Under the taut arm of his benevolently anonymous rescuer, Edward found himself staring back at the deceptively smooth, drifting tarmac in front of him.
The sight on the tarmac itself was quite delightful, with two crimson spirals of the Caucasian's blood painting from the halting point of his earlier 'lyft' to a spread-up distance far back along the road.
Macabre would have been the start of describing the scenery, and an understatement at the same time.
But just as his thoughts were unravelling, Edward suddenly felt himself flipped up—into an upright posture, and acolled firmly.
"Hang on!" the rescuer announced against the gusty wind.
Edward obliged, not that there was much he could do, and mentally noted his rescuer's gender. It was a man.
The man then suddenly torqued both of them into an abrupt, violent spin, clearly aiming for a tree a few metres away from the road.
Edward fell dizzy; his earlier suppressed urge to vomit resurfacing, choking him at the throat.
Oh, how soon it was for him to think he had escaped death—and naive.
This man was probably some nemesis of his kidnappers who wanted to do the job himself.
But just as hope was at the brink of collapse, and the tree a hand-stretch away, Edward felt the spinning come to a sudden, gentle ease, with specks of what seemed like dust circling around them at the same pace.
It was magnificent, but Edward still felt nauseous.
"I got that," the man said, placing his fingers at both of Edward's temples.
Their feet touched ground.
The nausea stopped.
At that, Edward immediately broke free from the man's hold and distanced himself, disrupting the softly settling dust particles as he did.
"Who?..." he stopped at his question when he caught the man's face. It was not a man. It was...
"...Edric?" Edward blurted out, not sure he had even said that right.
He was so confused he could have mistaken a cow for a duck. Or was he still dizzy? Maybe the guy—no—Edric had not really gotten rid of his dizziness—not that he knew how he did that.
No. He must have been hallucinating. It was the only logical explanation. Edric couldn't—
"Edward..." Edric called out gently, wanting to step closer but clearly apprehensive.
By now all the dust had settled back to the ground.
"I can explain," he took another step.
Edward stepped back. Then it hit him: He did not have those fucking cuffs on him anymore.
He looked at his wrists, legs, then back at Edric. "I would really like that very much."
"Move!" Edric suddenly barked, with a hand swipe to the right.
He then charged forth menacingly, with an abrupt uplift force from the ground.
Edward's body got flipped up and to the side by the forest floor before he could even realise what was happening, plunging into a thick, cushiony mass of hovering dust before turning to catch sight of Edric, charging against a viciously big wolf-humanoid with messy fur and beetroot-red eyes.
"Werewolf." It registered in Edward's head.
It was a fucking werewolf. He got off the dust-puff, sparing it a brief awkward glance. So not all the abductors were dead? Were they even dead?
A clash echoed through the forest, followed by a terrifying, painful growl.
Edward peeped past an obstructing tree to see Edric lunging at the jaw-broken creature midair with menacing force and agility, his rage shining through his thunderous eyes and gritted teeth.
He was a spectacle, and yet again a nightmare. One draped in classy vibes and looks. Who even was this kid?
The punch landed with an explosive blow on the werewolf's face.
Edward watched it like a movie, panning out in slow motion, as the ironically juggernaut fisticuff sank—no—demolished its way into the remaining part of the creature's face, birds flying away in all directions from the nearby trees.
Marvellous.
The creature's eyes bulged out—literally—in obvious shock and terror, while drops of blood spurted in all directions from its face.
Edric seemed indifferent, and more maniacal, while boring his fist further down into its face, glimmering with shudderful glee.
Again, who the hell was that boy?!
They slammed onto the ground with a crushing wreck on the other side of the road—the werewolf dead with a mashed-up face and Edric... well, let's just say... fulfilled.
"Edward, dodge!" Edric suddenly thundered out at Edward.
But before Edward could move, he caught sight of razor-sharp claws advancing to his face from the left corners of his eyes.
He tried to start on his heels, but there's only so much one can do with no less than a second to evade a werewolf attack—so he shielded his face instead.
BAM!
The force sent Edward flying backward.
"Ahh!" His right shoulder blade slammed hard against a tree's rigid bark.
He fell to the ground and clutched onto his lacerated arm, wincing at the pain as the deep white claw marks begun reddening.
The pain intensified. He let out a painful shrill, clutching the arm tighter, shaking from the agony.
"It hurts so bad," he cried, tears slipping from his eyes as he writhed on the ground.
The werewolf advanced toward him. Indifferent.
"Why does it hurt so bad?" Edward wailed on.
Pounce.
Claws out.
Teeth bared. Sharp and long canines visible.
Edward caught it from the corner of his eye—the spectacle of his approaching death almost glorifying.
But suddenly—a squelch-crunch.
A spike tore through the creature's chest from the ground—quick and vicious.
Edward followed with his eyes to the projectile's base, then back at the dead creature hanging from it—its eyes empty, blood dripping down the stake.
The scene was more gore than anything he had ever seen, much less in reality.
"Edward."
Edward turned to see Edric standing beside him—his eyes trembling with worry.
He crouched beside him.
"Are you, okay?" he asked, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Edward could only stare.
"Edward?"
Edward still stared.
"Edward?!"
He jolted back into reality.
"We need to move," Edric informed hastily.
He stopped and listened to something Edward couldn't quite pick up.
He turned back to Edward. "Now."
----------------
Back at the estate, Jarold drove into the driveway, killed the engine, and stepped out of the car.
He stood there for a minute—briefcase in hand, long coat trailing from his shoulders—taking in the woodsy-herbal freshness carried in the softly drifting breeze from the forest.
He missed it. It calmed his wracked nerves.
"Mister?" He heard someone snap their fingers at him.
He flung his eyes open, then slowly turned in that direction.
It was a girl, stylishly box-shaved and in classic street-boy attire of light brown cargo shorts and a huge, baggy T-shirt.
Her vibe was all boyish, considering how she even sat on her bike while staring at him, but Jarold could easily tell it was a girl. He had had a sister like that growing up. Adolescence changed her.
"Hey, Mister?" Tigean called out again, snapping her fingers.
Jarold tried to comprehend how acquainted children were getting with him nowadays.
Tigean stared—almost glaring.
Jarold widened his eyes and hummed in response. "Hmm?"
A brief, fake smile plastered on Tigean's face. "I just wanted to—Wait. You are Edward's father, aren't you?"
"Mm-hmm," Jarold could only hum, still pretty much astounded by the familiarity the kid had with him.
"Okay. Good. So I just wanted to say that you should tell Edward to please return the thing he took from me." The please sounded sarcastic. "Before my temper flares, and I start getting cranky."
Jarold recoiled with furrowed brows. This girl was bold.
"Now that's all I had to say, sir, and I thank you for your time." She started on her bike, then stopped suddenly, spinning back to Jarold. "Oh. And this information is classified. So if you'd just deliver it to Edward, then it'll be much appreciated—"
"Wait!" Jarold stopped her before she could start on her bike again.
She turned to him.
"Whom am I to deliver this ammunition from?"
"Your friendly neighbour's granddaughter." She looked toward house 253. "Tigean. Tigean Siaibeni."
She rode off.
Jarold remained baffled. Mrs. Wanjiku had a granddaughter? Let alone a grandchild?
He stared back up to see her joining a group of kids up the street with bikes—most probably her age—before disappearing into a corner leading into an alleyway.
With his lower lip pouted in indifference, he scoffed and turned to the pavement leading up to his porch—before hearing another voice:
"Mr. Tuweku?"
He sighed.
Another kid. A girl. Again.
He spun to her, slowly. "Yes?"
But when he caught sight of her, he was taken aback a bit. The girl really did have a younger voice than her appearance suggested. She also had a fashionable choice of garb.
"I was looking for Edward," the girl went on.
Of course, Jarold remarked inwardly.
"But I couldn't seem to find anyone at the house."
Jarold whipped a brief look toward the house, then turned back to her.
"So if it's not a bother, sir…" She reached into her teddy bear backpack. "Could you please give this to him?" It was a note—folded.
Jarold took it. It read: From Marissa.
She closed her bag.
"I would be very much obliged if you do, sir. Very much obliged," she said, all chimed up and with hands clasped before her.
Jarold was starting to think he was not that intimidating.
"Okay," he agreed with a polite smile, slipping the note into his pocket. "I'll make sure it gets to him."
"Thanks so much, sir," Marissa beamed. "And have a great evening."
"You too," Jarold said, beaming a bit exuberancy back at her.
Marissa turned on her heels and literally skipped away joyfully.
Jarold watched her with a vague smile before looking down in thought. "So Edward has a girlfriend?"
He let out a sigh and started on his steps, fishing out his phone from his pocket.
He dialed Miridald's number.
She picked up right when he was on the porch's first step.
"Hey, Heart. So where are you guys?"