Petrol Wonderland

Nine | Let's Play a Game

Cleo Westbrooke had never been certain of where she'd end up in life. Her dreams for the future had always wavered depending on her current interests and the ever-shifting friendship group around her. When she was younger, becoming a vet was what she'd set her sights on. Then, her pet goldfish died and she decided she couldn't handle it. Her next great idea was to work in a cinema so she'd get free popcorn. Once, she'd even wanted to become a professional juggler and run away to the circus with her friend Ellie. Or move to Canada, although perhaps that one was still on the table.

Yet, life hadn't treated her the way she'd expected.

She hadn't pictured herself hopping from low paying part-time job to low paying part-time job until she eventually ended up working the night shift at a petrol station. She thought she'd be at University by now.

But no.

On an early Sunday morning, she'd found herself loosely tied to a stuffy blue office chair on wheels with a long makeshift 'rope'. A 'rope' made of a hundred or so purple handkerchiefs tied together. And, tied up on the chair next to her was the very girl she'd spent her entire school life hating.

Not to mention that in front of her was a ridiculously tall rabbit with a suit like Mary Poppins' bag. It seemed he could pull anything out of it. And he had. A ring of pocket watches surrounded the girls in a circle like they were at the center of some satanic ritual to stop time. Now, his legs weren't so lumpy and bulbous and he actually looked rather skinny. Like a stiff breeze could knock him over.

However, despite the way his suit now draped from his skeletal frame, he didn't look wimpy at all. No. That was thanks to the large gun he had aimed directly at Cleo's face. And, next to him, The Hatter was aiming what she assumed was a pistol at a quivering Blake. He'd ordered them to pull out the desk from the CCTV room before tying them up rather ineffectively, and it sat between the two pairs like a partition. Cleo glared at its position relative to the tiles. It was annoyingly wonky.

Focusing on the little things was all she could do to keep her mind on track.

Her fingers ached to cover her nose. It stunk. Stunk like piss and shit. She knew for certain that the shit scent was radiating from The Hatter but she wasn't sure the source of the pungent piss aroma. It might've been Blake, it might've been her. Maybe both. She'd become numb to the sensations of her body the moment she'd first had a gun pointed at her.

"I'm warning you. When they see all of this, they might just shoot you on sight," Cleo spat, trying to sound confident. Where the hell were the police and the ambulance? It'd been at least fifteen minutes since they'd called for their aid.

The Hatter pursed his lips mockingly. "Oh yes, my dear. So you keep saying. Well, well, well. I'm sure your little friends are busy having a lot of fun with the roadblocks my pal, Cat, set up."

For the first time in a while, Cleo felt sensation in her body. It didn't feel good. It felt like her heart was sinking.

"What roadblock? What did you do, put a few cones down?"

Much to her dismay, the stranger simply leaned in and placed a grubby finger against his lips. "Shhhh! That's a secret. By the way, you're awfully audacious aren't you, girly? What's your name?"

"Jenna."

He threw back his lead in laughter. There were particulates of something squishy and brown stuck between his teeth and her stomach did a double-take. "Liar liar pants on fire!" he cried between fake tears, which he made a show of wiping daintily from his cheeks with yet another handkerchief.

Cleo's forehead screwed up into a bundle of wrinkles. Then, she cast a downward glance at the badge bouncing up and down on her shivering torso and understood. Her name tag. That was how he knew Blake's name, too.