Mortality

False Hope

                                                                                         6.

 The door opened with an ominous creak and Jonathan was jolted back to his senses. He now had adrenaline to distract him from continuously dwelling on the brutal ways in which he had been murdered, at least by mortal standards. Jonathan knew his mind could not withstand another battery. It was now or never. He drew no comfort from the silence which meant that the door had been left open, as it only implied another period of trauma. Jonathan attempted to make himself look frail and sickly as a light set of footsteps approached him. An apprehensive hand tentatively rolled him onto his back. Jonathan kept his eyes closed and made no movement, the shard of glass concealed in the waistband of his shorts, the only item of clothing he had. 

 To Jonathan's credit, it was a rather well thought-out plan. He had experimented with various positioning of the shard so as to ensure the fastest possible withdrawal, and he had considered the exact moment in which to act. As his examiner bent to check Jonathan's breathing, he transferred all of his frustration, anger and pain into one rapid, unhesitating swipe, plunging the shard deep into the neck of his oppressor, his face contorted in fury. In the split second before impact, Jonathan caught a glimpse of a previously unseen emotion in the other man's eyes: fear. Despite the fact that the rest of the face was hidden from view, Jonathan saw him for what he really was then: a human being. Not only that, but one who was at the complete mercy of Jonathan, and in no doubt that he was about to be killed. This stirred something in Jonathan. While he was by no means a friend of this man, and he detested him for the heinous and unjust acts he had carried out, Jonathan did not have it in him to kill a real person, capable of something as vulnerable as showing fear. Unfortunately, by the time he realised this, Jonathan was only able to slow his strike so as to prevent a killing blow. The recipient would most likely still be grievously injured. 

 Horrified at what he had just done, Jonathan frantically searched the man's body for some form of a communications device. He was immensely relieved to find a moblie phone in the jacket pocket. After dialling the emergency services number and speedily explaining the situation, Jonathan felt it best to evacuate the premises. He had not been able to give his location, but he knew they could trace the call, and surely the terror in his voice betrayed his seriousness.  He thought it would look quite ridiculous to wander around wherever he was situated in only shorts, and so flung on the jacket and shoes of his unconscious and  injured victim. He left the man's trousers on, a considerate gesture respecting his dignity, the kind which had not been shown to Jonathan. He also wrapped his t-shirt around the wound as a provisional tourniquet.

 Jonathan was under serious time constraint now. He quickly exited the cell and got his bearings. He had been in what seemed to be a converted backroom of the warehouse in which he had originally been put under duress. His heart leapt into his throat for fear. Warehouses generally weren't located in immediate access of a town or city, somewhere you could disappear easily, at least not in his experience. Hoping against hope that he was wrong, Jonathan walked briskly to the exit. He found himself on an isolated stretch of road with no other sign of civilisation. Panic set in and he began to run towards the edge of the road and into a nearby field, but his right leg gave way and he crumpled on the hard tarmac. A daunting recollection hit him. In the subsequent unfolding of events, Jonathan had forgotten about his original injury: a bullet to the kneecap. While the wound had healed, the bullet must have remained lodged in his bone. His striving to run had caused him to bend his knee and aggravate the puncture. Jonathan simply lay there, tears leaking profusely from his eyes. He made no attempt to stop them.

 The authorities would never believe him. He bore no sign of maltreatment other than the bullet, and that had healed to appear as if it had happened years ago. While surely it would be agreed that it was a remarkable example of healing, it wouldn't be enough to cement his motive for attack. If his captor was in any way proficient at his work, and Jonathan believed that he was, he would have disposed of all evidence of his crimes. The only felony visible to the police would be Jonathan's stabbing. The cruelty of it all astonished Jonathan. Even his traducer could not have planned it so. Sirens blared in the distance, bringing Jonathan out of his miserable reverie. When he sighted the first vehicle, he vomited violently on the road in front of him, then sobbed and shook.