Day 8        Niall POV          (December 24th 2013)

It was early Christmas Eve. We were spending it under the flickering light of our jail cell.

“They should be coming to get us anytime,” Liam said. He rubbed his hand along his sore wrists. The skin was chaffed from the tight ropes he had worn before.

I looked over to Charlotte. She hadn’t said much since the day before when we came back. They had taken us to film some sort of ransom video. It all had gone terribly wrong. Harry was angry, rambling throughout the whole thing. Zayn refused to say a word, and we couldn’t understand what the hell they wanted us to do otherwise. Liam was the only level headed one. And eventually they shoved back to our prison where the English guy told us we would try again tomorrow. It had been getting late. Everyone was exhausted.

Charlotte’s big brown eyes flickered around the room. I knew something had happened while we were gone, but she wouldn’t tell me a word. I guessed it was her way of keeping us from worrying about her. But really, it was doing the opposite. What had they said to her? Was she hurt?

The echoing of stampeding feet turned everyone’s heads. We all watched the metal slab of a door swing inside. Six burly men waited on the other side.

“Come on,” The English one said to us. “Let’s get this over with.”

The five of us stood as they approached. As much as it pained, I had to let them take me. We were no match for those brawny fools.

Nails dug into the skin on my arms. I glared at the wall ahead of me as I was shoved to the door.

“Don’t touch her!”

I snapped my head at the sound of Liam’s voice.

A chocolate skinned man with rings on his lips had Charlotte by the slack of her shirt.

Why would they want her!?

“Let her go,” I said through gritted teeth. As my feet stumbled towards her the man behind my back kicked my knees. I fell onto my open palms.

“Niall don’t,” Charlotte said softly. I was pulled back to my feet. Her pretty face tried to smile at me reassuringly. “It’s okay.”

I briskly shook my head left and right.

Zayn was pushed out of the room ahead of Louis and Harry. Then Charlotte was paraded upstairs, with me and Liam a few steps behind.

I slowly paddled my feet up the creaking wooden stairs.

“Dépêchez-vous,” My man told me. He gave me a mean shove.

I stopped in my path.

The heavy man ran straight into my back.

“Allez-y!” he shouted.

I smirked.

We passed the living room and kitchen like we had the night before. This time the windows were drawn shut, the air a lot stuffier than it had been.

At a narrow door we started to pile into the room. Just like before, the room was set with five fold out chairs. Behind the seats was a blank brown wall, paint peeling over red brick. The ground was dusty and dirty unlike the rest of the house we were being held in. And set to film us was a cheap camera on a flimsy tripod.

I was let go of as I neared the seats. I sat in the middle again, Harry on my left and Louis on my right. Liam and Zayn took up the outsides.

Our hands were quickly bound to the backs of our seats.

“And there they are!”

Aubin Wellfayer stood above the camera, his smile glowing.

“Nice to see everyone again,” He said. “How did you all sleep last night?”

Louis spat, “Go to hell.”

Aubin just smiled. Then he looked to Charlotte, who was being held over in the corner. “I think that Ms. Hemming picked up on some of your feisty habits Tomlinson.”

I blinked. They met?

Charlotte glared at him as he walked to her.

She was standing alone against a wall, her slim back pressed firmly against the bare brick. Aubin slowly crept towards her. With one hand braced above her shoulder and the other just resting at his belt he leered at Charlotte.

I watched on in disgust.

Aubin tilted his head to the side, his face just an inch from hers.

“Did you talk to our friends, dear?”

Charlotte made no sound.

Aubin puckered his lips, nodding his head up and down. He had obviously already known this. “Very well dear. I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

His hanging arm swept a hand underneath his jacket. In a second Aubin had pulled a revolver from his belt and had it lingering above Charlotte’s chest.

My heart and head both came to a shattering stop.

“Now,” Aubin said with a snicker. “Who’s ready to make a movie?”

 *********************************************************************************************************

Charlotte POV

I sat on my rickety metal chair watching on. Aubin still held his pistol to my heart, his eyes trained on me. I avoided his gaze and looked to One Direction while they pleaded to the camcorder. Niall glanced at me once, his blue eyes flickering with pain.

“-Five million dollars for each of us,” Liam finished saying.

I couldn’t believe how much money filthy Aubin was asking for. Twenty five million? Was he insane? Well, we already established that…

Under the bright lights of the room you could see every scratch and bag on those boys. They looked like hell. Harry’s hair was just a ridiculous mop of crazy curls. Zayn had a permanent solemn look etched in his captivating eyes. There was a spot of blood under Liam’s nose where he had been smacked the night before. Niall’s muscled arms peaked out from the slashes of his sleeves, the stitching dotted with my own blood.

I was sure I looked just as awful.

It had only been a week and we were turning into a pack of filthy, underfed, rogue prisoners.

Someone said something in French that I was too distracted to catch.

“He means to say that we’re all done boys,” Aubin translated. With a tricky flip of his wrist his pistol dropped from my skin. It slid back into his belt. “That was a good day at work, don’t you think?” he took a pause and spoke to his men, “Maintenant nous allons obtenir ces imbéciles d'ici.”

I listened with more intent as he continued to order his crew around.

Now let's get these fools out of here. I told Henrich we would have them delivered by nightfall.

I blinked. Where the hell were they taking us now?

Nervously, I shot Niall a blank stare. He stared right back, his eyes taking in my face. He got the idea and prepared himself for the worst.

All at once the boys were poured onto. Huge burly Frenchmen came for them, grabbing them by the arms and necks. Briskly and gruffly they were being shoved around the room. Harry stumbled on the carpet, his hands unable to catch his fall. Louis cursed everyone in the room as the man with the tattoos threw a black sack over Lou’s face.

I backed away from the chaos. My head spun around in circles as I went into sensory overload. The boys were putting up some sort of fight. They and the villains were all making straining noises. The air was hot from panting breaths.

It was an utter mess.

I stumbled against the wall away from the masses of fighting men. A gust of chilled air turned my face to glance at a cracked window.

My heart sped up.

I kept myself pressed up against the wall, my arms stretched out behind me. I sidestepped to the foggy glassed window. My breath was ragged with the thrill of escape.

Cold plastic ran beneath my fingertips. I had finally reached the thick windowsill.

This was it. This was escape. I could get out. I could get us all out!

An earsplitting gunshot shattered all hope.

I stood frozen, my eyes glossed over. A new bullet hole was marked into the wall right beside me. It missed my face by inches. My fingers were shaking. Everyone in the room stopped like a suspense movie on pause. The only that could be heard was heavy breathing and the loud ringing in my ear.

With my heart pounding my ribcage I turned. I slowly brought myself to see whoever had shot the wall right next to me. My eyes scanned the room. I saw everyone as they watched me. All of my friends were painted white with fear. I cringed when I noticed the red blood that streaked the cheeks of a few.

“Come,” was the only word that Aubin muttered. The gun he was pointing at me was still smoking. I stared down the barrel, my whole world spinning around in my head. I swallowed back fear and took a step towards Aubin: and away from escape.

With every slow step my heart grew colder. My hope of escape was slipping out of my fingers.

Aubin stared into my eyes. The charisma was there but flickering away. More and more he started to look like the devil he was: not the handsome bloke his pretty face made him out to be.

When I got within arm’s reach of Aubin he briskly went to grab me. The skin of his palm was tough like leather. I let myself go numb and barely flinched as he pulled me to his chest. He wrapped an arm around my waist to keep me from wiggling away, but I was in too much shock to try anything that stupid. Then Aubin roughly jabbed my side with the gun, the barrel warm through the ripped fabric of my shirt.

“It’s over,” Aubin said. “Behave yourselves before I put a bullet through her stomach.”

I closed my eyes to avoid looking at any of the boys.

I didn’t like that feeling. That awful feeling of bait. I was the worm on the hook, the boys were the expensive fish and Aubin was the greedy fisherman. I was the only thing between the boys and escape. I just wished it didn’t work that way, that somehow the boys could get out of there alive and not have to worry about me getting hurt. That way they could be safe.

But that’s not how it happened.

I was a threat. I was leverage. I was the only reason One Direction wasn’t getting their fair chance at escape.

I heard slight rustling movements as the French men all took control again. Whatever sense of rebellion our silly minds had created was now gone like a puff of smoke.

I opened my eyes again. Louis and Harry were already being walked out of the room. Liam was being tugged like a dog on a leash; his pitiful puppy eyes watched me intently. Zayn had his face to the ground and his mouth pressed in a straight line. He was so defeated.

I couldn’t bring myself to look at Niall.

I stared at the mess of chairs in the middle of the room. They were knocked onto the ground, looking nothing like they had when the video had been filmed. I wondered who was going to hear our cry for help. Was it going to be shown on TV? I hoped not. I didn’t want any of the fans to see the boys in such an awful state. Would it be sent to the police? Were the police already looking for us?

I hadn’t noticed that Aubin and I were the last to leave the room until he leaned down to my ear. I froze. I felt his warm cheek brush against the side of my head before he whispered, “We’ll meet again Ms. Hemming.”

I couldn’t help but shiver. His breath was unnaturally hot and thick.

Coming in through the doorway was a big burly man I hadn’t seen before. I tried to fight the part of my brain that told me to run away. He was coming for me, I knew it. And I could see the blade in his belt.

Air couldn’t work through my lungs. I started to panic. I backed myself up against Aubin, who didn’t budge under my pressure.

The man with the knife came closer. He was about a foot taller than me, with arms the size of baseball bats. His eyes were blue behind a pair of glasses. But the scariest thing about the man was his collection of weapons hanging from his belt: everything from switch blades to a shiny black revolver.

A whine escaped from the back of my throat.

Like a trained dog catcher the man seized my wrists first. He roughly pulled me forward before bounding my hands with a zip-tie. It pinched my skin as he threw something over my eyes. I tried to fight it but I knew I wasn’t strong.

I stumbled forward as the man started to lead me out of the room. In the hallway I could hear voices and shuffles to one side, and silence to the other. My heart fell into a nervous beating frenzy when I picked Niall’s mumbles out of the chaos: then realized I was being led in the other direction.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to break down on my hands and knees and start screaming and sobbing like a little girl.

But instead I bit my lip until I drew blood. I stayed quiet as tears pooled my eyes.

I had no idea where we were off too until I was hit with a chilling breeze. Snow crunched under my feet as the Christmas Eve air numbed my bare skin. I wanted to hug myself to fight the chill but I was still being dragged by the plastic tie around my wrists.

I strained my ears. Maybe I could hear something, something with some indication of where we were. Like a chugging train or wailing city sirens.

I was greeted with nothingness.

Wherever we were had to be the most deserted place in this side of France: I could barely make out a bird in the distance. The man who took me smelled of cigar smoke. I gave up playing detective and went back to being the victim again.

A soft rumbling started up. It was followed by a louder growl and the obvious scent of exhaust. I guessed by the loud roar of the car it had to be at least a truck: maybe even something bigger.

The man stopped in his tracks. I felt a pair of hands grip my waist. Carelessly I was thrown.

I opened my mouth to scream. Before I had the chance I felt the side of my body wham against something. I slid my feet around. Industrial flooring was underneath me.

I was being shipped away.

Panic hit me like a bullet to the chest. I immediately tried to stand and run but was met with the slamming of a door. I struggled to get the mask from my face. When I tossed the fabric to the ground I found myself in an even darker place.

I pressed my palms up against the thick door. I banged my fist about a dozen times. The only thing that met my rebellion was the lurching of the car. I stumbled back and fell onto the ground.

I sat there hopelessly.

I was alone.

I looked up to the ceiling. The box I was in was about the size of a U-Haul, I guessed. I must have been shoved into one of those pull along trailers. I could barely see my own hand in front of my face, and that was with much straining.

I sighed, plunking my face into my cuffed hands. The bindings pinched my skin tighter but I barely flinched.

I pulled my knees to my chest. I scooted myself to the shaking wall, feeling the wheels bouncing underneath me. I stared at my grungy fingernails until my eyes started to adjust to the nonexistent lighting of the place. The box was a symmetrical dungeon. I noticed something different tucked into the far corner though. I braced by hands against the wall and nervously walked towards it.

I bent down on my knees. Thrown into a lazy pile was a torn up children’s blanket. Underneath the rough, scratchy fabric was a half empty plastic bottle of water. Next to that was a delicate little package in red saran wrap. A flimsy piece of paper had a note etched onto it. I held the thing close to my eyes and eventually made out the phrase, “To dear Charlotte, the one who can grant the wish.”

I angrily crumbled Aubin’s note. Creepy bastard.

Skeptically I pulled at the red wrapping. A crumbly Christmas cookie fell to the floor.

My heart fell with it.

I leaned down to pick up the cookie. Santa was missing part of his hat and his cherry red nose had been crumbled away to dust.

Tomorrow was Christmas. And I wanted nothing more than to be celebrating in Richmond.

I sat down. I silently prayed that whatever was happening to those boys was good news. Hopefully they were headed home. If not, I at least hoped they were enduring things together.

The zip tie on my wrist was becoming extremely annoying. I tugged on it in a lame attempt to stretch and snap the plastic. Of course this did nothing but exhaust me and rip skin off my hands.

I eventually gave up on the struggle.

I took the smallest taste of water before grabbing the blanket. I folded it twice until it was the size of my head, setting it on the floor far away from the door. I lowered myself onto the ground. Before I closed my eyes I gazed at the bracelet around my wrist. It made me wish for someone to hold onto now. It was so cold and scary all alone.

I shut my eyes unnaturally tight. I forced myself to drift off into an uncomfortable sleep just as a warm tear slid down my cheek.