Chapter Five

"Good morning, Angel," Mom sang cheerily, walking into the kitchen with an air of glee following behind her.

The high pitch of her voice sent a cringe through all of my limbs. It was the type of morning where even the slightest noise became the most dreadfully annoying sound.

Mom seemed to discover that when she saw me hunched over the counter, nursing a mug of coffee and breathing in the scent of caffeine. Immediately she perked up and began spouting aimlessly about anything.

"It looks like it's going to be a beautiful day. Do you have any plans? Oh never mind that, you can drive me to the bank and the grocery store because my car is in the garage for the next few days. Your father is already at work so there isn't really a way to—"

"Mom!" I shouted over her own voice. "It's 8:37 in the morning. Calm the heck down."

I gave her a wide eyed look. Mom smiled sweetly before nodding her head, knowing she had been bothersome enough for the next hour. I gulped the rest of the coffee down and walked the mug to the sink. Several dishes upset and clinked when I rested my mug in the basin. No doubt Mom planned on asking me to wash them later.

"When do you want to leave?" I asked bitterly, saying goodbye to any plans of watching Netflix all day. I needed a desperate fix of Grey's Anatomy.

Mom thought for a moment, mentally planning her day as I knew all too well. "Fifteen minutes? That way we'll have an early start."

I nodded, squaring my shoulders and walking to the stairs to change.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Twenty minutes and fifty three seconds later we were pulling out of the driveway. I settled for a pair of slim workout pants and a long sleeve. Since I was predetermined to do errands then I would be sure to be as comfy as possible.

Mom had on a black pencil skirt with a matching black blazer and white blouse. I looked like a slob compared to her appearance. Or a child. I hadn't yet decided.

"Oh shoot, I forgot to calculate the post office," Mom muttered from the passenger seat.

The way she used calculate whenever planning something nearly caused my eye to twitch. Mom was the type of person that tried to sound smart by using big words that didn't always make sense. Whenever I tried to correct her it didn't really matter; she would use another big word and the cycle would start all over again. I found it best to pinch my arm when the situation arose.

"Want me to drop off the letters while you go in the bank?" I offered with a shrug, hoping for an answer of 'No'.

She shook her head, to my satisfaction. "No, I have to write addresses on the envelopes you don't know. Here, take my card and prattle with the ATM inside. My PIN is. . ." After rattling off the numbers she added on, "If you get stuck just give me a call."

I bit my tongue, sighed, and took the card, knowing perfectly well something was bound to go wrong. Banks frightened me. I was a firm believer in sticking birthday and holiday earnings under the mattress of my bed.

We arrived at the main part of town. Not many people were out and about. I parked along the sidewalk about midway between the bank and post office, and Mom and I split up to get the jobs done.

The Paramount Bank was located right by the town square. The town square was akin to a small park in the middle of all the important slash government official buildings, such as the City Hall, Sheriff's local jail, the bank, post office, and even a few restaurants.

We weren't exactly in the city, but a small suburb right outside. Generally it was just referred to as the city. Nobody seemed to question the boundaries.

A set of grand stairs led up to the bank. Pushing passed the revolving door, I was greeted with a token marble floor and a high ceiling. Few people were mulling around the lobby.

The ATM was easy to spot. A large sign hung directly above the machine. I slid the card in, typing in the PIN number. A little message came up asking for a withdrawal amount. I frowned, unable to remember if Mom had said a certain amount.

One hundred?

She hadn't declared an amount so I pressed the buttons and out popped the cash. Swiftly gathering the small wad of bills, I folded them in one hand, trying to keep from crinkling the green paper.

I turned away from the machine ready to leave only to be met by the black barrel of a machine gun pointed directly at my skull.

My first instinct was to scream. I had thought it was a silly thing that girls did in the movies for attention but I felt the energy in my throat and nearly burst. The man at the end of the gun tisked under a terrifyingly happy clown mask before I could even try.

"Don't even think about it or I'll shoot," he growled, pressing the barrel to my forehead. The metal was lifeless, cold against my skin.

A feeling of helplessness took over my system, making it hard to breathe. To think. To see. My heart floored into high gear, slamming against my chest at an immeasurable pace. I felt the thundering in my ears. A small rush of adrenaline pushed through me and made my fingers shake wildly. I had to clamp them into my fist just to settle my hands.

The world began to collapse as I glanced around the bank once, noticing others like that man. There was one man with a Sad Clown mask pointing his AK-47 at three people standing at least five feet away from one another, one woman and two men. Another man with a Scary Clown mask was standing on a teller's table looking between the doors of the bank and the vault behind him. There was one more man by the vault arguing with a woman about a code. She was crying out, begging for her life and apologizing at the same time. I couldn't see the last man, but I had to guess he looked just like the others - the other three had bleached-white tuxedos and a freaky mask.

Sad Clown mask began shouting at the hostages, telling them to move. A young man in a sweatshirt didn't budge at first, though I didn't know if it was meant as a stand-still of defiance or if he was scared. The clown lowered his weapon and in a swift movement he sent his fist into the young man's jaw. A sickening crack lit the air at the impact, almost louder than the shouting going back and forth between everyone. A loud gasp came from somewhere, and when Happy Clown mask cocked his head to the side, his eerie mask looking in to my soul, I had to guess that the noise had been my own.

I closed my eyes and shivered, the sound of the young man crumpling to the floor magnified. Bile churned in my stomach like clothes in a dryer.

When I opened my eyes again, Sad Clown mask was arguing with a middle aged man in a gray suit. His shouts echoed within the walls of the bank, ringing in both of my eardrums. Dissatisfied with the older man's silence, Sad Clown twisted his gun with ease and shoved the butt into the man's forehead. The attack had the older man stumbling back into a table and tripping over the surface. He ended up on the floor, stirring slowly.

My eyes refocused on the end of the gun pointed to my forehead. They may have crossed a little, blurring the clown and the background together. Panic broiled in my chest like a volcano ready to erupt the longer the gun seemed to remain against my skin.

"Hand over the cash," Happy Clown mask ordered lowly, moving the gun down to my hand.

Swallowing down a lump of fear was the wrong thing to do - chills raced down my arms with the action. The digits at the end of my left hand were shaking uncontrollably as my right hand clutched the funds for dear life, knuckles white.

"Hand it over!" he screamed.

I flinched and dropped the cash. The paper fluttered soundlessly to the white marble floor. The scraping of a shoe drifted up from below, and I had to think how silly he was.

He honestly thought that he couldn't bend over and pick up the cash - that I would try something? How dumb did he think I was? I guess it didn't really matter. Fear kept me from doing anything rash like testing the patience of the Clown Gang by trying to run around screaming like an idiot. I couldn't do that because my mouth had dried like a prune in the last five seconds. Even when I tried to think of doing something smart that would save the day, my thoughts would jumble up and I would turn back to thinking of the crazy jittering in my knees.

The scraping stopped a second later, and the barrel pressed into my right shoulder. "Get over there with the rest of them," Maniac Man sneered, pushing me forward.

My heart began to stampede even harder if that was possible. He must have heard the noise. The chill of the metal of the gun burned right through my long sleeve and raised the hairs along my neck.

The man continued shoving me roughly, and by then a sob ripped through my throat. I didn't want to die, and then seemed like a good of time as any to fight back.

Without even comprehending a plan, I spun around and ducked to the floor.

"Hold it!" he howled, already moving the gun down. In a second I kicked my foot out with as much force as possible and caught his shin.

"Fūck!" he cursed as his leg bucked, and he dropped to one knee.

The other clowns began shouting warnings but I didn't heed any of their calls. I dove and tackled Happy Clown mask to the floor. His back took the impact away from me, but I did manage to slam the bridge of my nose in to his collarbone. Dazed beneath me from the attack, his head rolled from side to side.

"Don't fūcking move or I'll blow your brains across this shithole." A deep, baritone of a voice sounded above me, halting the next step of the plan.

Truth be told, I didn't even know what to do next. It was as if Scarlett Johansson from The Avengers momentarily possessed me. If only for a minute I was bad ass.

Happy Clown mask seemed to come to, and from beneath me grabbed on to my waist. His fingers pinched into the skin of my midriff. Disgust rolled through my insides at his touch, but a moment later he threw me off of him.

My right hip struck the marble. I yelped out in pain. The material of my clothes was smooth so my body slid about ten feet across the floor. When the slipping stopped I rolled on my back from the force of the clown's toss. I got my bearings and turned my head up sideways. Sad Clown mask had his gun pointed down at me, not moving at all. Happy Clown mask pushed himself up off the ground, stumbling a bit. He clutched his gun with one hand, and even then it wobbled in his grasp. Novice came to mind, from the state of his actions. All of the other clowns seemed cool, collected. Their movements had been controlled while the beginner seemed nothing less than nervous. The weakest link.

"You let a fūcking girl tackle you, you idiot." Sad Clown berated his colleague in a harsh tone.

A sliver of victory washed through me. Only for a moment. After all, I hadn't escaped. Hadn't saved the day.

Happy Clown mask adjusted his gun - for the third time - then shoved Sad Clown in the shoulder, who hardly budged. He turned back, pointing the gun at my head once again.

"I should kill you right now you little bitch," he growled. I swallowed down a plea.

Maybe fighting back wasn't always the best way to stay alive. Lesson learned.

"Get up!" he barked out.

The suddenness of his shout made me scramble up in a clumsy manner. Apparently it wasn't fast enough, because he reached down and gripped my wrist roughly. He pulled upwards, spinning said wrist behind my back.

I cried out in pain. Another sharp reprimand came from Maniac Man. A stinging, uncomfortable sensation pulsed through my captured arm. He shoved me continuously, the both of us stumbling across spewed papers and up-tossed chairs.

I tripped over a chair leg and he pulled my arm back further. We fought; I yanked my arm back to relieve some of the pain, then he ripped it back again. The cycle continued about three times because it didn't seem that he understood.

"Stop, you're hurting me!"

He released the constricting grip. I cradled my right arm as it lightly throbbed. There was a brief interval where he allowed me to recover feeling in my limb, then he gently pushed the barrel into my back. If you could call it gentle. More careful than the first time, at least.

When I didn't move, a calloused hand gripped the back of my neck roughly and gave me a harsh shove forward.

Maniac Man pushed me down on my knees and shouted something about shooting us up, but it was difficult to hear. Surprise, along with hot discomfort, had me biting my tongue as each of my patellas crashed against the marble floor. Needle-sharp aches sliced through my kneecaps. Focusing on anything else wasn't possible. God, how that hurt. I gritted my teeth.

That was how we were going to die. And I wouldn't have even been able to say goodbye to Mom. Or Dad. Or Netflix.

A round of gun shots went off, leaving a ringing echo bouncing off the walls. To keep from screaming out I bit my tongue, purposefully that time, causing a familiar iron-like taste to pool inside my mouth. A woman began crying hysterically while the two men looked at the floor. As if they knew we were already dead. The middle aged man in a gray suit had blood trickling down the side of his head, and the other younger looking man in a hoodie had a purple bruise along his jaw.

Just looking at their injuries was more than enough to basically feel them. Like their pain radiated in waves, able to transfer the hurt on anyone nearby. Tentatively, I reached a hand up to my jaw. As I continued staring at the young man while holding a hand up against my head, it seemed to call his attention.

The solemn expression held on his face was unbearable. He must have noticed what I was doing for he reached a hand up to his own jaw. The young man lightly pressed his fingers to the sore spot. A visible cringe scoured his sitting position. That lone reaction was enough to bring up another aching sob through my throat as it forced its way through my closed lips. Where were the authorities? How long had we been enduring that tragedy? Minutes? It felt as though hours had passed.

"Now come on, I told you not to kill anyone."

A familiar voice came from the other side of the teller's table. At his words my eyes bulged out of their sockets. Kill? The young man in the hoodie was forgotten in the split second the new male voice spoke. For a sense of comfort I conformed my body to that of a pretzel, wrapping up in a tight hold.

"She wouldn't punch in the code," Scary Clown mask deadpanned.

It was cold, the lack of emotion making the floor beneath me freeze on its own accord.

A sigh came from behind the desk. "And you think anyone will now? Just blow it up. Be of some use, will you?"

The clown men started bustling around, all except Sad Clown who continued watching over the hostages. He had to be the creepiest out of all of them. From behind the high desk a very familiar midnight-black suit and dark hood strode forth.

I felt my heart clench at the sight, tears finally springing free and tumbling down my cheeks. Of all the places to see my villain, it was when he was robbing a bank.

Had I just thought my villain?

Ghost stopped abruptly at the sight of me on the floor, becoming a statue before my watery eyes. I hoped he was startled. In fact, maybe even pissing his pants.

If that bodysuit counted as pants.

Where was Vigilante?

"Bring her here," Ghost ordered Sad Clown in a dark voice.

Sad Clown gestured with his gun to stand. I sat still, staring at Ghost as if it were a challenge. Neither one of us moved, and that's when Sad Clown grew angry.

"Get your ass up, bitch!" he shouted, pointing the gun at my head.

I flinched at his words, slowly rising upward. The gunpoint wasn't as scary as the first time but enough to get me moving. Maybe it was the fact that Ghost was there to alleviate my fear. Or maybe I was much too furious to worry about the Clowns with their apparent leader going rigid at the sight of me in the bank.

Teeth clenched, I walked over to Ghost, chin up high. When I was close enough that he could reach out and touch me, he grabbed my right bicep and flashed us away.

_________________________________________________________________________________

I opened my eyes to explore the surroundings. Gray walls and a white marble floor gave the impression that I was still in the bank, and I was still a hostage to Ghost.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ghost growled from behind me. My hand slammed to my heart in surprise, as if to keep it from exploding from my chest.

I spun to face him, slightly afraid of how his domineering figure was inches away. Instead of sounding like a scared puppy, I masked the fear behind a wall of anger.

"I could ask you the same question! Of all the places for you to turn up, it's here? Robbing a bank?"

My voice cracked at the last part, softening Ghost's grim frown, his lips lifting upward to a straight, blank expression.

He took a step closer and rested a hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry they did that to you."

I shook off his hand, stepping away from him. Sorry? Sorry? Oh, he should be more than sorry.

"And what about those other people in there? They are just as afraid, and you're putting them through that for what, a couple thousand dollars? Stealing underwear is one thing, but stealing someone's sense of security is another."

The burning sensation in my eyes came back. My body was wracking with sobs that I refused to show in front of that monster. My mind said to stay strong in the midst of his presence yet it was so hard to follow the simple order. How could I stay strong when I wasn't even that strong to begin with?

"And didn't you rob that gun store? God, is that where all the weapons came from?"

Ghost stood stock-still, and the lack of movement or rebuttal said everything was true. He probably thought that telling the truth would send me over the edge. I had better control than that. Turning away with deep breaths, I suppressed the anxiety that threatened to expand into a pity-party, population, one.

"I'm sorry, Angel," Ghost said softly.

Turning back to look at him was more than enough to see everything. Even though his face was concealed, the sincerity held in his deep voice said it all.

I actually believed him.

After all of the commotion in the bank, all of the fear that welled in the pit of my stomach, I believed him. Why? There wasn't a reason why, at least one that was explainable. It may have been the fact of wanting to believe him, and therefore, it was easy to accept the apology.

A giant crash sounded outside of the room. Glass had smashed into a million pieces. I looked back to Ghost who was staring at the gray door.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, gaze locked on the exit.

"Of course not," I scoffed, as if the idea were absurd.

A ghost of a smile crept at the corner of his mouth before his hand latched onto my arm again. Panic started to pool out of my nerves once more as I glanced back and forth between his gloved hand and the concealing hood upon his head.

Curiosity never hit me so deeply than it did at that moment. I wondered who was under the fabric. Who it was that I was supposed to trust.

"Who are you?"

I timidly reached my free hand up to his head, fingers tingling all the while. He didn't try to stop the action. There was a brief second when excitement exploded inside me, propelling my hand at a faster speed, millimeters away from touching the black cloth.

Ghost grabbed my hand mid-air, his reflexes acting lightning-fast. Drums began to pound in my ears as my heartbeat rose about ten notches. He had his entire hand wrapped around my wrist, and he slowly eased it down until it was parallel with my body.

"A villain can choose to reveal his identity, but not knowing is the beauty of mystery," Ghost said lowly, his right hand coming up to push back a loose strand of hair from my face. "Now close your eyes."

Air became difficult to breathe. A desert had replaced the moist state of my mouth. Both of my knees rattled together like wind chimes in a heavy breeze. The reaction to his touch was so unexpected to the point that my mind drew a complete blank.

His hand seemed to take over my trail of thought. How he slowly brushed my hair aside and sent a small, electric shock singing through my already wild, frantically pumping bloodstream. How did he do that?

Reluctantly I closed my eyes, but not because he commanded. It was more out of fear of what was going to happen next.

Gun shots sounded outside, and even shouts of men saying, 'Shoot him, just shoot him!' could be heard. There was a minute where the thought of seeing became hard to battle. I had the uncontrollable urge to open my eyes and swing the gray door open wide, to witness the catastrophe that lay on the other side of the thin walls. Before there was a chance to indulge in the feeling, everything grew unbearably quiet.

The gut-wrenching sounds of warfare had disappeared. I opened my eyes and nearly gasped in a mixture of relief and bewilderment. Sunlight filtered down between a tall oak tree, sending dancing shadows across each finger of my hands. I looked around, noticing the familiar buildings nearby. With further glances I pinpointed myself to be in the town square.

Immediately I began to spin around, looking for Ghost but he was nowhere in sight. I spun again, looking at the bank to see police officers parked out front. One officer was even escorting a Happy Clown mask in a white tuxedo into the squad car.

Definitely the weakest link.

But I was confused.

Relieved, yet puzzled.

How had the masked men been stopped? Where was Ghost? Where was Mom?

With quick steps I started walking in the direction of the car. Sure enough, Mom was hurriedly walking towards the car as well from the opposite direction, the door to the post office gliding closed behind her.

"Angel! Are you alright?"

I found myself running to her. She held out her arms and I flounced into her tiny figure, nearly knocking us both to the ground. She repeatedly asked the same questions but I didn't know how to answer any of them. I didn't know the answers myself. Ghost had helped me - would Mom believe it? The lump lodged back in my throat, threatening to crack my voice if I tried to speak.

"Let me drive you to the hospital, come on. Angel, Angel? Honey, let's go to the hospital."

I shook my head at her request, finally regaining composure. "I'm not hurt, Mom, I'm just—"

I couldn't finish. My mind was spinning in an endless circle, wondering what the heck just happened, while my wild nerves tried to explain by making my fingers shake like a wind chime in a heavy breeze.

Mom nodded in understanding, blonde curls bobbing up and down with the movement. She delicately cupped my face in her hands, searching for something to reveal what happened.

"It was terrifying," I whispered, barely getting the words out.

Her face looked agonized at the words. "Let's go home, come on." She rubbed a hand over my back in a comforting gesture. Her eyes began to water before she turned away and guided us forward.

Mom led the way over to the passenger side of the car. She opened the door and I gave her a look that said, 'I can do this.' With a nod she walked over to the driver's side.

Right when I was about to sit down, something white that was stuck in the windshield caught my attention. Quickly eyeing that Mom didn't notice, I plucked the note out and unfolded it, a little clumsier than normal.

I'm sorry. The police won't even know you were there so they won't be bothering you. Neither will I.

P.S-I'm keeping the underwear.

-Ghost