Stories I Never Finished

Torn Wings Broken Halo

PREVIEW:

For many years Ashton had been acutely aware of his differences to the world around him, where the normality of the human species seemed to thrive he had always seemed to plummet.
His mother had known well before he did that something was truly wrong, and when no therapist could pick up what she had so desperately tried to put down she gave up.

Though Ashton knew he could have thought of a different conclusion to his mother's troubles than for sixteen-year-old him to come home and find her shot dead in the kitchen, he couldn't truthfully say it had come as a shock.
However, being written off by police as dead and thrown into the back of a stranger's ute had truly come as a horrific surprise.

Tied up in loops of tightened rope, body hidden under a rotting old grey tarp strung to the outsides of the ute's back end, he could barely wrap his head around what had happened; feeling the vehicle pick up speed as it hit a presumable highway heading out of town.
Spitting out the rag tied haphazardly over his mouth, it's thick fabric rubbing over a reddening mark where a needle had been ruthlessly stabbed, he wiggled within the ropes; eyes searching the blotchy darkness for anything he could use to escape.

It felt impossible, seconds passing in adrenaline laced blues as he frantically tried to free himself from his binds—knowing if he didn't, if whoever this fucker was behind the driver's wheel got him to their destination, he would be better off dead. He'd seen enough Netflix true crime shows to know better.

So, when the car came to a sudden halt his heart most definitely dropped with regret; unsettled as he listened to the world speed up around him, slamming car doors piercing through the ungodly silence of the evening.

"Well well well..." A vicious male voice spoke close by, his tone enlightened by sick amusement. "Mr Sparne, trafficking again are we?"

"Hey, wait, nah this ain't what it looks like-" Ashton recognised his captor's voice warily speak back as more footsteps approached the ute.

"Oh I wish I could say I was shocked..." A sudden gunshot tore through the air, a jolt barely covered by Ashton's need to stay quiet.

"But I'm not." The new male spat aggressively, seemingly unimpressed by the situation they found themselves in.

"Check the truck." They demanded, bold. "I want every inch of that rust bucket burned to Hell."

"What about the body?" A lighter voice replied, a slight giggle emitting from them when another voice, husky and dark, warned them not to touch the dead man.

Metal scrapped against the hard tarmac road, sleek matted silver of a rusting axe being ripped into strong hands.

"I'll deal with him." The first man said.

Ashton withheld a shriek as the tarp was ripped from over him, leaving him without a final shield of cover against the ropes keeping him trapped at the world's sick mercy.

"Older than usual." The man stood at the end of the ute, harsh blue eyes briefly scanning over Ashton's body.

He was tall, much taller than Ashton, and slim with a figure barely encapsuled by the fabric of his black clothes. Long curly brown hair was thrown into a tight bun holding loose strands from his face, eyes green yet piercing as though they had seen the furthest depths of hell and lived to speak of its torment.

"Zayn," he spoke, tossing the tarp onto the road and gesturing for someone else to join his side, "come help me with this one."

Seconds later the black-haired man who matched the husky voice from before appeared, black clothes a robbery match to the first male. Without an exchange of words, they hauled Ashton from the back of the truck seconds before the vehicle was being driven haphazardly off the road by their unseen third friend.