CHAPTER THREE:
Secret Meth Lab

Evette awoke to her brother violently shaking her shoulders.

She shot up in her bed and flipped the lamp on her bedside table on, immediately illuminating her brother's panicked expression. She squinted at the harsh brightness and rubbed her eyes.

"What's wrong?" she asked, voice heavy with sleep. She scooted so she was sitting up straighter and scrambled for her glasses, knocking a few things to the floor.

As his sister pushed her glasses onto her face, Cole slightly panicked. He hadn't had time to think this part through yet.

"I'm sick," he blurted. Evette blinked at him.

"What?"

"We're out of Advil. Can you go to the CVS and get some?" Cole wrung his hands together and hoped she'd listen to him. She had to.

"Cole, it's—" she looked at her phone, "—four in the morning. Do we really not have anything? Tylenol?"

"No, I checked," he replied, shaking his head. Evette still looked uncertain, so he clutched his stomach and winced. "Please? I would go myself but my stomach hurts so much."

Evette studied her brother in front of her. He was leaning over a bit, hand held to his stomach with a pinched expression on his face. He was in pain, that much was obvious.

"Okay, okay," Evette caved, pushing her sheets off her legs and getting up. "Is Dad home yet?"

"No. They must've needed him at the station," Cole lied straight through his teeth. Their father was a firefighter, who was often at the fire station, but not this time. It was getting easier and easier to lie to Evette's face. He used to be an open book to Evette, but within the last year he'd built up his poker face so well that no one suspected a thing, not even his own twin.

"Well, do you want me to make you something to eat, too? I can make chicken noodle soup?" Evette offered as she shrugged large hoodie on over her pajamas. She grabbed her backpack off the ground, since it was basically her big purse with her ID in it and her money, and slung it over her shoulder.

Cole shook his head. "No, I just need the medicine."

"If you're sure . . . "

"Yes, I'm sure. Now, go." He started pushing her towards her bedroom door. Evette laughed and glanced back at him, confused.

"Okay okay, geez." She started walking at a normal pace, so Cole stopped pushing her. As he followed her down the stairs, she noticed the bruise peeking out from under his long sleeved shirt on his forearm. A red hand print was distinct. "Ouch, that looks like it hurts. What happened?"

Cole tried to appear indifferent as he shrugged and glanced down at it. "Just football."

"Be more careful next time."

"Football is supposed to be rough."

Evette ignored him and slipped her shoes on. She unlocked the front door and pushed it open, letting the crisp night air hit her face, and stepped outside. She was so preoccupied thinking about how weird it was that Cole was suddenly sick, that she didn't notice the little black truck parked beside her and Cole's car in the driveway.

The CVS was only a ten minute walk, and Evette hated driving at night, so she settled on traveling by foot. People who drive past midnight normally weren't in the best mindset, especially in this city, so she thought it'd be smart to just keep clear of those people on the roads and take the sidewalk instead. 

Evette strode down the sidewalk with her backpack bouncing on her back. A song played in her head and she started to hum along. She felt good, despite the fact that she hadn't seen her dad in a while and her brother was sick, but she hoped that he'd get over it by tomorrow and they'd be eating breakfast together by the window like they always did. That alone inflated her mood.

As she passed her fifth alleyway, she happened to glance over at it and notice two shadowed figures. The dim street light was enough to illuminate their hands, which were discreetly handing something off. Then, as one of the figures moved, the light caught on something shiny in the waistband of their pants.

Evette's blood ran cold.

Her hands shook as she brought her phone out. She dialed 9-1-1 and started to bring it up to her ear, but her finger slipped and the phone flew out of her hands. Her eyes widened comically as she lunged for it and juggled it before it slipped and crashed to the ground. Evette winced as her phone bounced and shattered on the cement.

"911, what's your emergency?"

I put it on speaker. Of course I did.

She glanced up when she heard movement come toward her. Two men stepped out of the shadows.

"Uh, sorry," she gulped, and set off sprinting in the opposite direction. She didn't get far, as the only exercise she'd done in the past four years was Freshmen PE, before hands gripped her backpack and yanked her back. She kicked violently but hit nothing. "Stop! Help! Hel—" The man holding her clamped a hand over her mouth. She watched as the other one stomped on her phone, abruptly silencing the operator on the other side as she started to speak.

In a desperate attempt to escape, she licked the hand over her mouth. The man, obviously not expecting that, recoiled and swiped his hand on his shirt, muttering under his breath. Evette immediately regretted licking him. She had no idea where his hands had been, plus he tasted like dirt and grease.

"C'mon, that phone was expensive," she complained. He looked at her funny, the little mustache over his lip scrunched up.

"Are you serious? You're worried about your phone right now?"

"I paid for it myself, I think I'm allowed to be upset about it."

The other one tossed her broken phone into a nearby trash can and glared at her. "Why are you still talking?!"

"Sorry," she muttered, and shut up. She didn't want them to kill her out of annoyance. Suddenly, the man holding her arms behind her back forced her to walk forward, towards the back door of some building. Her eyes widened and she dug her heels into the ground. "Wait! Stop! You can't kidnap me! I won't tell anyone!"

"Can't have any loose ends. Boss's orders." When she wouldn't stop squirming, he lifted her over his shoulder easily and pushed the door open. All she could see was his back now.

Holy shit, they're taking me to the drug lord. I'm going to die.

"Woah woah woah, I can't die, I haven't finished my college applications yet!" Evette screeched.

"George, make her shut up before I put a bullet in her head," the one not holding her snapped. Evette heard the door shut behind them and they were enveloped in darkness. Following a little click, a warm, flickering light illuminated the little space they were in. Evette craned her neck to look at her surroundings and was hit with a wave of dread as she realized they were in a stairway. They started to descend the stairs. Evette's head bounced off the man's back, making her nose sore by the time they ran out of stairs to walk down. They entered another dark room and stopped. The sound of something heavy scraping against the floor met her ears, and then they started walking again.

Evette's world was finally set right-side-up as the man put her down. Before she could escape, he ziptied her hands together around a pipe running down the concrete wall. She took the time to survey the room. While it was still dark, she could make out the outlines of what she could only describe as a meth lab. At least, that's what she thought it was, based solely on her knowledge after watching Breaking Bad. There was also a doorway on the opposite wall. She figured the stairs were in there.

"I won't tell anyone about your meth lab," Evette said desperately. "I swear."

They both gave her a weird look.

"Let's just get the boss, see what he says to do with her," the one with the mustache said. The other one, the meaner one, nodded without removing his glare from Evette.

"Gladly."

The two men turned and started walking towards the doorway. The mustache one paused and faced her again, a frown on his face.

"Don't . . . go anywhere."

They both disappeared out of sight then and pushed something in front of the doorway to conceal her inside. Finally, Evette sighed. She glanced down at the restraints on her hands and tried to remember what she learned from a Tumblr post about getting out of zipties. "C'mon, you can do it," she whispered before closing her eyes and raising her hands. She brought them down swiftly and brought her elbows apart. Her wrists ached as it did absolutely nothing. She groaned. "Oh, come on."

She did it again. And again. And again.

Then, with an extra ounce of strength and adrenaline, the zipties snapped.

Evette stared at her rubbed-raw hands and the broken restraints with her mouth agape. "Woah."

Snapping out of her stupor, she scrambled to get up and bolt for the doorway. However, as she set a hand on the object blockading the doorway, she stopped and turned around. The meth lab equipment was all laid out in front of her, enough to make these people go to jail for a long time, and she had no proof of it, nevermind them kidnapping her.

If only they hadn't broken my phone, she thought. Out of pure curiosity, Evette crept towards the drug-making table. She eyed the test tubes and beakers, all of which reminded her of the chemistry class she took last year. Everything was much more expensive and fancy-looking than what it looked like on TV. There were no plastic water bottles willed with weird solutions, or messy pots set up. A shiver ran down Evette's spine.

She stooped down to look at a particular test tube, which held a bubbly, thick black fluid. It reeked of manure and garbage. Evette's face scrunched together as she brought a hand to plug her nose and brought the other to turn the tube around to read the label. Some of the liquid must have gotten on the outside, because it slipped from Evette's hands and crashed on the table. Glass shattered and the liquid splattered everywhere. Evette cursed under her breath as she surveyed a small cut on her hand. Some of the black liquid on her hand dripped from her fingers down to the crevice of her hand, where the cut was. She nearly screamed and shook her hand out.

She held her hand back up in front of her face and gasped.

"The meth is in me."

She stuck her hand in her pocket and booked it to the blockade. Who knows who could've heard the glass break, or her gasp, or just her moving around in general. The drug lord could be back any second, what was she doing still in the basement?

Evette pushed against the object trapping her inside, but it wouldn't budge. It was heavy, like a solid book case holding nothing but encyclopedias. They were pulling a reverse-Anne Frank on her.

Unperturbed, Evette gave it another go. Her arms shook with exertion as she used every bit of muscle she could muster to push against the blockade. Her hand with the cut in it throbbed as she pushed it flush against the object and applied force to it. Without missing a beat, she turned and pushed her back against it, keeping her feet flat against the floor, and pushed with her legs. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She just realized how humid and stuffy it was down there.

Evette huffed when nothing happened again, deeply regretting not taking elective weight lifting in school. She slid down the wall to sit against it and sighed. Her hand was starting to burn now. Was that a side affect of meth poisoning? She brought it up to her face to get a better look. A terrified yelp escaped her lips before she slapped her good hand over her mouth. The area around the cut was slightly gray, and the cut itself was black, just like the liquid that she spilled on her hand. The veins on her hands were darker. Evette turned her hand over slowly and traced her veins with her eyes. Her whole hand was burning, her veins were burning, and she could swear her blood was burning.

Now she really needed to get out of there.

Evette stood back up with a renewed energy. She set her back against the blockade again and breathed out. When she pushed this time, she felt a strange sense of strength. She swore she could feel wind pushing against her, but when she looked up there was no fan, no AC unit.

She didn't have long to question it before the object tipped over, landing on the ground with a loud bang. Dust flew up into the air and the feeling of rushing wind ceased. Immediately, Evette hopped over what she found actually was a heavy bookcase, though in her defense it was made of solid metal and it appeared to have brick-like books stacked on its shelves.

Ignoring the pain in her hand, Evette darted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. When she made it to the top she turned to the door she came in from and stopped dead in her tracks. The two men, the mean one and the mustache one, were walking with a third, taller man. They were only feet away from the door. Evette turned and sprinted the other way, into the rest of the building. She just prayed it wasn't full of bad guys.

She pushed through a light swinging door and found herself in a kitchen. With people. Ordinary people.

No, scratch that. They were baristas and pastry chefs.

The sound of clinking glasses and whirring coffee machines met her ears as the smell of sugar and coffee filled her nose.

"Excuse me miss, who are you?"

Evette turned to the man wearing a navy blue apron with the words "Gran's Grounds" embroidered on it. Her mouth bobbed open like a fish before she heard the back door handle jiggle. She spun around and met the guy's eyes. He took one look at her in the face and screamed. Evette pushed past him and barreled out of the kitchen, hurtling around the  front counter and out of the shop.

As she pushed the front door open she stumbled and caught herself with her hands on the sidewalk. Not daring to waste another second, she took off down the street, unaware of the person across the street noticing her crazed getaway.

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