The Death of Annabelle
Author's note: I was in my parent's room talking with my dad while he was watching TV. I am not sure what movie... Show full author's note »
Chapter 1Where am I?
I wake up and drowsily look about the taxi.
Right. Now I remember.
It has been almost a year, and I am still not used to the New York way of life. Much different from California, with the relaxed, sunny beaches. When Kyle, who adopted me as well as my two brothers, came down with the devastating Dark Epidemic, we were even more crushed to discover that there were no good hospitals specializing in care for the victims. We were recommended to Emergency Hospital here in New York City. With Kyle not mentally healthy enough to make the preparations with moving, my brother, Allen, and I took matters into our own hands. Within a few months, we moved into a crowded, smelly apartment in the city.
Kyle’s medical insurance will cover the cost of his hospital bills, but with me being eighteen and Allen and Terrance almost twenty, we needed to work together to make a living for ourselves. It was not hard to find a job in the city, but we don’t have a car. We have been relying on taxis as our source of transportation, which are, in my opinion, a hassle.
But why am I still here?
It is always still daylight when the taxi drops me off at Emergency Hospital. But no light shines through the taxi cab windows, and stars glitter in the sky. How long have I been asleep?
I check the time on my cell phone: ten o’clock. I should have been at the hospital four hours ago. But why hadn’t the driver woken me up?
This hasn’t been the first time I have fallen asleep in a taxi. With all of the stress due to the fact that Kyle is going crazy, my brothers and I have not been getting much sleep. However, by the time the cab would arrive at Emergency Hospital, the driver would always loudly knock on the glass which separated the front from the back with an annoyed look on his face. I would slide the money through the tiny slit in the glass before stepping outside.
The taxis here in New York City are really weird. Ever since a homeless guy a few years ago shot a driver in the back of the head because he wanted to be able to use the cab as a place to sleep at night, there has been bulletproof glass to protect drivers.
“Excuse me?” I say, knocking on the glass.
The driver does not turn around, so I knock a little harder. The driver’s eyes remain fixed on the road.
“Where are we?” I yell through the glass.
I pound my fist as hard as I can against the glass.
“I am not a tourist! I need to go to the Emergency Hospital!” I nearly scream.
I get really nervous when the driver still fails to acknowledge me. I had to get out of here.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and grab the door handle, attempting to open it with one hard yank. It does not budge. I try to unlock the door, but it too refuses to move. I am locked in.
I kick the glass, causing it to shake a bit, but nowhere near close to getting the slightest crack. I really wish I did not wear these flimsy flip flops.
I pull out my cell phone and quickly flip it open. I curse loudly at the fact that there is no service here.
Back in California, I was known to disappear for days at a time, using the beach as my home. If I were not to return to the apartment tonight, it would be nothing out of the ordinary for Terrance or Allen. It might be a week before they begin to get worried. And I need help now.
I glance out the back window in search of any passing cars that might be able to help me. There are none. I am in the middle of nowhere.
I slam my fists into the glass repeatedly.
“Let me out!” I am screaming to the point where my throat immediately gets sore.
The driver’s eyes remain on the road, taking me deeper and deeper into nowhere.