The Bodyguard » Niall Horan

36 » you sick son of a bitch

I didn't know how much time had passed, while I was floating in an in-between world where nothing seemed real. I was awake, but not entirely. A part of my body felt really cold - was it my feet? I didn't know.

When I woke up after a while, everything was much clearer than before. My head still felt like it was filled with cotton, but I could think more clearly and my sight was clearer.

It was indeed my feet that were cold. I wasn't wearing socks or shoes, and the floor was nothing but a concrete slab.  My arms had been pulled behind my back and tied on the chair I was sitting on, as well as my feet. Someone had wrapped an old tea-towel around my mouth, tied on the back of my head.

I looked around. There was a small, barred window near the ceiling. The walls, like the floor, were bare concrete slabs, with mold growing on them where water leaked down from the ceiling. Against one of the walls was an old pantry with a door not to far from it. A door that would most likely lead to my own freedom.

My wrists were hurting by the ropes that cut into my already damaged and burned skin as I tugged on them. How did I even get here? I couldn't remember anything. Why was I locked up here? The last thing I could remember was the ride to the hospital by ambulance. It was quite clear I wasn't there anymore.

I tried to remain calm. I was trained for situations like this, after all, and I wasn't helping myself by panicking. 

I didn't understand why I was here. Niall had been the target, not me. Was I just collateral, then?

The door opened, and the man I had known and tried to forget appeared in the doorway. My breath caught in my throat when I saw him.

He looked exactly as he did 17 years ago when I'd seen him at a court hearing for the very last time. He had shaved, and I recognized the look on his face, one I'd seen on my own many times before.

" Mercer," he smiled, his teeth yellowed by the lack of dentistry in prison. I flashed him an angry glance. I started shouting insult after insult, but my words were nothing but muted mutters.

He folded his hands behind his back and leaned against the moldy wall. " I'd love to take it off, but you have to promise me you won't start screaming. Can you promise me that, Mercer?"

Years of training had taught me to nod, so I did. He walked over to me and untied the knot on the back of my head. The teatowel dropped on my lap. I licked my dry lips in an attempt to moisture them.

" Chester Hargraves... Something wrong with that cell of yours?" My voice was steadier than I felt. I wanted to scream of fear and grief but I locked it away instead. I couldn't show him I was scared of him. It would give him more power, power I did not want him to gain.

Chester laughed, his green eyes glistening. " It was a little small, I've to admit. I decided to extend those walls into the wide, green world." Chester thought he was extremely funny, as he laughed at his own joke.

Chester wore clothing that didn't fit him properly. As if he'd found them in a dumpster somewhere. His jeans were at least three sizes too big, and his blouse was wider than his small framed body. He wore old flip-flops on his feet. 

" How long have you been out?" I asked him, forcing myself to look him in the eyes.

" Since this morning. Those bombs probably overshadowed my prison-break. Good job, by the way." 

I shot him an angry glance, the only emotion I was willing to show the man. " Six people died because of those bombs," I hissed. Chester leaned against the pantry. "Which was my intention, too. I mean, why else did I place five bombs on site?"