A Man Named Murderer

Chapter 3

It was all dark. I knew I was kidnapped, maybe by the man, at least, the shadow looked like a man, standing over me? He was holding something wickedly sharp, a dagger maybe? The moonlight hardly lit the room, making it difficult to escape. I didn't know what this man was up to, but some deep instinct said that it was not okay. I needed to get out of here. However, the man had other ideas. 

"I don't think you're going anywhere." His voice was deep, a voice that sent shivers down my spine. His free hand pushed me down, while his other hand, holding the knife, set it against my throat. I swallowed, "Oh, and I wouldn't recommend screaming. My hand might slip." Think fast, think fast. My heart sped up. I need to get out of here. But I knew, there would be no escape. My end, my finish, was here. It was over. But I wouldn't give up already. 

"W-what do you want?" I felt the cold knife touch my skin. It didn't cut me, it was only a threat. It meant I would be getting no answers and I shouldn't ask anymore questions. 

Instead of talking, I tried to observe where I was. It was dark, obviously, so I didn't get much information by looking around. But there was this one thing that stood out to me. A symbol. It took me a while before I realized what the symbol was. Treble clef. A music room. Hmm... 

The man looked at me, I could tell because the shadow shifted and I could feel his gaze upon my body, "Stop looking around. You'll only bring your death closer." He confirmed it. I'm getting murdered. There's no way to stop it now. The only option left: Scream. I screamed bloody murder, and it seemed someone had heard me.

There were loud footsteps coming from the hall, more than one person. 

"Police! Drop the knife!" One of the police officers shouted.

"Crap." The man said, "I've got to do it now." The last part he whispered. 

"Drop the knife or I'll shoot!" 

The man's knife was still at my throat. I felt it press deeper, and blood trickle down my neck. He was slitting my throat. The man started pressed harder, the pressure increased, and so did the amount of blood. This was not the way I wanted to die. The man continued, until a good sized wound was on my neck. My death was inevitable. 

I felt him drop my body, the world was already getting hazy. I don't remember what happened next. A slit throat is a very painful and long way to die. Pain. Darkness. Cold. Gone.

I woke up. Was that a memory of my past? Or was it just a dream? That man's voice. The treble clef. The pain and darkness. It all seemed so real. I looked to Luca, the man I 'befriended'. My only conversation partner. He reluctantly let me come along after much persuasion. He was still asleep, stirring and mumbling in his sleep from time to time. Whatever dream he was having, was one I did not want to have.

He seemed afraid of the public, as if he killed someone and didn't want anyone to know. Whatever it was I would find out.

Luca woke up slowly, rubbing one of his eyes and yawning, "You're still here?"

"Good morning to you to."

"You're perky today."

"As always. And you're as cold as ever."

He only grunted in response.

"So, we gonna make breakfast or something?"

"I can do it. I don't think any visitors would be happy with floating pots and pans."

"You're right."

"As usual." He walked over to the fridge and peeked in, "So what do you want?"

"Anything is fine."

"Good." He grabbed four eggs and a pan.

"So, what did you dream about?" 

He glanced back before turning his eyes to the pan again, "None of your business." 

"Okay." Private, huh? Even more secrets. We stood in silence for about four more minutes until Luca finished making breakfast. 

"Here." 

"Thanks."

We ate in silence, not really much to talk about anyway. We both met eyes occasionally, but looked down immediately. So this is what  awkward feels like. 

"So, " I started, "What are we doing today?" 

"Looking for your murderer."

"Why?"

"So you'll go faster."

"Not a very good reason. I know why you're doing it."

"Really." I had a feeling he wasn't paying attention.

"You actually wanna help me!"

He turned to me, and rolled his eyes, "That's wishful thinking. But back to the point, do you have any suspects?"

"...No..." 

"Then how do you ever expect to catch a murderer?"

I was silent for a second, recalling the dream I had, "I've heard his voice, that's all I remember about him."

"What is his voice like?"

"It was deep, but not a soothing deep. It was terrifying."

"That's a start. Do you know where you died?"

"Not... exactly. But there was a treble clef."

"Treble clef... hmm... It would be a good idea to check out some music rooms."

"Oh, but they wouldn't be here. They would be in Twain Harte, California."

"Why?"

"Because that's where I grew up, and that's where I last was when I was kidnapped."

"That's a good start. You're finally learning how to use your brain."

I snorted, "You're only saying that because you can't come up with any better insults."

"I could come up with better insults if I wanted to, but they would only sail over your head."

"I'm smarter than you give me credit for."

"I give credit where credit is due. And if we want to beat traffic, we better get going now."

"Wait, you have a car?!"

"Yes, we're staying in my apartment and we're using my car."

"Sorry, but I thought this was someone else's."

He rolled his eyes and said, "Come on."

We both walked out to his car, a grey Toyota Corolla. This car had seen better days, but it would get us both to Twain Harte, or at least I hoped it would. 

"Get in."