South of Nowhere 1. Intro

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Legal Disclaimer: Sadly I do not own the characters (Tom Lynch).  
Rating: PG-13 for now, will differ as the story continues  
Pairing: Always Spashley.  
Feedback: Is appreciated. Good and bad.  
Summary: I'm twenty four and I want to start dreaming again.  
A/N: Well, a new one _again_. I'm obsessed I know! It's just that this story has been playing in my head for _so_ long and I just had to give it a shot. Readers of Dream Deferred (and/or Split Screen Sadness) no worries, I will not neglect them. I'm actually gonna try a start writing their updates this weekend, so keep an eye on those thread. I don't know what the updating-pace will be for this story, it depends on a lot of things. I think I've been doing a pretty good job on DD prior to my vacation (I will purposely not mention SSS …), mostly because of the feedback I've been getting. I like to write this fics and I'll write them no matter what, but I cannot deny the influence of feedback. Anyway, that the summary says pretty much nothing ( I tend to do that a lot), so you just might as well read the intro to understand it Expect a whole lotta twists in this story …

**Enjoy the read!**

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_"This is it. When you walk out that door, there's no way back."_

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When I was six, I wanted to become an astronaut. Astronauts got to wear these cool suits while floating around the milky way. I was pretty sure that nothing beat being an astronaut and I was one hundred percent sure it was my calling. No cartoons or pop stars adorned the walls of my room. Only one faded poster of Neil Armstrong decorated the ceiling right above my bed. Making it the first image that crossed my eyes first thing in the morning, wanting nothing more. It was a present from my grandfather and it became my most precious possession. I was going to be an astronaut and Neil Armstrong (or the poster anyway) was going to guide through the whole process. So as I kept drawing astronaut after astronaut in the corners of my notebooks, I couldn't help but daydream my way to the fabulous future that was awaiting me.

I was six and I wanted to become an astronaut.

When I was twelve, I wanted to become a doctor. Six years had passed since my NASA-dream. Six years of maturity and knowledge that were gained and six years of naïve innocence that was slowly drifting from me. Instead, I choose to mirror myself with my mother. Paula Carlin, surgeon extraordinaire, one of the best in the entire state of Ohio. As my astronauts' delusions started to fade away, new and exciting reveries began to shine behind my closed eyelids once more. My mother made me dream passionately again. Made me strive to become the person, the doctor she already was. My admiration for her was never ending. My mother saved lives on a daily basis, how could I not be in awe of her? So every night I'd secretly watch her put on her trustworthy scrubs, readying herself to save helpless souls on her graveyard shift. Secretly, because I wasn't allowed to stay up that late. But they didn't know, that sleep only came after that routine I had created through the years. Doctors, were God's Angels on earth. And who wouldn't want to make part of that legion?

I was twelve and I wanted to become a surgeon.

When I was eighteen, I wanted to become a social worker. My dreams of saving lives shattered mercilessly as I saw my darling brother get shot before my eyes on prom night. Helplessly bleeding to death in the arms of his girlfriend as we waited for help. As we waited for the aid that would end the nightmare we suddenly were catapulted in. As we waited for him to be saved by those golden hands of those I once named Angels. They came, but to no avail. I watched powerlessly by the side as paramedics, nurses and doctors did their best to save him. To give him a second chance to the brilliant future he once was promised. Instead he was zipped up in a plain white bag. Shoving him into anonymity. Tarnishing his unique soul and turning him into another number, another statistic. My dream died the same I lost my brother.

Hard times awaited me after prom. Times in which I didn't saw the meaning in life anymore. After all, Clay saw the meaning in life, he _believed_ in life. He trusted in it blindly and he got screwed in the harshest way possible. I almost hit rock bottom when I came across of a worn card my dad had silently handed me one day. Granting me a way to start living again. He was an excellent social worker himself, but none of his experience was helpful when he was faced with the most difficult and painful case he had ever worked one. He couldn't be a social worker, when all he needed to be was a father. He couldn't be either as he saw his only daughter stumbling lower and lower with each month that passed. That card saved my life. The phone number that was scribbled on it saved my life. The person behind that number saved my life. I once believed that doctors where the ones that saved lives, but through my own personal highs and lows I learned differently.

I was eighteen and I wanted to become a social worker.

I'm twenty four now and I work in a bank. I do not work in accounting or finance, nor do I work in insurances. I am the Jane Doe behind the counter, directing you further in phony kindness to aforementioned sections. Eighteen years have passed since I first started dreaming about my promising future and no top surgeon or monumental social worker came out of me. I am but the mere clerk that can be so easily replaced by some blonde bimbo named Candy. I think I stopped dreaming when I got stuck in the middle of my parents' divorce. Soundlessly ducking from the dirt that was being torn from one parent to the other. Desperately trying to not lose one parent in favor of the other, but ending up losing them both in some way or the other.

I don't think people would believe me when I say that I completely stopped dreaming altogether, even through my lonesome nights. I go to bed and sleep like any other person, but in the morning no subconscious images can be recalled. Nothing but a large black in hole in which I find myself every night. There's no excitement, no passion in my life, not even the will to just end it with the self-destruction I had started more than six years ago. I have no intent to end this life I've been given, no matter how much it leaves me impassive and indifferent. Maybe it's out of respect for Clay, for the fact that he did not have a choice over his fate. How he wanted to live his life so badly, when all I wanted was to end mine. Or maybe it's because deep down in me there's still some belief, some hope of something, _anything_ waiting there to be discovered by me. Something that will shift my life completely.

I'm twenty four and I want to start dreaming again.


	2. Chapter 1

12.45 PM. The slowest hour at the bank. Pretty much every staff member is on their well deserved lunch break except for me and Alyssa. Both opting to skip our lunch in order to finish one hour earlier then the rest. Alyssa's reasons are clear. She has a 3 month old crying toddler waiting every single day and no significant other to cover for her absence. Her beau had left her the moment she barely uttered a possible pregnancy.

I, on the other hand, don't have any true noteworthy and urgent reason to finish work early. There are no kids waiting for me at the daycare, nor are there any significant others at my apartment ready to kiss me after a hard day of work. I don't even have a loyal dog anxiously waiting by the door to jump on me once I'm back. No, there are no reasons for me to leave work early. The only thing that is waiting for me is a cold six pack in my fridge, the solitude of my living room and a bunch of black and white classics. Accompanying me into a distressed night filled with tossing and turning. Only to wake up in the morning and start the routine all over again.

I continue filing my already too short nails, killing time before the big rush hits me again. It begins at 12.58 PM with the staff entering in groups of three, four and more, laughing loudly as the sound echoes through the entrance. Making it seem as if their lunches were exhilarating adventures day in day out. But their laughs and smiles aren't truthful, they're plain hollow. Just like the nature of their so called friendship. Acquaintancing each other only for the sake of their jobs and the earnings that come with it. That's why I chose to stay away from their high-schoolish cliques, opting to drag myself through the day and leave as soon as I can. Not that I'm worthy of befriending in this area. Clerks don't increase your payroll. Alyssa is the only one I somewhat talk too. But her constant nagging about her personal situation and her loud chewing and never ending supply of bubble gum, made me take some much needed distance.

12.49 PM and no customers have entered for over a half hour. Not that there's much they can do here during this hour. I greet them, ask them what they need and politely direct them to the waiting area, until the person they need is back. And then, I continue with the filing. Any excitement is eluded, but it pays the bills. And right now, those are my only worries. I leisurely glance to my left, noticing Alyssa slumping deeper and deeper into her chair. Needing only a few more minutes of inactiveness to fully drowse into an uncomfortable sleep. I look to my right and take in a sole customer in the waiting area that Alyssa handled earlier on. Blonde woman in her mid-twenties, anxiously watching the big clock across of her. Anxious to handle her business and leave this sterile and uptight room as soon as she can. Anxious to re-enter the world she created around her through the years. A world I strived for, but failed to construct. Opting to be thrown into one that isn't mine, to reside in a space that is not shaped around my persona.

Those thoughts have been haunting me more and more lately. Yet, I've failed to pursue any of them. To follow them with any actions on my own. I guess, I leave thoughts to be thoughts. Letting them float around my head but nowhere beside it. Dreams, hopes, aspirations, … They all left my vocabulary one by one and I doubt if I have the will and strength to rewrite them one day. But today feels different. This morning felt different. This was supposed to be the first day of my week off. So when Mona called me this morning asking me to fill in for her because she was sick, I was supposed to cuss, act cranky and utter hollow threats. Yet, I expected her plea with an unknown ease, surprising both her and me. Something had lured me into this bank today and I couldn't deny it. But seeing as half the day passed in its normal snail routine, I can't help but add this to another one of my illusions.

12.56 PM and the entrance door swings open loudly. Alyssa immediately jumps up from her chair, where she apparently dozed off like I had predicted. I quietly assure her that I'll handle it and she gratefully nods as she sits back into a comfortable position. I look up to spot the girl that entered and immediately notice her distressed face. It doesn't take much for me to understand that her mind is clouded with endless worries. Her worn features and careless look tell me so. From her wild curls, to her faded hoodie and jeans that have known a few hundred washes to many. Her eyes never leave the ground beneath her feet, only shifting to warily glance at her surroundings through the corners of her eyes. Hands buried deep in the pockets of her hoodie. It's funny how some people just get you intrigued from the get-go. Maybe it's their alien behavior that dissect them from the rest or maybe it's simply something within us. Something that makes us tune into a random person every once and awhile.

My eyes never leave her form as she saunters towards the counter. Making it feel as if the route between us is endless. Maybe it's her slow pace of walking. Maybe it's my slow pace of processing. Either way, there's a foreign anxiousness that fills my veins with every step she takes. A feeling that I failed to sense for such a long time, I barely even remember it. And when she finally raises her head, when I finally meet the most sorrowful brown eyes I have ever seen, a rush courses through the whole of my body. And this I certainly don't remember, because this I have never felt.

I barely register my trustworthy file slipping out of my weakened fingers, when she takes the last of steps towards me. I quickly duck behind my counter, welcoming the distraction of the falling object. Welcoming this loophole to collect myself and free myself of the emotions that I was just exposed to. I clutch the file in my hand as I swiftly glance towards a lightly snoring Alyssa. I briefly close my eyes and take in a deep ragged breath. Needing to calm myself again before facing this unknown person, that has evoked too much within me with solely her presence.

I gradually stand up from my huddled position, internally readying myself to apologize for my odd behavior. But out of all the things I imagined to come face too; this was the last one.

A shiny silver revolver.


	3. Chapter 2

They say that life flashes in front of your eyes when faced with death. I always wondered how much truth could be found in that statement. And if it was true, what images might pass in front of me eyes. Would it be a movie of time ordered events, starting with the first birthday I remember and ending with the last one I didn't celebrate? Or maybe we would just see bits and pieces of it in an unorganized jumble of significant occasions? Either way, this I did not count on. Because not one image, not one memory flashes before me. All I see is a silver gun pointing at my chest and sorrow eyes looking straight through mine. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe the whole life-flashing is an urban myth that took truthful proportions over the years. Or maybe the life I had wasn't worth flashing by. Too deprived of any noteworthy events that should be present by my age. Or maybe I wasn't faced with death just yet.

She briefly looks away from my eyes as she nervously glances at her surroundings, her revolver never lowering from its position. And it grants me to clear any sudden haziness that covers my mind and body, quickly thinking back to my first day of work. More specifically the directions I got on what to do in these type situations. I internally curse myself for not paying any attention to any of it. The only thing I remember is the button for the silent alarm that is placed discreetly underneath the top of the counter. I observe it carefully from the corner of my eyes and slightly move my hand towards it.

"Do you have a death wish, Blondie?" The mysterious girl snaps at me as she squints her eyes and aims the gun towards my head. It's the first time she's said something and I quickly shake my head. Urging myself to not wonder about her question and my answer. This wasn't a friend I could confide in with any of my colliding thoughts. I keep my hands perfectly still by my side, as I continue examining her. Too afraid to even take a deep breath that would go along harmonically with my increasing heart pace. She, on the other hand just keeps boring her eyes into mine and I can't seem to decipher the emotion in them. But the slightly shaking gun gives her away. Revealing to me that's she's just as scared as I am, maybe more. Making me wonder if this is her first hold-up, or if she's simply nervous for every new performance she makes. Stage-fright is present amongst every occupation so it seems.

She warily shifts her eyes from mine once again, taking in her surroundings for a second time. I take the chance to glance towards Alyssa who seems to have finally woken up from her little slumber. Just in time to catch her pushing the silent alarm by her side. Cold sweat is quickly forming on my forehead as I think of the consequences of that simply action. I quickly refocus my eyes on the person in front me, trying not to raise any more suspicion. Just at that moment she decides to look back at me, undeniably feeling the pressure of my eyes. Examining me closely, I see her digging one of her hands deeply into her pocket. Gun slightly lowering, but never losing its aim. She finds the object she's been looking for and throws it on top of counter. Quickly deciphering it as an endlessly folded plain grey bag.

"Put all the money you got there in here and fast!" Se orders in a shaky voice. Checking around her once again for any change of surroundings. There isn't any. The whole bank right now only constitutes of her, me, Alyssa and the blonde girl in the waiting area. The last one staying absolutely motionless on her seat as she terrifyingly awaits the end of these turn of events. I too stay motionless, but not with same intentions and definitely not with the same consequences.

"Are you deaf? Put the money in it now!" She yells, getting more anxious with the moment. Her gun shifting with every small but frantic movement of hers, and that does not bode well.

"Th – there isn't any." I stutter out barely above a breath. Feeling my heart beating excessively in my throat. Sensing droplets of sweat dripping from face as I await her next frenzied move, her next demanding words. Wondering why my life just won't flash in front of me, because this is looking worse with every second that ticks by.

"What?" She whispers in disbelief. Eyes slightly squinting and gun briefly lowering. My breathing is getting more and more erratic and I can't seem to slow it down. Maybe my life won't even get the honor to end with a bullet. The action being far too heroic and exciting to be associated with my excuse of a life. Maybe my life will end with the choke of my breath or the halt of my beating heart. Philosophically, those two actions ended years ago already. Death had already taken its place on the inside. Maybe it was finally time for it to complete its job once and for all.

"There isn't any money here." I quickly reply. Urging myself to stay calm and explain everything more clearly. "I'm just a clerk. I guide people to where they need to go, that's all." I explain in a shaky voice, awaiting her flare-up any second now. She curses silently as she briefly turns her head. Examining the entrance door this time around. Her gun is losing more and more of its posture and I wonder if I should be grateful for it or not. She may be loosening her aim, but lost bullets are never far away from nervous and frantic actions. I keep following the slow route of the revolver, when its suddenly forcefully aimed right back on me again. My gaze trails back up to hers and I inaudibly gulp when I'm met with her agitated expression.

"Then bring me to the money." She hisses evenly under her breath. Slowly losing the last ounce of her patience with me.

"I can't." I whisper, waiting for the trigger to be pulled. She starts shaking her head disapprovingly and I could feel my eyes welling up. Welcoming an action, an emotion that hadn't taken place in months. Adding up to the whole new surge of feelings that surrounded me since this lost brunette in front of me entered this room, entered my life. And I know she's lost, I know she's just as lost as I am. In her eyes I see the conflict and hurt that resides within mine. The only difference that parts us, is our way of coping with it.

"I'm sorry but I really can't, I swear. The only money there is, is locked up in a safe and I can't access it! Everyone who can is out!" I explain in frenzied state. Tears slowly but surely start rolling down my cheeks. The silence is undeniable and I briefly expect the echo of a fired gun to end it. But no sounds are produced as she continues eyeing me, firearm still perfectly aimed at the mother of all vital organs. The one that is feeling more vivid than ever before. Thumping so loudly, that I can't imagine it not bursting out of my chest. I hear her breathing more loudly with the second, chest frenetically puffing in and out, nostrils widening. Dramatic tunes are belting inside of my head, building up to le moment suprême of this nightmare I've entered. And then it stops.

"Shit!" She exclaims loudly as she retreats her firearm in desperation. Nervously tangling one hand in her auburn curls, while the other hangs loosely by her side. Briefly granting me a sigh of relief as I no longer see the gun anywhere near my eyesight. She continues mumbling profanities under her breath, as I see her hand traveling to her forehead. Clearly contemplating her next move in this mess she created. I take advantage of her brief lack of concentration to eye Alyssa. I almost fail to recognize her, due to the black hair that is now clashing with her new-found paleness. It's clear that I'm not the only person in here that is absolutely terrified. Only I'm not so sure of what I'm actually afraid of.

Alyssa notices my gaze and subtly gestures to me that she's going to leave the scene. Taking advantage of her distance and the woman's lack of attentiveness. I shake my head, signaling her to not go through with it. Knowing than any escape at this point, can lead to disastrous consequences. But Alyssa does not wish to follow any of my instructions and she hesitantly takes a first side-step. But any motion of her is stopped, when the entrance door once again loudly flings open. All our eyes immediately point towards that door, including the ones of our captor. Anxiously awaiting our new visitor as she brings up her gun once again.

A young girl, that can't be older than six, traipses inside out-of-breath. And it takes everything in me not to yell to her to run away as fast she can. To flee this scene that can dash this beautiful child's hopes and dreams with one bullet. But my mouth keeps shut as I see the girl running towards the brunette, internally cursing myself for my cowardice. But surprise washes over me as I see the armed woman rapidly hiding the gun behind her back, tucking it away in the waistband of her jeans.

"What are you doing here? I told you to wait outside!" The woman screams towards the child. The girl only continues her route until she finally reaches her. She's instantly scooped up in the woman's arms as she desperately tries to catch her breath.

"Outside …" A tiny voice begins. Taking large gulps of air in order to continue. "Police .." Labored breath after labored breath. "Everywhere!" She finally finishes. Not needing to say any more to get her message through.

"What?" She asks rhetorically. Understanding very well what was said and what it meant. She shifts to my side, still holding the girl tightly in her arms as she gazes at me in both anger and disbelief. Shaking her head as if I had betrayed her trust, as if I was fooling her all along. Seemingly burdening me with the cause of all the wrongdoings in her life.

"You-"

"Are you mad at me now?" Her innocent childish voice interrupts the angered one. Momentarily postponing the outburst that was headed my way. She tears her eyes away from mine and instantly softens up. Taking in a completely different posture. One that I have yet to experience since she walked in here.

"No, sweetie." She whispers softly as she draws the girls' head to rest against her chest. "I'm not mad at you." She continues reassuring the child in such a soothing voice, that I wonder if I'm still facing the same person that threatened me just awhile ago. She soundly kisses her on top of her head before looking back my way. Rapidly feeling the tide change once again. Understanding that no sootiness will be spent on me. On the contrary.

"Lock every single door. We're gonna be here for awhile."


	4. Chapter 3

From the left end to the right end she paces. Only stopping when passing the closed entrance. Carefully looking through it to examine the outside commotion, before starting the pacing once again. As for the rest of us, we could do nothing but watch and anxiously wait. Wait until this ridiculous prank ends once and for all. Because this whole situation is too funny to be real. Too cliché to actually exist. Boring girl wanting, no _begging_ for some excitement, some action in her tedious clerk-working life. And getting it granted in the form of a bank robbery. Only I'm on the wrong side of the excitement. And I can't help but marvel at the fact of all the banks in this town, this one was chosen. I can't help but wonder how out of all the days Mona had to call in sick, it was this one.

It's like the universe is ganging up on me to produce this one big cosmic joke.

The faces across of and beside me divert from alarmed to downright terror-stricken. The only person that seems to be slightly serene is the unnamed girl that traipsed in here a while ago. Studying our capturer's pacing form in fascination and even some pride it seems. Making me all the more curious what her relationship is to the brunette. There were some alikeness's between the girls. The hair and somewhat the face were the most obvious features, but something in me told me that the girl wasn't the woman's child. That and the little girl's bright blue eyes stood in large contrast with the woman's brown ones. I'm brought out of my reverie when I see the young girl standing up from the ground - a place we were all ordered to sit – and skip towards the robber. My chest constricts a little, because even if there was an obvious relation between the two, I'm still scared that any sudden movement would set the brunette off. And no child should come in between a frustrated human-being and a silver bullet.

The child reaches the woman and lightly touches her thigh from behind, making her presence known. Clearly surprised and alarmed, the mystery woman grips the revolver in her waistband and quickly spins around. Only to find the innocent girl warily watch her with widened eyes.

"Emily." She sighs as she lets go of the gun and reaches for the girl. Finally giving us a name at last. Unfolding a tiny piece of this endless puzzle we're finding ourselves in.

"What's up, kiddo?" She asks as she crouches down to eyelevel. Momentarily forgetting about the situation at hand and focusing solely on the child across of her.

"I'm hungry." The girl whines, pouting exaggeratingly doing so. Unknowingly managing to paint a small smile on my face and apparently on the older girl too. She lightly taps on the pouting mouth of the sulking girl, until a giggle escapes her lips. Unsuspectingly turning a gloomy situation in a lighthearted one with the innocence of her childlike behavior. Even if it's merely momentarily and even if it's just a small distraction from the main act. It's more than welcome for me. I say for me, because the two women beside me still look as terrified as before. Far too wary to feel for the person who pointed a revolver in their faces. Maybe I'm far too naïve or maybe they are too guarded. It's ironic that I would be in that category, because childish naivety and genuine trust has been knocked out of me through my own experiences. Yet somehow, this one endearing scene that is unfolding in front of me, of a person that might end my life in cold blooded fashion by the end of this day, reaching out to this child is granting the chance to feel those emotions again. Even if it only forms a brief and fluttering moment in my existence. It still is present.

"That's what you get for skipping breakfast." She reprimands the young girl. Seemingly not so angry. Her light tone giving her away mercilessly. She stands up again and faces us, with Emily immediately hugging her legs. Searching for some comfort and familiarity. The gesture only enhancing the further confusing of my mind. Something just wasn't adding up.

"Is there any food around here?" The woman asks us neutrally, her hand gradually tangling in the child's curls. For the first time since she walked into the bank, I take the time to study her face again. Noticing her tired traits once more. Trying to part the woman with the shaky revolver pointed at me, from the one that's now combing Emily's hair so lovingly right now.

"Well?" She asks again. More pointedly this time and I realize that I blanked out. And when I look at the other two women beside me, I notice that the fear in their faces is still very much present. Too terrified to breathe freely, let alone utter a word.

"There are some vending machines in the back." I manage to say in a slightly shaken voice. Figuring that a non-answer would lead to more problems than any answer at all. For a few moments she looks towards the back and then back to us. Repeating the gesture a few times before crouching down to Emily's eyelevel again.

"I'm gonna get something to eat, okay? I'll be back in a second." She whispers sweetly to the little girl.

"Can I go with you?" Emily asks hopefully. Seemingly not wanting the older girl go.

"No, you're gonna play a little game." She tells her with a sly grin.

"I am?" The young girl asks, with an obvious glint in her eyes. Relishing any prospect to momentarily get out of this delicate grown up's situation.

"Yup. Every time I'm not around, you're in charge. And the moment one of these ladies move an inch, you scream for me as loud as you can and I'll come running. You think you can handle that, little champ?" She asks her one last time. "It's a lot of responsibility."

"That's easy, of course I can. Nobody screams like me." Emily says proudly, lightly punching the woman's shoulder along the way.

"You got that right." The older girl says before kissing her soundly on top of her head. Emily quickly skips towards us again and our capturer soon follows. Stopping and standing still right next to where I am seated on the ground.

"Get up. You're coming with me, Blondie." She tells me firmly. For a moment I ponder whether I should feel flattered or unappreciative. Whether she choose me to accompany her because she couldn't trust me to leave me out of her sight or whether she trusted me enough to walk beside her. Or maybe I was just the most obvious choice to lead her to the vending machines, since I was the one who told her about them.

I gradually stand, slyly glancing down to Alyssa along the way. Seeing the evident fright in her eyes and suddenly feeling the need to reassure her. Flashing a subtle and tight-lipped smile instead. Knowing that it's the only form of comfort I could hand her at that exact moment.

I shift towards the standing woman beside me and immediately draw me eyes to her hands. Noticing that they're still empty and internally letting out a sigh of relief. Because no heartwarming moment between her and this endearing child, will make me forget the silver revolver that was pointed at me.

With the slight nod of her head, she orders me to move forward. So, not wanting to give her any reason to freak out, I start to walk towards the back. Feeling her walk in the same cadence as me, right behind my back. Following me as the proverbial shadow. This walk I have made so much in the past. Fulfilling this route for my daily sugar rush. The one that keeps me going through the most tedious of days. And believe me, those were omnipresent in my life as a clerk. But, never had I thought that I would ever walk this path under these circumstances. Where a step too fast or too slow, where one step too much to the left or too much to the right, might change my life completely. Might even end it.

One last turn to the left and we've made our way to the machines. One for snacks, one for cold beverages and one for hot ones. Suddenly immensely thankful that they were refilled right before the lunch break. Understanding that we might stay in here for a while and these would form our only source of food.

I turn around to face her and I catch her reaching behind her back. My hearts starts pounding against my chest again as I instinctively back up. Only stopping my movements when I hear something fall on the floor. I look down and notice a few pennies scattered around her feet. Instantly feeling relieved at the sight. Without a moment's thought, I crouch down to pick up the fallen change. She quickly follows suit and starts gathering the ones I haven't yet. I suddenly remember who this person is and in what situation we're in. Rapidly, I stand up and start sauntering towards the safety of the vending machines again. I let out a nervous cough as I take in the continence of the snack machine. Examining it as if it were the first time I had ever laid my eyes on it.

"Uh, what d-do you want?" I ask quietly, trying my best to cover up the tremor in my voice. I hear her walking towards me, before taking in the place next to me. She studies the various snacks in front of us, before tangling one hand in her hair. Seemingly unable to barely make up her mind on the choice of food.

"Emily is allergic to peanuts, so that crosses out half of this machine." She says pensively. I glance at her from the corner of my eyes and see her still looking musingly towards the goods. Biting her lip and lightly tilting her head while doing so. As if she was trying to figure out the reasoning behind life.

"Does she like Ding Dongs?" I ask as I point towards the aforementioned cake. "I'm pretty sure they're peanut-free." I shrug feebly, not standing still at the fact that I was having such a banal conversation with the person who was holding me captive.

"She already had a Twinkie today. I don't want her to get on a sugar high." She tells me seriously, while briefly taking her eyes off of the machine. She looks at me closely for a moment as if recalling something, before raising her gaze towards the ceiling. Letting out a heavy sigh and muttering something that my ears can't seem to catch.

Here, away from Emily, Alyssa and the still unnamed client, she looks at complete loss as to what she should do. Unconsciously revealing another part of her she hasn't shown yet. A vulnerability that shouldn't be present within a determined criminal's mind. Something tells me this is going beyond any sweetened snack.

"I uh … I got some sandwiches packed if you want." I suggest bashfully, motioning towards the front. Her eyes shift back my way and I immediately lower my gaze. Intimidated by her intense stare. "I mean, I had a big breakfast so I can miss it." Lie. I could barely down half a coffee cup in my system.

"What-"

"Ashley!" A loud shriek stops her mid-sentence and before I can register I'm dragged towards the young girl's voice.

I guess I know both their names now. That's a start.


End file.

South of Nowhere