Kidnapped

9

My head snaps to the side, recoiling back to position. I blindly throw my fist out. I'm fighting back, but I can't see for shit.

"Where are you?" I whisper as my fist glides through nothing but air.

"Here."

I swing where the voice came from, my knuckles slamming into him. At least... I think it's him.

"Window light." He says, I understand. He wants me to go by the window so I can see him.

I dart over there and here him following behind me. No matter what he does to me or what I do to him, I don't care. I'm free, or will be.

Free.

He appears in the light. "Punch. Well."

With the hand my chain is in, I raise it. But I also raise another thing— a question. "Why are you doing this?"

"Hit me."

"Answer me."

"Hit me and I will."

I punch him in the eye, his head snapping back. When it comes to view again, I see a slight bruise already forming. The light was terrible, but I couldn't do anything about it. "Why?"

"It's wrong. You're kids—"

"I'm 16." Or am I 17? Maybe I'm 18. No no, I'm definitely 17. Wait...

"Kids. They shouldn't be doing this to you. I already know what will happen to me if they find out I let you go, so I need you to shoot me."

"So what's the point of me fighting you?" I lower my fist, whispering almost silently.

"Practice. When they figure out you're gone, they'll come searching for you. So I'm giving you this." He held out a piece of folded paper. I took it and unfolded it, but couldn't read whatever it said. Not yet. Not until I get out of this crazy place.

"If it's practice..." I bend down, pressing the paper into the ground, placing the gun on top of it and the necklace beside, "then I should actually practice." I hold up both my fists and they take turns slamming into his face.

What? He asked me to, so I will.

"Good, keep it going." He throws his fist out and I block it, my hand going to his gut. This goes on for a while, but not too long. The only noises are quiet grunts. "That's good." He breathes. I may have gone a bit far, I can see a slight shimmer which can't be mistaken as anything but blood. "Open the window, grab the gun, climb out, shoot me."

"From out there?"

"Gunshot is loud, you know that."

"And?"

"And the less time you'll have to run!"

I open the window, grabbing my things from the ground. I ball the paper with the chain, crawling out. I peer inside the darkness, the familiar shimmer from blood stepping farther into the darkness. "Straight ahead," he said, still moving closer to the door, "keep the gun straight ahead." He sounds frightened.

I raise the gun, aiming directly forward. It shakes in my hand. He's doing all this for me and now I'm going to kill him. Why should I care? But something tells me I do.  "Come with me."

"They'll find me. If I'm not back in a few minutes, they'll search for me. I'll only put you in danger. Leave."

My mouth opens and closes again, my hands trembling. I felt... sorry. "Why me?"

He doesn't answer, and I repeat my question more angrily. "Why. Me."

"Because," he whispered. He was definitely crying. I've never heard a grown man cry for as long as I remember. "Because I know you."

"No, no you don't. You're a guard here, in this terrible place. Nat was the only one that knew me." Just mentioning her name made me feel sick.

"I'm a father. I lost my child. We've both been through a lot. I knew by the way you looked at her that you loved her. Losing a loved one is terrible. But I do know you."

"How? How could you possibly know anything about me?"

"My son. Jacob."

Jacob. It's... familiar. Jacob? "What's that supposed to mean to me?"

"Pull the goddamn trigger."

Without a second thought, I take a shot in the dark, a boom ringing in my mind. And then it all comes back to me.

Jacob.

The cops.

He was my best friend.

I turn and run, the gunshot still echoing in my mind. Tears leave my eyes, falling with every step I take. I run, and keep going. It's night, which explains the terrible lighting, but I keep running. I don't have shoes and I feel rocks slice into my feet, but I remain unbothered. I'm going to find somewhere, I'm going to get clothes, find somewhere to stay, and be free.

Be free.

I'll be free.

No, I am free.

I keep the words running through my mind as my heart races, my lungs burning, my muscles aching, my feet pounding against the ground. But I don't stop. I won't stop. I can't let that man die for nothing. My best friends father. I never knew his name. I'm in the middle of nowhere, not a building in sight. Then again, I can't really see.

The stars shine brightly overhead, a nearly-full moon shining through parted clouds. I run and run until my feet give from beneath me. I fall to my knees, the gun in my hand still cocked.

I'm a murderer.

A killer.

A bad person.

No better than them.

Jacobs dead.

Nats dead.

All my friends are dead.

My parents probably think I'm dead.

Or they're dead.

So why am I still here?

I eye the gun that glistened in the moonlight, the shine bounding off the cold metal. I check the bullets in the chamber, struggling to count them, but I manage. There's one left. And there's one person here.

Me.

Tears are stained on my face and my mind is still overflowing. I hold out the chain in my hand, clasping it around my neck on the first try.

I hold the gun up, clamping my eyes shut. Sobs escape me, but it feels nice. Crying. The gun remains shaky as I look up at the moon and take aim. One bullet. One brain.

Fire.

Like the way I ended that? Oh well :)
I'm proud of this chapter.
Thanks for reading.