I woke up to a strange noise. I knew it wasn't normal. I heard someone huff and a chair squeak. I froze, terrified.

"Step-son, I know you're awake," the gruff voice sounded, and I stopped breathing. It was the man that was sitting down. The debt collector. The guy who shot me.

"Listen here, kid. The police are on our trail, and I know the only one who knew about us was you. So, for breaking our bargain, I'm going to have to take you and your mom with me." My eyes shot open.

No, no, no. I did so much. I worked too hard! I didn't even say anything!

"I don't know what you're talking about! I didn't say anything! All I did was answer truthfully when they asked if I was abused and who did it! That was it. I didn't rat you out, so please, leave my mom out of this. If you can't find Gabe take me, but leave her out," I pleaded. I knew I probably sounded on the edge of hysterics, but I didn't care. This guy was jumping to conclusions. Dangerous conclusions.

I couldn't see much, but I saw the man stand up and move closer to my bed. I didn't dare move. It's not like I could do anything without immense pain anyway.

"It's true. My spy told me that you didn't say anything about us. However, since the police have Gabe, we are unable to collect our money, so you will be paying," then the man grabbed my wounded right arm, making me give a small yelp in surprise. "But we'll leave your mom as a final wish ."Then pulling me to my feet, he dragged me out of bed towards the window.

I clenched my teeth in pain as I could feel my wounds in my arms opening. I let him take me. Honestly, if I die of blood loss, it'll probably be a more humane way to go out anyway. I'd rather not be tortured or killed painfully if possible.

As I was thrown out of the window and onto the lawn, I quickly mentally apologized to the three that stuck by me.

I'm sorry, mom, again, I didn't mean for this to happen, but I tried my best. I hope you get to write the books you've always wanted and move on.

I'm sorry, Rachel. I haven't known you for long, but you're a great friend, and I treasure you. I hope that your art is known throughout the world after I die.

I'm sorry, Annabeth. I know I just let you in again, and that was my selfish self peeking through. I shouldn't have let you get in close again. I've probably ruined you for life, and for that, I'm sorry. I hope you build and design amazing buildings that people line the streets for; you'll be a fantastic architect.

I felt someone dragging me to my feet, and I complied. I stood shakily, and the grip on my arm didn't loosen; it simply pulled me forward. I followed like a dog. I knew I couldn't get out of this. If it were to protect those three, I'd throw my life away. Which is probably what I'm doing now, but that doesn't matter.

I heard sirens in the distance, and the grip on my arm made me break out in a run. I tried not to stumble with one of my arms pulling me along, but it was inevitable. I fell, and I think I brought the guy down with me as I face planted. I heard shouting, and I groggily looked up to see the man lying there, frozen.

My breath hitched, and I scrambled over to him. His eyes were wide open, and his mouth open in shock; he looked angry as he blinked at me, gasping. I realized that I must've knocked the wind out of him and sighed in relief. Soon he was taking deep breaths and standing, though I could hear the screeching of tires and shouts of a ton of people.

I looked around and was met with blaring blue and red lights. I shielded my eyes, and I felt someone grab me from behind. I yelped in surprise and tried to turn, but I felt cold metal find its way to my lower back. I gulped and stopped struggling.

I noticed the many police officers and their guns pointing at me. I was mildly freaking out. I was smack dab in the center of a whole lotta guns.

"Don't even think of trying to take me in!" I heard the man behind me yell I felt a jab with the gun in my back and figured I should probably start walking. "I've got a hostage. Let me get to my car, and I won't kill him," oh great, just my luck. I saw the apprehension in the officers as I walked. Shuffling my feet as I tried not to fall and make a fool of myself in a standoff.

I saw the officers lower their guns as I walked towards the man's black honda civic. I took a deep breath; man, my luck sucks. Then the firearm dug deeper into my back, and I took the hint. I walked faster. I tried to keep my feet stable, really I did. It was basically impossible for me.

I tripped. Again. In the span of like three minutes. During a gun standoff. As a hostage.

This had to go down in the Guinness World Records for the clumsiest person alive. Otherwise, I would like to see who could top me.

So I tripped over nothing and scared my kidnapper. I fell flat on my face, not using my arms in fear of ripping the healing wounds open. I felt the man trip over my feet as he was walking right behind me. He fell almost right on me, crashing into my right shoulder and rolling off to the side. Immediately I groaned as my nose and shoulder throbbed. Then remembering the situation, I slowly stood up as I saw my kidnapper shakily regain his bearings.

Once this guy was caught, my problems would be pretty small. Grinning like a maniac, I didn't care for the pain and longer days in the hospital. I drew my right arm back and punched the guy across the face, hard.

He stumbled back, and his eyes glinted with hatred as his nose started to bleed. My arm screamed in pain, but I didn't stop. This guy still had a gun. I followed up and pushed him straight in the nose. I read somewhere it was supposed to blur your vision because of involuntary tearing up? Apparently, the article was right. The guy stumbled back and blinked quickly. Then I tackled him, causing the air to leave his lungs as we landed.

The man gaped like a fish while I easily wrestled the gun from his grasp. I quickly found the safety and turned it on, throwing the weapon to the side. Just like that, I heard shouts all around me and thudding footsteps. The man regained his bearings, and he looked furious.

I gulped. I couldn't really move my arms anymore; the pain was too much. The man pushed me off, and I stumbled, then faster than I thought he could move, the man rushed up to me with an evil smile. Then tackling me to the floor, I grit my teeth as my head hit the ground roughly. Luckily I could breathe. Were the police always this slow at running?

I knew this guy had nothing to lose, but it's not like I could do anything to stop whatever he was going to do in his last minute or so of freedom. He ripped the bandages off my right arm. It had a trickle of blood from my using it and him pulling it. I dared to look, and I almost yelped when I saw it.

The skin was red, and the long, vertical lines were scabbed over. A few places along the lines had small stitches. I looked back at the man straddling me, keeping me from fighting back. Then he placed both of his hands on my arm and twisted, opposite directions.

The old-fashioned Indian Rug Burn. Kids did it all the time in elementary school, and it burned. But this, this didn't just burn. I could feel a stabbing and ripping pain travel from my forearm. I saw the man grin evilly at me as I screamed in pain.

Then I felt him release and saw more people surrounding me. I tried to sit up. I managed with someone helping me from behind. Then I inspected my arm. I felt a bit woozy and saw it dyed a shiny red color. Poking it, I noticed the color come off and go on my fingertip. I was confused and felt dazed as spots filled my brain. I slumped back as my eyes rolled into my head.