5. Evan

                                    

                                          
                    
                          
My head thumped dully in time with my alarm. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter and rolled away from the sound. My pillow wasn't effective enough to block it out. After a few more antagonizing beeps, I flung an arm out to smack it silent. The room was freezing cold away from my warm refuge. My arm touched the cold edge of the table. I snapped it back, heart hammering, and remembered. 
                          
            What? What had I tried to remember. Something important. It wasn't a hit, more like a flash; a feeling that something was off. I pushed the blanket off; my clothes were stuck to me and drenched with sweat. 
                          
            Blood. I blinked a few times. There should be blood on my chest. He cut me open. 
                          
            He cut me open. 
                          
            I flew off the mattress and tore my shirt off just as fast. Everything flowed violently, like someone had removed the final stick holding a dam back. My skin was as solid and uncut as it ever was. I ran my fingers down my chest; there had been a massive cut there, deep enough for me to be sure that my lungs would come out if I breathed deeply enough. Under the light, there were scars, just faint enough for me to make out. I sagged against the wall. 
                          
            It had been real. Why was I home? Why was I okay? My phone was laid neatly next to the screaming alarm. Nine AM, Tuesday. I hadn't even been gone a day. I smashed the snooze button on my alarm and launched myself into the hallway.
                          
            "Dad?" I screamed as I took the stairs two at a time. "Dad!"
                          
            He didn't have work today. Or he shouldn't. Had someone hurt him, too, or had the man been bluffing. 
                          
            "Da-"
                          
            "What, Evan?" He stuck his head out the door to the downstairs bathroom. "Whats going on?" 
                          
            I threw my arms around his neck. He nearly fell onto me; I hadn't bothered to slow down. He patted the back of my head a few times before untangling us. "Whats going on? Did something happen?"
                          
            "I need to go talk to Sheriff Blackwell. Right now."
                          
____________________
                          
            They let Dad sit with me, which made me feel both stupid and comforted. The meeting room was plain; the light oak of the walls matched the table. I popped my knuckles again, even though nothing happened. I had finished telling everything from start to finish. There was nowhere to look besides at the two officers in front of me. That just made me want to puke. 
                          
            "Are you insinuating, Mr. Quidachay, that someone kidnaped you, interrogated you, and then returned you to your house without anyone noticing you were missing?"
                          
            I swallowed. "Damion was with me too. He can-"
                          
            "Evan, this is ridiculous!" His father exclaimed. "I saw you walk up the stairs last night when you got home from the library, like I told you before you wasted these men's time."
                          
            "I'm not making this up! I never went to the library and I don't remember ever coming home." I pushed my shoulders back. The words stung, sure, but not as badly as the memories of the cuts and bruised ribs. And the electricity. I tugged my jacket sleeves down and picked at the lint stressfully. 
                          
            The two officers, McDonnell and Avery, exchanged doubtful glances. My hands clenched. Avery cleared his throat before shuffling the papers in front of him. "Doc, are you certain that it was your boy you saw going upstairs?"
                          
            Dad bristled. "He said goodnight to me. I'm sure I would recognize his voice, considering I raised him."
                          
            "What made you think I was at the library?" I asked quietly. "I never called."