Chapter 12

The house that Matthew Devin had gifted Miranda was genuinely beautiful. Despite her insistence for a small one-bedroom flat, the house was a full duplex with three bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a dazzling front yard.

It had a one-car garage but there was more than enough space for three other cars to fit in the front and back yard. It was painted white and pale pink, shining even as the sun's light dimmed over the city. All in all, it looked and felt like a comfortable place to live in.

The occupant, though, was currently frustrated.

Miranda had emptied her entire closet on her bed and floor and she still could find nothing to wear. Everything she had was either too formal or too casual. And what she needed was something in the middle of formal and casual.

She placed her hands on her hips, looked at the mess, and sighed. She needed to be out of the house in thirty minutes if she wanted to be able to make it to dinner with the Devin’s. And she could not be late. That was out of the question.

One week ago, Matthew's mother had invited her for dinner and she had been nervous about it for the entire week. But she had never made any arrangements as to what she would wear to the dinner, taking it for granted.

Now, it was Friday and time for dinner.

The digital clock on her nightstand told her how stupid she was for not making plans, as its red number display blinking the numbers 6:15. She was expected at the Devin residence by 7, and she was cursing her sloth and indecision.

Finally, after rifling through the mess she had made, Miranda picked out a white chiffon blouse with black polka dots, that she would normally wear with a long skirt to work, and paired it with a deep blue pair of jeans.

She laid the outfit on the bed and contemplated whether or not the combination made any sense. Fashion was not her forte and it was not because she was not interested in her clothing choices. It was simply because she could not afford anything she wanted to wear.

Throughout her adult life, she had to make do with whatever she could scrounge up from thrift shops, dollar stores, and whatever her younger sisters threw her way. Now, she had an abundance of dresses, the issue of combining the correct shades of colour and patterns arose.

Miranda gazed at the selection once more and clicked her teeth. "It'll have to do."

Hurriedly removing the oversize shirt and black shorts she wore, she threw the clothes on and dashed to stand in front of the full-length mirror beside the window. She spun around, scrutinizing the outfit from all angles.

It looked…alright. It really did. Miranda shrugged and began to wonder what she could do with her limp hair. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a black sedan pull up to the house opposite hers. The windows were tinted black and she could not see anything or anyone inside it.

It reminded her of the car that Matthew had parked at the bus stop the first night they met. She paused. Did he send a car?

She picked up her phone from her desk and unlocked it. No missed calls, no texts. It probably was not him, then. She replaced the phone on the desk and set on her hair affair.

6:25 pm. Satisfied with her appearance, Miranda picked up her small bag, the bottle of wine she bought earlier in the week, and exited the comfortable house. She started down the sidewalk, heart pounding, and clenching the bottle of wine.

Dinner with the Devin family. She was on her way to dinner with the Devins. She knew nothing about their family. Would Matthew's father be there? Was his father alive? What did his mother do for a living? Would the food be homemade or would it be ordered?

How big was the house? Would she get lost on her way there?

So many questions flooded Miranda's mind as she walked, leaving her unaware that a tall burly man had slipped out of the back of the tinted sedan and was following her down the road. She was almost to the end of the street when she began to notice the unrelenting sound of footsteps behind her.

Even then, it meant little to her. The street was for anyone to use.

It was as she made a right turn into one of the less-known paths of the neighbourhood, in a bid to shorten the distance to the main road where she would take a taxi, that she realized she was in danger.

Was it the fact that he turned into the narrow alley with her or the fact that the man matched his pace with hers, or some kind of weird human instinct?

Miranda could not pinpoint the distinct reason why she suddenly felt threatened, she just did. She clenched the wine bottle even tighter, tension pooling in each of her limbs. She was frightened and confused.

Should she speed up or slow down? Should she turn around, acting like she forgot something and using that excuse, make her way back to the street?

Miranda walked unsteadily, contemplating her next course of action. The options, however, were taken out of her hands when the large man struck, hitting her with his fist and sending her crashing viciously against the wall on her left.

The impact with the rough wall dazed Miranda, the pain sending shockwaves throughout her body.

She grunted and slumped against the rough wall, her bag sliding off her left hand and the bottle of wine, a shattered glass mess on her right.

Her left arm, her left shoulder, and the ribs on her left throbbed and pulsed with intense pain. A warm, sticky liquid slowly made its way down the left side of her face.

She was bleeding. Dazed and bleeding. The world swam in her vision and she could not make out which way was which. Tears of pain, frustration, and fear trickled down her face. Why was this happening to her? What did she do wrong?

The attacker, caring little about his prey and very satisfied with the hit, wrapped a hand around her waist and hoisted her to his shoulder. He turned swiftly, dizzying her, and headed back to the street she branched out from.

The black car was waiting on the street and as soon as the individuals in the car saw their partner approach, they unlocked the car and opened the back door.

Miranda swayed and jostled with every step the man took until she felt truly sick and sapped of strength. She felt him bend and shove her into the back of a vehicle. As he pushed her legs into the car, he said, "Karly will be pleased. We got her in one try."

And that was all it took to trigger her body's survival mechanism, adrenaline bursting forth like a broken dam. She kicked and struggled wildly, throwing the large man off her. She opened her mouth and let out a blaring scream.

The second kidnapper in the vehicle immediately reached for her, intent on clamping down on her mouth but she shoved her elbow into his stomach, causing him to gasp and bend over. The driver opened his door and tried to keep her in the car but she dodged his gloved hands and dashed as fast as she could for the narrow alley she had been in moments earlier.

Miranda ran, her consciousness, and her steps unstable. The thud of heavy footsteps behind her told her that she was being followed by one of the kidnappers and so she sprinted even faster. She reached the site of the initial blow and saw the broken shards of the wine bottle.

She hurtled to a stop and picked up the largest shard, gripping it firmly in her hand. She rose to begin running again, but her kidnapper grabbed a fistful of her hair and hurled her to her feet.

Miranda screamed, feeling strands of her hair ripping out at the roots. With tears burning her eyes, she blindly swung the sharp edge behind her in a wide arc. She struck gold, or rather, flesh. Her attacker jumped back, shouting out.

She didn't take the time or chance to look back. She dropped the broken bottle and ran for her dear life.

Miranda ran and ran. For what seemed like an eternity, she ran, never looking back, until she arrived at the main road. She paused, hands on her knees, panting, and sweating. Her vision was a blurred mess; the combination of the blow, the adrenaline, the blood dripping the side of her head mingling with her tears and sweat, making the passers-by look like fuzzy, alien creatures.

Miranda walked into the first store she could see and slumped at the counter. There was a lot of commotion, people gathering around her, some shouting, some prodding and poking her.

She didn't know when she lost consciousness but the next time she opened her eyes, she was in the back of an ambulance, zipping to the hospital.

The white light shone directly into her eyes as she lay on the hard foam bed. She groaned and tried to shield her eyes with her hand but found it heavy and almost impossible to move. Her actions attracted the attention of the EMT who leaned over her and whispered, "Can you hear me?"

Miranda moaned but nodded and immediately wished she didn't. A sharp ache splintered through her head, causing tears to form in her eyes.

"You don't have to move. You'll be fine. We are on our way to the hospital," the EMT continued in the low voice. He seemed to be keeping his voice low in consideration for her head injury and she wished she could thank him for it but nothing seemed to be working right in her body, including her voice.

"You're wearing contacts. May I remove them?"

She made a weak noise to show her consent and the EMT poked around her eye and gently removed the contacts. He held a latex-covered finger up.

"Try and follow this finger with your eyes."

Miranda followed the finger as it moved to the left and the right to the best of her dazed ability. She had no idea what test he was administering but she doubted she passed it.

The ambulance pulled up to the hospital. The doors flew open and she was wheeled out and into the emergency ward. Miranda knew that the staff was trying their best to be gentle but the thuds and thumps jarred her, sending pain shooting up her spine.

It took everything in her not to cry. As her mind cleared, the bruises and wounds throbbed even more. luckily, the hospital staff was up to the task. After a few questions about her medical preferences and history, her treatment began and the pain lessened.

Once she was stable, she was moved into one of the general wards on another floor. The nurse pulled on the privacy curtain, shielding her from the gazes of the other patients in the ward.

"Do you have anyone you want to call?" the nurse asked as she gently arranged the pillows under her. "We can inform your family or partner of the situation."

Family? Partner? She didn't have any of those. No one would care about the attempted kidnapping.

"No," she said. "There's no one I want to call."

"Are you sure? You look like you were on your way somewhere."

Miranda gasped, coughing as she did. She was on her way somewhere. To the Devin residence.

The nurse's hands fluttered around her, fussing. "Are you okay? Do you feel like coughing? Is there something in your throat?"

"No," Miranda said weakly. "I'm fine. But I want to make a phone call. I want to call someone."

The nurse, after ensuring she was fine, nodded. "I'll be back with a notepad and a pen, okay?"

When she returned, Miranda recited the number of Matthew Devin. "Please explain to him that I can't make it to the dinner. And that I'm very sorry."

"Will do. I'll be back to check on you later on."

Miranda thanked the nurse and shifted slightly on the bed, trying to find a comfortable spot. Mr. Devin probably wouldn't care that she had been attacked. The most important thing was to inform him that she would not be making it to dinner.

Judging from the darkness outside the window, it was already too late but at least, the nurse would tell him. That should prevent her from looking too rude.

But what would she tell him if she could not make it to work on Monday? She had already promised to work hard to become a full-fledged member of the company. Now, it would seem like she was skipping work.

After everything he had done for her.

Miranda closed her eyes, striving to restrain the tears she could feel coming up. Why couldn't she be trouble-free? Why was it always one thing after the other? How would she explain this?

She shut her eyelids even tighter, feeling the will to live drain out of her. She was tired. Tired of it all. She made a pact with herself to pay Mr. Devin back for everything he gave her. How was she going to pay him back like this?

How was Mr. Devin going…?

The sound of footsteps interrupted Miranda's self-berating session. She opened her eyes and saw through watery eyes the person she had just been thinking about.

Matthew Devin.