Dean

I really wasn't sure how long I walked, an hour, two? I don't think I'll ever know though I find I don't really care.

The walk danced on the border of pain and torture, wildly fighting it's way back and forth. A scalding pain I couldn't shake off of me seemed to spread from head to toe.

Pulsing in great, aching waves with my every breath.

Inhale, and the pain flowed down through my veins - exhale, and it came right back up again, boiling under my skin.

My vision was a blur, but it was just enough to see where I was going. I tried my best to avoid the holes and ditches I saw, all the while forcing myself to stay upright.

Worst of all, however, was my mind. Whenever it could form a solid thought, it was bashing me for everything bad I had ever said or done to Erin. When I pushed her when we were small and she fell, tying her shoelaces together so she was late for school, calling her lame and stuck-up.

She wasn't stuck-up. She was sweet, sweet as the kind of candy that melts on your tongue and makes you hum in the back of your throat, even if my horribly short temper kept me from seeing it sometimes.

Eventually, I reached my home. By the time I did, my stomach was doing backflips, lading on my kidney, and ramming into my lungs.

With all of my waning strength, I stumbled to the door and into it. My back slammed against the hard oak and I slid to the cold concrete below my feet, praying to God, or anyone really, that someone was home.

And then I heard my mother. She seemed to be whispering something faintly into my ear, and for a genuine moment, I wondered if I was actually dead, right against the door. I could almost see me, a frozen corpse, when the thought faded as her voice started to take shape into words.

"Just leave it be, Hon. Jason is a young adult now. He's just trying to find out where he stands." She paused for a moment, and I wondered openly who she was talking to. "Skipping school isn't a big deal. Scolding him now will just give him the attention he wants! Wait and surprise him with a consequence when he gets home tonight, thinking you have no idea. See, Dean used to skip school all the time! But now he never does. We've taught him just what happens when he does. If my little hothead can get over it, so can your sweet little boy. Don't go sending the entire police department after him." She laughed at an unheard comment.

"Yeah, okay. Listen, Mary. I have to go. Someone's at the door. They've been waiting." I heard her footsteps fade, along with her voice, and then they were back.

All too suddenly, the door opened and I flopped backwards onto the floor. I grunted in pain, which took more effort than it should have, and bit into my lip.

"Dean!" My mother gasped, jumping away from the open door. "Why-What happened to you?" She asked, sounding worried.

I swallowed hard, and my saliva scratched it's way down my throat. "My motorcycle. W-We crashed."

Her hand flew to her mouth, "Oh, darling! Come inside! Sit down!" She dragged me by the shreds of my pant legs into the house and to the couch, which she helped me onto.

Scratchy floral sandpaper caught and tore my dry skin, but I managed to ignore it.

My mother was back, though I had lost track of if and when she had gone. She placed a wet rag against my forehead, and I sighed in relief. She reached back to pat me on the back, when she stopped.

"Where is Erin?" She asked.

"The man that pushed us off the road. He took her." I forced out, watching her face as her blue eyes struggled to understand what I was saying.

Neither of us moved for a moment, maybe two. I could almost see her brain working behind her eyes, shifting around my words and trying to find the meaning.

Then her joints unlocked and she nimbly jumped to her feet, unshed tears in her eyes. "Dean! Why didn't you tell me that before?" She cried.

I opened my mouth to answer, but she didn't give me the chance to start saying anything before she raised her hand, silencing me.

"Nevermind. Every second we spend sitting around is another second Erin could be hurting." She rushed to the phone, which rested on the far wall, and yanked it off of it's switch hook. I noticed that her hands were shaking.

She dialed and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello? I need to speak to an officer right away!" She waited for a moment, tapping her long, white nails on the wall beside her, and then spoke again, so fast it seemed like her own life depended on it.

"I need you to find my daughter! She's been taken!" She shrieked, tears were rolling down her face, and it made me want so badly to stand up and wrap my arms around her.

But I could barely move, so rather I just sat on the couch, wishing I hadn't been so stupid as to try and sleep in.

My mother's voice droned on and on, frantic and scared, while my brain tried to make sense of what was currently happening.

See, things like this don't just happen, not in real life. It happens in soap operas and crappy thriller movies, but never in real life. Not to real girls like my little sister. Not to normal teenage boys like me.

Erin couldn't be scared right now, I couldn't handle the chance of that.

She was such a lovely girl, with shining, straight hair that loved flowers and bees. She was the little girl that always sat by herself in the field and sang in elementary school.

I could see her clearly in my brain, when we would go on our trips to the Carrizo Plain Wildflower Meadows on spring break. She would dance and hold my hand, still so young and innocent.

So why her? I really couldn't say.

Then it occurred to me, that she may be much worse than scared right now.

I bit my lip and swallowed as tears stung my eyes and forced their way down my cheeks. The chances of never being able to see her again flooded my brain. To never again tease her or see her smile. To never again see my little sister. My little petal.

Why her?