The Ocean’s City
Chapter 22

Blueish-grey light shined through the slit of the curtain, hinting that the sun was barely beginning to rise. I rubbed my heavy eyes and looked to see Dalton and Hutson already up.

They stood by the window, talking in very severe and hushed tones. My ears narrowed into clippings of their conversation.

“She needs to know,” Hutson spoke tightly, pushing his lips together like he was trying to keep his temper.

Dalton ran a hand through his hair. “I fear the artist much more than any hunter.”

“She at least needs to know this threat can happen again.”

“She already knows too much. Once our work is done, and I know she is safe. I’ll warn her.”

“Dammit, Dalton! We will waste too much time. Time we need for Danniella.” Hutson slammed his fist into the wall, causing the wall hangings to shake.

“Watch your tone!” Dalton snarled under his breath as he turned to see if Hutson’s tantrum had woken me.

Our eyes met, and his eyes narrowed, wondering how much I had heard.

“I- uh,” I stuttered, scrambling for words. Finally, my hands clenched the blanket at the sides of my legs and let out a huff of air full of determination.

“I want to talk about Dannie.”

Hutson’s shoulder hunched at the mention of her name, and I flinched. Dalton put a hand on Hutson’s shoulders to calm him.

“We will talk about it later.” Dalton dismissed.

“No- I- I need to tell her friends and family. Dannie deserves to have people know what happened to her. She—”

“sheesh,” Hutson let out a sarcastic laugh, one that caused a haunting shiver down my spine. “You do what you think is the best, brother, but I am not standing here listening to this naive crap.”

Hutson shot a glare, silencing me motionless in bed. Then he stormed out of the room, leaving Dalton alone with me.

His expression was utterly unreadable.

“I-I-I,” I tried again to state my case.

“You are not to talk about Danniella’s death. Her friends and family are her past and do not concern her now,” he spoke, explaining what he was willing to give before following after Hutson.

The door closed, and I flung myself face down on the bed, smothering my face in the sheets and screaming at the top of my lungs. I cried longer than the usual frustrated scream and felt my head go a bit dizzy.

Tears streamed down my face, and my breath caught in my chest, feeling anger. Who were they to refuse her? Creepy abilities or not, a person is still entitled to rights.

Anger pulsated through my veins as I thought about what I could do. I looked around the room until I caught the phone in sight. I sat very quietly, listening for any noise outside the door. Nothing.

As silently as possible, I picked up the phone and hit the number for the lobby.

“Hello,” a young boy answered.

“Hello? Please help me.” I whispered, trying hard to reel in my nerves. “I’ve been kidnapped by two men in a vintage car with the top down. Please call 911. My name is Silvestia—”

I didn’t have time to continue speaking. The motel door rattled as someone tried to unlock it. Without thinking, I hung up and flung myself onto the bed, trying to sit like I wasn’t doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing.

Dalton froze at the door, staring at me. “What?” He asked, confused.

Fuck! “Nothing,” I shook my head slightly and tried to provide an equally confused expression as him.

His eyes monitored the room slowly, and my heart pounded harder as if it struck loud enough to tattle on me. I tried not to fiddle with the sheets, but I kept catching my hands, fidgeting with the fabric.

He seemed unconvinced. “Silvestia?”

“Hmmm?” I responded as I bit my tongue from giving myself away. I was too nervous.

Before he could speak, there was a shout from across the parking lot. My heart beat raging in my chest pounded in my ears with too much might that I couldn’t hear what was said, but I instantly knew I was caught.

Dalton’s face turned cold, and his eyes burned with unimaginable anger. He crossed the room in two strides, his hands wrapped around my arm, yanking me out of bed.

He stared into my eyes, searching for the answer he already knew.

I just stared back, fear-stricken, frozen.

Hutson flew into the room like a Hurricane. “We must go. She is putting her at risk, calling attention to us like this.”

Something flashed in Dalton’s eyes. “Not a word,” he snarled, dragging me out of the room towards the car. He forcefully flung me into the back seat. Huston was already throwing the bags in the trunk and running to the passenger seat.

Before Hutson’s door closed, Dalton pulled out of the motel parking lot. Dirt flew up into the air, creating a thick wall of brown. The wall grew taller and taller.

Hutson grumbled curses to himself as he held on to the handle above the window. Dalton strategically swerved, missing tumbleweeds that danced with the angry wind.

The road was no longer a long streak of the highway but desert gravel.

From the view of the back seat window, the dirt wall grew angrily. Dalton picked up speed, grabbing my attention; we were racing toward a mountain range. It grew closer, and I looked behind me to see that the dirt wall still hadn’t disappeared. It was following us. My gut pitted.

The dirt cloud entirely consumed the motel. The surroundings all seemed to disappear. Dalton was taking us to another reality. A little voice in the back of my head knocked at the door, sounding much like Hutson’s angry voice, screaming, “We must go. She is putting her at risk, calling attention to us like this.”

Thanks for reading the twenty-second chapter of The Ocean’s City. Let me know what you think! Grammar Nazis are welcome!

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