(Still Rosie's flashback)

Chapter 3:

My eye sockets burn as Kyle pulls me out of the car by my elbow and into the blinding daylight. He looks once over his shoulders to make sure we are alone and then slams me against the side of the SUV with his arm holding my elbow.

He leans close to me with an expression I can only describe as disgust, though I can sense it is far more complicated than that.

"If you even step a foot out of place or say a single word that you shouldn't, your family will be six feet under before you even take a breath of London air." He spits out through clenched teeth.

My eyes widen with fear and I remain still.

"Got it?" He says, looking further into my soul with his black pits of eyes.

I nod once, very slowly, and he releases me from his death grip.

I originally intended to try and get out of this somehow, just like I did at Kyle's apartment. But I have no idea of Ricks power or influence. I have no idea if he means what he says about having my family killed before I can even reach London. I have no idea.

And I'm not going to risk their life for anything.

"Carry this." Rick says coldly and hands me the overnight bag I noticed he took from my bedroom. It feels heavy but I have no idea what is in it.

I silently comply and grab the bag, slinging it over my frail shoulder.

We enter the always bustling New York City airport and Rick leads us to a line where they take our baggage. My heart is still pounding in my chest but I try not to let my fear show. I just keep my head down and avoid everyone's eyes.

We get our luggage settled and Rick guides us through the mob of people with his hand between my shoulder blades. It is the gentlest he's ever touched me, but it still makes me shiver in fear.

I almost consider trying to lose myself in the crowd and escape. Almost. Then a vision of Brook crumpling to the ground surrounded by screams and a pool of her own blood reminds me what a selfish thought that is. I am not a selfish person. Am I?

I feel like being selfish is the one thing I constantly try not to do. I never wanted to use Brooks fame for myself. I never wanted Niall for any reason other than the fact that I loved him as a person, not as a celebrity. I always pursued ballet to make my mother happy and proud of me. And I left for New York to make everybody else's lives easier. Surely those things aren't selfish.

Aren't they? My mind asks me.

Maybe they were all selfish acts. Maybe the reason I didn't use Brook for fame was because I wanted her to think I wasn't jealous of it all. That could have been just me doing what I do best and distancing myself from her to appear strong. Maybe I was only thinking of myself and my image then. And I was selfish with Niall too. I never cared about his social status, but I did use him. I only cared about my feelings for him, not vice versa. I loved him, but I never considered his feelings when I left him. I knew he would be hurt, and I still walked away. Then comes my mother. Sure I can convince myself I only did ballet to please her, but in pleasing her I ultimately pleased myself. I fed off of her slight pride over my ballet. I can say I was acting for her, but it was really all for me.

And about leaving...well that one is clearer to me now. I made up countless excuses in my head as to why it was a benefit for others that I left. I justified my actions by pretending they were selfless. But no, I did not leave for them. I left because I felt it was the right thing to do. I left by choice. My choice. It was not selfless. I am not selfless.

I am selfish.

Right now, I cannot be selfish. I have to think of only my family's safety. For once in my life I will do the good and right thing. Yes, I will stay and I will comply.

Rick nudges me forward and snaps me out of my little epiphany.

I see the familiar metal detectors at security up ahead.

I reluctantly take off my shoes and the tile floor is cold beneath my feet. I hold my breath as I walk through the metal detector. It's as if I believe it can see my mind's secrets as well as my body's secrets. I know it can't though.

I speedily slide on my shoes as Rick takes off toward the terminal. I have to jog a little to keep up with his pace. That just shows how confident he is that I'll protect my family. He knows I won't run away from him. Although it is completely twisted, I'm almost glad he believes that. So much so that a small smile plagues my lips at the thought. At least one person sees a sliver of good in me.

I'm definitely insane.

Out of breath and out of my mind, I finally reach our terminal. Rick takes a seat, trying to look casual. I sit very timidly, making sure there is one space between us. A woman notices me and stares questioningly at my nervous demeanor. I panic but I know I'm a good liar.

I pretend to look around the room for a few moments and then I look to my right and see Rick 'for the first time' so it looks like I'm shocked and relieved.

"Oh gosh! I've been looking all over for you but you were literally right next to me. I thought I was lost." I laugh and say a little too loudly. I move myself into the seat next to him and continue with, "How silly of me."

He returns a small laugh and I notice the woman staring at me, smiling briefly, then looking away. She bought it.

That one was for you Brook.

Luckily it's only a matter of minutes before the woman calls out our flight over the PA system.

"Flight 1264 to London Heathrow, can first class passengers make their way up? I repeat, first class passengers only." She says slowly.

"That's us Patty." Rick says and we stand up. I cringe slightly at the name. It's not my name. Well, obviously not.

I hand the large woman with thinning red hair my boarding pass.

"You're Patricia O'Donnell." She says. Her voice is so bored and monotone that I can't tell if it was a statement or worse, a question.

My voice is stuck in my throat and my eyes widen at the woman. I know I must look fearful, just as I did to the woman out in the terminal.

"Patty, actually." Rick says in a charming laugh with his hand on my shoulder. He squeezes a little too hard, again waking me from my petrified state.

She looks at me and for a moment I see suspicion in her eyes.

"Thanks Uncle Rick, but I know my own name." I roll my eyes at him the way a teenage girl would and the woman hands me back my boarding pass. I grab it with a shaky and sweaty palm.

I sit down in my assigned seat by the window once inside the cramped plane and Rick plops down beside me.

"Nice work sweetheart." He says and I close my eyes and turn my body away from him. I squeeze my eyelids until I start to see random blotches of colors in the darkness of my vision.

I think I apply this pressure to my eyes to avoid thinking about the panic overtaking the rest of my body. But it's there, and it's winning the battle against my mind.

"We will be lifting off of New York ground in a few minutes. Thank you for choosing American Airlines." An air hostess, or flight attendant, says through the speakers.

When I open my eyes and blink away the black patches, tears begin to fall. Tears I didn't know I was holding in. I stifle a sniffle as the plane lurches forward.

New York, despite any negative connotation I may have come in with, is my home. I live here, I go to school here, I have friends here, I love it here. If last summer never happened, and I never felt it's painful aftermath, this past semester would have been the happiest time of my life. It would have been perfect. It was perfect. To be honest, it really was all I expected it to be when I was younger.

Just hours ago I was living my dream. Now I doubt if I'll be living at all.

I stare out the window as New York fades from my view. I think I even spot my apartment building. All the lonely nights spent crying about Niall. All the happy nights spent fooling around with Navy and Rebecca. Those were all really good memories. I've grown attached to this place.

I feel a sense of déjà vu as I think about feeling the exact same way about leaving London. This leads me to believe that maybe I don't truly love either place, maybe I just hate change.

And I know it's true the second I begin to ponder it. I resist change. I resisted New York when it came time to leave and I resisted the boys when I was forced to move in with them. I crave stability.

One good thing about all of this, death is stable.

Death is constant.

Death is permanent.

Nothing else is.

I am jolted awake by the wheels of the plane hitting the pavement. I didn't even notice myself drifting off to sleep. I see that Rick is still lightly snoring in the seat beside me.

"We have now arrived at London Heathrow International Airport. It is 5:44 a.m. Please, enjoy the rest of your day and thank you for flying with us." The intercom says and I sigh.

I look out the window again at my old home. I don't even want to remember how I was feeling the last time I was here, though I guess this situation isn't much better.

The sun hasn't quite risen yet, but the heavy fog casts a gray glow over the city. I can't see very far, but it still looks like I remember it. A warm feeling suddenly bubbles into my chest and erupts onto my face with a huge smile. I feel...giddy almost. Tears prick my eyes but none fall.

I seriously underestimated the longing I had for London. Right now, I don't even care that I'm at the hands of Rick. I'm home. I'm really home.

I start to feel like I was wrong about my previous theories. I assumed what I was attached to in this place was the people here, just as the thing I will miss most about New York is Navy and Rebecca. But the happiness spreading through me at simply the mere thought of breathing England's air, walking on England's ground, suggests otherwise.

It's a momentary happiness. A lapse in my mind from the truth of reality. But it is happiness nonetheless.

Rick shuffles beside me but I don't bother watching him get up.

"Let's go princess." He says sharply yet groggily and the smile fades from my mouth.

I am here. But I am not free.

We go through the same dull airport process. This time though, nobody bothers to talk to me since it is only six in the morning and people haven't quite woken up yet. I try to absorb the familiar scenery as much as I can.

Rick walks ahead of me out of the building and I pause briefly at the doorway. I close my eyes and step onto the sidewalk, taking in a huge breath of London air. It smells vaguely of smoke and smog, but it is so comforting somehow. The air here is heavy with fog and I can feel it's weight in my lungs. I open my eyes and smile a very faint smile once again. Then I run after my kidnapper in silence.

I follow him across the street to a parking lot we walk in and he leads us to his SUV that is similar to the one he had in the States.

He impatiently taps his foot until I reach him and when I do he throws my bag from my shoulder and into the boot of the car. He slams the door closed with much force and then proceeds to take a fistful of my shirt and guide me into the back seat. I don't resist at all. I hear my door slam shut and then he opens the drivers door and starts the engine.

I sit still with my hands carefully folded in my lap. If my chest wasn't tight before, then it certainly is now. I have no idea where he is planning on taking me but I have a vague idea as to why. Revenge can transform a person. And Rick wants revenge for his brother.

I stare diligently out the window. I don't even flicker my eyes towards him for a moment. If I don't have many days left, I want to look at as much beauty as I can. Don't get me wrong though. I have nowhere near accepted death. I have not accepted that it is my fate. What I have accepted is the fact that I am a puppet and Rick is pulling the strings. I'm not going to disobey him. I'm not going to risk my family for myself.

We pull off of the main road and into a more populated city after what feels like a long time driving. I see a sign that says 'City of Bristol' and recall having visited this place on tour with the boys. There is a large lit-up sign that says the time and temperature above a bank. It's around 8:30 in the morning so we've been driving for a good two hours.

As we enter a more residential area, I begin to feel like I know this place. I can't put my finger on it which really bothers me, but Im certain I've been in this area before.

The car takes a left and pulls into the driveway of a small, cream, two-story house. There are no shutters on the windows and the walls seem to be slightly tinged with dirt. It's a nice house though, just a tad rundown. Rick opens the back door of the boot and grabs the small bags we had with us.

I push the bile I can feel rising in my throat from pure nerves down and undo my seatbelt. I flinch slightly when he throws open the door to my side and squeezes my elbow, dragging me behind him. I notice the grass is yellow, killed by winters unforgiving chill. I stumble over a crack in the worn cement and he pulls harder. Something of a small yelp of pain escapes my throat and he chuckles.

He opens the door with a gold key and pushes us through it. The dimly lit entry way is cramped and smells musty, like nobody has moved around in here for awhile. The walls are cream like the exterior and the floors are a yellowish hardwood. I notice a staircase to my left going up and a white wooden door in front of it. To my right, the house opens into a dingy living room with a green sofa, a black standing lamp, an old television set, and a dark wood coffee table. Ahead of me is a kitchen, but Rick doesn't give me much time to look around.

He flicks on the lights and drops his bag, mine still in his grip. He then does something that makes fear tinge through me to the bone. He pulls a small silver key off of a hook in the wall and uses it to open the door by the stairs. Why is it locked? And what's down there?

The door creaks as it opens and I stare into a black stairwell leading to the basement. Rick pulls on a chain and a small lightbulb flicks on.

"Walk." He instructs and I listen. I step carefully down the unfinished stairs. They creak loudly with every step I take. When I reach the bottom, Rick uses the same key to open a similar door at the end of the stairs. I gasp as it flies open.

It feels like a scene out of a horror movie, but it's not scary unless your in my position. The walls of the small room are made of concrete. The ceiling is unfinished like the rest of the room and I can see the wood beams and insulation still. I notice the starts of a bathroom to my left. There are wooden beams where the walls would be if it was finished so you can see into it clearly. There is a toilet and a shower head. Nothing more.

I only see one window, it is small and at the top of the ceiling because most of the basement is underground. It's also very dirty, which obscures the light. I notice some dead plants outside and the side of the neighbors house in the distance. Not much of a view. A shiver runs through me when I see the mattress pad on the floor. There is a single blanket at it's base.

Rick forcefully pushes me into the center of the room and I have to take a few steps in order to regain my balance. When I turn around, I see him throw my bag in with me and shut the door, trapping me.

I panic instantly and run to the door. I turn the handle, pull on it, shake it back and forth, everything and anything I can do but I know it's no use. My instincts kick in and I run to the window. I reach up and try to pry it open with my fingertips but I don't think it can be opened at all. It leaves a layer of dust on my hands and I wipe them on my pants.

"Help!" I resort to screaming that and banging on the window as hard as I can. My breathing is becoming labored and I'm frustrated. I'm so frustrated I can't handle it.

I scream and hit the window as hard as I can one last time. The muscles in my face tighten and I pull at my hair as I slide down the concrete wall, landing on my butt. My screams turn into sobs.

I'm trapped and that makes me so frustrated and scared and angry and upset and frightened and confused and I can't possibly process all of these emotions at once. I resort to crying until my head and throat ache and my hands are numb from banging against a concrete wall.

My eyes blink away the last of my tears and I try to return my breathing to normal.

One. Two. Three.

Breath in.

One. Two. Three.

Breath out.

One. Two. Three.

Breath in.

One. Two. Three.

Breath out.

I used to use this tactic when I was trying to focus for ballet. Counting in my head really helped me.

I can't stop myself from using the past tense now.

I have a feeling I won't be doing ballet again. And no, not by choice.