me in." Her voice was stern now. Receiving no response, she rattled the doorknob. "You can't keep me out for long, Amelia! This door won't protect you!" Then the rattling stopped. Amelia listened as her mother's footsteps receded down the hallway. She lay there breathing shallowly for what seemed like hours. She reached her arms out, wiggling out from under the bed. Her muscles ached from being bunched up for so long. She sighed.
THUMP. Amelia flinched and scrambled back under the bed. She heard scratching before another thump. It was her mother, throwing herself against the door. A whimper escaped Amelia's lips. She covered her mouth quickly with her hands, but it was too late.
"I can hear you, you little bitch!" THUMP. "Open--," THUMP. "the fucking door!"
Under the bed, Amelia bent her head and closed her eyes. If there was a God, maybe he would show her mercy.
CRUNCH. Amelia's eyes flew open. She peeked out from under the bed. At first, nothing seemed to be wrong. Everything looked unscathed. Then her eyes wandered to the door. The wood was splintered. Her mother was actually breaking the door. Amelia wanted to scream, wanted to yell and cry, tell her mother to stop, she was scaring her. But it wouldn't help.
THUMP. CRACK. Shards of wood were bending, breaking, and falling off. Vaguely, Amelia wondered what it was her mother was slamming against the door to cause it to splinter like that. She didn't stop to think about it. She had to get out. She considered the possibilities: wait until her mother broke through the door and try to run past her, or attempt to crawl out the window, which was two stories above the ground. Neither sounded like very good ideas. But she had to figure out what to do, and fast. She didn't think she would be able to get past her mother, so she aimed for the window. She snaked out from under the bed again, careful not to make any sounds. She ran to the window, throwing open the latch. She wedged her fingers unde rneath the lip and pulled up with as much strength as her little body could muster, but it wasn't enough. The window wouldn't budge. Behind her, her mother was relentlessly battering the door, creating cracks and holes in the wood. Amelia panicked.She didn't want to be hit. Didn't want to feel pain anymore. Her fear sent adrenaline shooting through her, and she tried again to wrench open the window. It let out a long screech before opening an inch. She tried it again, throwing her whole body into opening it. It jerked upward another inch, but the open space it created was still so very small; Amelia wouldn't be able to fit through. She looked around frantically for something she could jam under the window as leverage, something she could push on to make it open wider. Her eyes fell on a plastic hammer she used to play with; it was long enough, but she didn't know if it would break under the pressure of the window and her own weight. She figured she would find out soon enough. She snatched the toy off the ground, ramming it under the window. She wrapped both of her small hands around the other end of the hammer, pushing down with all of her weight. It slid up a few inches, then a few more. Amelia felt like cheering; it was working! Her relief only lasted for a few seconds. She still had to fit through. She stuck one leg out, then the other. She braced her hands against the sill and turned herself around so she could get the rest of her body through. She was working on wiggling her slight waist through when a loud crack sounded from in front of her.
"No," she whispered. Her mother had busted open the door.
"You ungrateful little bitch! What do you think you're doing?" Her mother walked angrily over to her, eyes bloodshot and filled with loathing. She grabbed hold of one of Amelia's arms, yanking it forward. Amelia's body was stuck at an angle, so she didn't slide right out. Instead, the movement made her stomach scrape against the windowsill, and pain blossomed right above her bellybutton. She bit back a yelp. Her mother wouldn't stop pulling on her arm until she was finally yanked back inside, tumbling on the floor. Before Amelia could catch her breath and assess the damage done to her stomach, a burst of pain in her side made her gasp. It came again, harder this time, a blow to her ribs. Behind the little stars of agony that clouded her mind, Amelia realized it was her mother, kicking her.
"That'll teach you not to run away from your mother," she snickered. She reached down and grabbed Amelia by her hair, lifting her off the ground. Amelia squinted her eyes closed. She refused to meet her mother's glare.
"Look at me, you little slut!" A hand struck her face, hard. Her eyes remained closed. Again the hand came, on her other cheek.
"Disrespect earns you pain," came her mother's voice from in front of her. "You should have learned that by now." She dropped Amelia back on the ground, where she lay in a crumpled heap.
"Stand up!"
When Amelia didn't stand, her mother kicked her again, in the leg this time. Trembling, she rose up on her hands and knees. She rested there for a second, trying to determine whether her ribs were broken.
"I said stand!" This time it was a blow to her stomach. Amelia rose agonizingly to her feet, head bent and legs shaking.
"Tell me, Amelia, what do you think your punishment should be?" Her mother was circling her, sizing her up, determining how long it would take before she broke.
She said nothing. Her reward was a kick to the back of the knees, forcing her to fall over, flat on her face.
"Speak when you are spoken to!"
"P-please, just let me go. I don't like this."
"I hate to break it to you, sweets, but we all do things we don't like." With that came a backhanded slap, causing so much force and pain, Amelia's eyesight turned red. She could feel her vision fading and her body becoming numb.
Seconds before she blacked out, she heard her mother's raspy whisper.
"No one can save you now."

"You're f*ing kidding me, right?" Gabe was pacing the floor of his apartment, about ready to throw something across the room. Jack was standing nearby, arms crossed, smiling with satisfaction. He had anticipated Gabe's reaction. "Nope. Myron was completely serious. Can you believe--," Something cut him off. He couldn't identify what it was at first; some kind of emotion? It started out faint, like something was tickling the back of his mind. "Jack? You all right?" Gabe was looking at him, lips pulled down with worry. "Yeah, I'm--," It cut him off again, more intense this time. It felt like anger and... fear? How could that be? The only thing he was mad about was the decision Myron made for him, and he certainly wasn't afraid. He felt like punching a wall. Why was he so angry? These emotions couldn't be his... Realization dawned on him. They weren't his feelings. They were Amelia's. She was scared. But of what? He closed his eyes and worked to fight through the onslaught of emotions, trying to feel where she was through their connection. He made out a long road, and what seemed to be a small, run-down building. She was standing in front of a desk, and a man was latched onto her. This time, the anger that flared through Jack was completely his own. He could feel his face flushing and his hands clenching into fists. He raced across the room, throwing Gabe aside in the process. "Dude, what the hell--?" "She's in trouble. Something's going on. I have to-- I have to stop it." "Who? What's going on? Jack, wait--," Jack was already out the door, jogging towards his motorcycle. He felt so mad, so completely mad, he almost felt steam coming from his ears. His feet blurred as they made contact with the concrete. His mind didn't seem capable of rational thought. There was nothing to do but follow the trail of emotions Amelia seemed to have left him with. He didn't understand why he was so worried about her--he knew her better than anyone, sure, but that didn't mean he had to like her-- and he couldn't help but feel protective towards her. He was only thinking one thing: I can't lose her. He didn't even bother to put on his helmet, starting up the motorcycle and releasing the kickstand. Gabe was running after him, bewildered and confused. "Jack! Where are you going?" Gabe's voice was lost over the roar of the engine. He didn't try to run after him; that would've proved useless. Jack tore through streets and dodged cars, oblivious to the rude gestures and yells thrown his way. There was a ringing in his ears that didn't seem to be going away, and the longer it took him to reach Amelia, the more tense he became. He drove along an abandoned road, and he could tell she was close by. He could feel her presence like a thorn in his side. He couldn't get to her fast enough. A ruined gas station came into his field of vision, and that's when he knew he'd found her. He peeled into the entrance, drove up onto the sidewalk without hesitation, and turned the engine off. He didn't bother looking around; he knew exactly where she was. Grabbing hold of the door handle, he stormed into the little store. Amelia was pinned against a grimy man, her hands pressed between their bodies to keep from being pressed flush against him. She looked angry, but her eyes were full of fear and anxiety. They both turned their heads to look at him when he came in, causing their cheeks to brush against each other. Amelia made a sound of disgust and struggled even more to escape his grasp. Jack couldn't watch this any longer; she was not meant to be treated like this. He walked calmy up to the man, assessing him coldly before delivering a hard blow to the jaw. The man went down, crumpling to the stained tile with a hard thump. Amelia gasped and looked up at him, narrowing her eyes. "What the hell? What are you doing here?" "A simple thank you would suffice." "I'm not going to thank you for stalking me." "I wouldn't call this stalking. I would call this saving your life." Amelia snorted, but it was weaker than usual. "Whatever. You didn't need to do that." Jack rolled his eyes, irritated. "Because you obviously had it all under control, right?" Amelia looked at him. "I don't need you to save me. I'm perfectly capable of protecting myself." "I beg to differ." "You don't seem to understand. I can save myself. I don't need a hero sweeping in on his motorcycle to wrench me from the arms of a criminal." "Obviously you did. God knows what that man would've done to you if I hadn't arrived. The least you could do is thank me for giving you the chance to live another day! Face it. I saved you." "No." Amelia looked distracted and...what was the emotion that kept flitting across her face? Sadness. She was sad. "No one can save me."