Chapter 7-Isabelle

Nick smiled slyly as he let it sink in that he knew her petty little secret. She would have to realize sooner or later that she could not trick him, or anyone else she would meet here. She should have stayed in her room, that way she would be on her way to success, but lucky for him she had to be adventurous and rash. His cousin had warned him about the arrival of a teenage female, whose intellectual mind would either match or pass his own. If this was the girl, his cousin truly underestimated him.

"How...how…?"

"Did I know who you are? Well, if you had stayed in your room, you would have been told that you have been wearing a tracker this whole time. They know you, Isabelle. Your irrational fear of the unknown, your excessive need to explore and be independent. They know you. They want to protect you. They need you how you are. They put a tracker under your skin while you were unconscious in the hospital. They knew you'd try to run off, and they were prepared to find you."

Isabelle stared at the boy as though he were insane. Which he probably was. How in the world could they get a tracker under her skin and she not notice? Even she was unconscious, she'd have woken up when they stabbed her, surely. It's not as if they drugged her...or did they?

"They did. They have their reasons for not telling you, but they had your father's permission." Nick said matter-of-factly. He relished the sight of her insensible mind trying to comprehend this. She was easier to manipulate than he thought, and thus would be an easy task.

"My father gave them permission to drug me and put a tracker under my skin." Isabelle concluded slowly. Then, as it dawned upon her inquisitive mind, questions flowed freely from her mouth. "Why would he do that? He wasn't even there, was he? Wait, how do you know about the tracker and I don't? Can you see it? I don't even feel it. Where is it? How come they didn't ask me? They didn't even tell me…"

Nick waited patiently for the girl to stop talking, but she seemed to go on forever. He had actually finished his cup of tea and got half through a second before Isabelle's interrogation became too much of an annoyance to ignore.

"Will you stop?" he asked in an exasperated tone. Isabelle either ignored him or couldn't hear him, because she continued to blather. He sighed loudly, and finished his second cup slowly. But even then she had not stopped, and Nick had grown impatient, his temper shorter.

In a fit of frustration, he slapped her, backhand and across the cheek. Immediately she closed her mouth, and stared at him.

"What's wrong with you?" he shouted, his fit not over. "I tell you something simple, you have a tracker in you, no big deal. Everyone's got one, not just you. And what do you do? You start babbling incoherently about how and why and you don't stop!"

Isabelle said nothing, but watched him cautiously, unblinking. Her unresponsiveness nearly drove Nick up a wall. However, he didn't touch her again. Secretly he felt terrible having hit her, but he would never tell her that. Instead, he turned quickly and slammed the door open. He made a wide gesture for her to leave, and stood facing the wall, refusing to let tears ruin his mood.

Yet she wouldn't leave. He stood, waiting. "Don't you know when you're not wanted anymore?" He grumbled.

"I don't care if you want me or not. I'm not leaving."

"What? You better leave! I'll call security on you. This is my room and if I don't want you here you better leave. I'll call security and have you sent back to Mr. Minks and he'll be royally mad that you left!"

"No, you won't." Isabelle said calmly. Her collected behavior made Nick's rage even more of an overreaction. "You're not calling security and I'm not leaving. Not until you take the tracker off me."

"You better leave. I'm not helping you, you incompetent fool." He refused to look at her. Not only to prevent her from seeing his face but also to prevent him from seeing her face.

"I won't leave because you are going to help me. You need me just as much as I need you. You refuse to admit it, but if you didn't need me you wouldn't have even brought me here. You would have sent me back to Mr. Minks immediately. If you tell him now you'll be in just as much trouble as me." Isabelle hoped he wouldn't catch her bluff, grateful that he wasn't facing her.  However, as soon as she said that, Nick spun on his heels.

Nick had to see her face, to see if she was bluffing or if she really knew. However, her expression was devoid of emotion. He covered his reaction with outrage. "I need you? Why in the world would I need you? You're a worthless, pathetic, naïve little girl. You know nothing of anything. I brought you here out of pity. Pity! I need rocks more than you! At least rocks don't complain!" As his anger built, he got closer and closer to her face, backing her into a wall. Now she was pressed up against it, their faces a few inches apart. He was red with anger. She was expressionless and silent.

"You need me just as much as I need you." she repeated slowly, her voice level and calm.

"Then shut up!" Nick roared, all delusional anger gone. Before she could make any response, he turned and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It locked immediately, leaving Isabelle trapped inside.

"Well I guess I'll wait here then," she whispered to the door, her voice wistful and dejected.

She looked around, surveying the room. With Nick gone she had the perfect opportunity to search the room. The boy was a lunatic, she thought. There was no way she'd trust him, but staying with him was her best option right now. She picked up the spoon that had been laid out with the now-cold tea. If things got rough, she would want a weapon, and although a spoon is not the most effective way to defend oneself, it was better than nothing. She was about to tuck it into her pocket when she got distracted by her reflection. Her tangled brown locks and almond eyes, the bags caused by an indefinite lack of sleep, wrinkles on her cheeks from the smiles she always faked. She was only thirteen; yet she looked like the spitting image of her thirty-nine year old mother. A tear trickled down her cheek and fell. Lost in her memories, she didn't even notice the door push open behind her.

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