You and Vance never really interacted. Nor did you ever actually pay attention to each other. Although, you didn't like him for the fact that he had fought your brother. But you couldn't blame him—your brother was talking shit.

It was April, and you had left the store with some candy for the family members coming over for Easter. It was unfortunate that the streets were empty that afternoon. For you and Vance, as he was coming back home after going to a friend's house.

But why was he coming up? You were the one taken, no? Not exactly. The Grabber had wanted to do things differently this time around.

"Guess who!" was whispered in your ear right before a cloth was shoved into your mouth. Then came the pepper spray, entering your eyes. Muffled yells came from you, yet they remained unheard as you were thrown into a van.

The last few things you took in before passing out were the sound of the door shutting and a curly, blonde-haired figure slumped down opposite of you.

"Get up, please, get up," you heard a voice whispering in a pleading tone. Opening your eyes, you saw Vance, holding your shoulders and sitting beside you.

His grip hurt, but the boy was scared—you could see it in his eyes.