The Things We Hunger For

Chapter Eight - The Side Effects of Pizza *Annabeth* Part II

A/N:  I just found a half complete story I wrote ages ago and am thinking about finishing. Once I'm done with this one, and maybe some of my other stories. I need to learn to finish one thing before starting the next. Still sometimes you just want to change things up and write something new (or in this case old)! 

Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

-The Side Effects of Pizza-

Part II

*Annabeth*

 //

"Hannah?" I cried into the phone."Hannah talk to me-"

But she didn't.

Instead the call was cut off.

"Hannah," I cried again, even though as I looked at my screen I could see that the call had disconnected.

//

I stood looking at the cell phone for a moment, dazed. Then reality seemed to snap back into me and I hit re-dial while quickly heading towards my dad's office. I passed a few people from the pack. They were in the living room watching a movie. Waiting for Don and the pizza I guessed. The phone kept on ringing and the panic I'd first felt when I realized something was happening, doubled. No tripled. Hannah should be answering her phone. She should have just told whatever jerk or werdio that had tried to cup a feel or whatever, to piss off. She should be okay. She should be answering.

The call went to voice mail just as I got to dad's office and didn't try again as I entered the office. Calling again wasn't going to help if something was wrong. And something was wrong.

"Daddy," I said as I walked into the room. He looked up, his face which looked tired, became worried as soon as he got a good look at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, getting up from his chair and walking around his desk.

"Hannah," I said. "Hannah was... there is something wrong. There was someone..." I held out the phone as if that would somehow explain it. "...I heard it and now she won't answer the phone."

Dad grabbed my shoulders. "Tell if from the start. You're making no sense."

I pulled away from him and held up the phone. "Hannah is in town. The general store. Someone did something. I think someone attacked her. Is attacking her. We need to go and help her!"

"Rogue?" dad asked. I suddenly felt dizzy. No. It couldn't be. The rogue couldn't be attacking Hannah. That wasn't possible. She was my best friend. She couldn't be hurt. She was Hannah. It wasn't possible. Besides rogues mostly hunted in wolf shape. Hannah had spoken to the guy.  

I shook my head. "She was talking to him."

"Maybe he's in human shape," my dad said and headed for the wall safe. I wanted to yell at him we had to go help Hannah. That we were wasting time. Hurry, hurry, I wanted to yell.

"We have to go now."

"Charlie's birthday," my dad said to himself as he looked at the keypad.

"February fourth," I said automatically. My dad tapped the numbers onto the keypad.

The safe opened. I knew what was inside. Files about insurance, some expensive jewelry, dad's baseball cards. And Guns. Handguns, no big hunting things. I knew how to handle hunting rifles well enough –all you did was point and shoot -but handguns were harder. Back when dad and my brothers had taken me to the practice range regularly, I could usually get at least some of the bullets in the targets, but if any got in the smaller rings it was usually dumb luck.