Murderer

Chapter 25: Ryan

I watched as the house went ablaze before my eyes. The loud explosion shook the car and I felt the vibrations in my bones. The scariest thing was seeing Brendon on the ground, spread out, limp as a fire burned inches away from him. I was screaming but cloth that was shoved in my mouth that was taped shut was not helping. I kept banging my head on the glass in desperation to wake Brendon up.

"HEY!" Christopher yelled from the front seat of the car, turning around to snatch the back of shirt, pulling me toward him.

"If you don't cut that shit out, I'll take him with us, dead or alive. If he's dead I'll force you to eat his remains. If he's alive then I'll just torture him. Your choice, kid." He let go of my shirt, and I collapsed to my knees on the carpet of the car.

There was nothing I could do for him now, as Christopher started driving away, the house getting smaller in the distance until all I could see was a bright light - the fire that may kill my best friend, who was risking his life for me. I just hoped that he and the girl had survived the explosion. I hoped that I wasn't alone in my fight.

After a few harsh turns, the car jerked to a complete stop. "We are here." He said before getting out of the car and opening the door to the backseat, yanking me by my frail arm out of the car. I tumbled as I struggled to regain my balance, I was very weak and could barely move as it is.

"They're not home. They always work late." He tugged me up the steps to the front door. The key in his hand allowed us a safe and quiet passage into the house, and down to the basement, the one room in the house that was closest to hell.

I wondered why he kept the light off as he guided me down the stairs, he himself struggled to see as he gripped the railing. Who worked late? Who's perfectly undisturbed house was this, and why did he think it was safe to just enter with a kidnapped and beaten person in his trail?

Christopher suddenly shoved me into the corner of the basement, and I had hit the wall before sliding down and hitting my ass painfully on the floor. He grabbed the rope that he had brought in the back seat and tied it around my ankles so I couldn't get up and run. All the while, he said nothing, but him not talking was not as intimidating as it was when he did talk. I was kind of thankful for the silence, I was able to imagine a better situation, even if Brendon's safety and well being worried me and brought me back to reality.

We just sat there. He was sitting next to me, carving some wood with a knife. I had no idea what would happen next. Was he going to kill me right here and now? Will my inevitable death be by a knife in some innocent individual's basement. I knew this individual wasn't expecting Christopher to be here, or else he wouldn't be hiding down here with me. I was just a piece of stolen treasure to him, but he felt too much guilt to even look at me. No, not once did his eyes wander as he carved his stake of wood.

It all occurred to me what was happening when they came home. A man and a woman. As they walked above us, dust rained over us as we listened to the creaking coming from the ceiling. But Christopher's face did not speak fear, but just a warm smile. It was his parents house. I couldn't help but start crying, surely I would be found now.

"Don't worry, they don't come down here, this is where they keep my stuff that they dug out from the rubble of our old home. This is where they lock away their memories of me. It is the easiest way to avoid what happened." He patted me on the knee, knowing that my father would do the same when he gives up on finding me.

My head spun as I saw the damaged belongings of the devil himself. Burned comic books, blankets, toys and novelties, posters, books, and old photographs. He was just a teenager like me once, until someone stole the woman that was so near and dear to him away. Now he was just a freak who hid in the shadows, his scorched face and skin harmonized his personality.

But what would I have done if I was in his situation? Would I have ran from my problems, unable to face the person who killed the woman that I loved, who I was about to propose to? Would I have turned into the horror that was Christopher Walker? There was so little that I knew about myself, and I wondered day by day if I would ever have the chance to see myself turn into either a good man or an atrocious one.