Lights (Scomiche)

Waiting

“But…      he’s dead. He’s…     Mitch… i … won’t… “ 

“Just breathe, Scott.”

“How … can…   I …”

He put a hand on each of his shoulders. “Look at me. Look in my eyes. You’re safe, you’re ok. Just breathe." 

He tried to keep his aura calm, and it seemed to help a little as Scott kept his eyes on his and once again began to calm. 

But how long would it last this time? How long could he keep this up?

___

He blinked slowly, eyes dry, lids heavy. He tried to remember things, where he was, what was happening, but he felt funny, strange. He tried to focus but it was just too hard to hold his head up. He squinted a bit as he heard a voice but couldn’t seem to understand until his hair was yanked back in a death grip and then his face submerged in water. 

He inhaled, gasping under water and nearly drowning himself. He coughed and sputtered when his head was pulled back out. He was tossed aside again as he tried to get his breath again, lungs burning.

“Drink, dog. You need water. Can’t have you dying before the grand finale now can i?”

He curled in on himself as he coughed, looking at the dog bowl full of water that was kicked in front of him. 

“DRINK” 

He couldn’t move, couldn't really focus on anything. He didn’t care how angry the man was or why, nor did he concern himself with the sharp sting as he was injected with who knows what. He could feel peace tugging him closer and let himself fall into it. 

__

15 minutes… 20…    25…       30 …         31.32.33.34.35.36...

Nerves were kicking into overdrive. There was an end in sight. It would all be over soon.  This nightmare wouldn’t continue on forever and regardless of the outcome, he would be relieved when it was over. They were all stretched too thin, strung along a tightrope, unable to go back and no view of the other side.  No one could heal until there was an actual end.   

His ears perked up as he heard them talking about helicopters, officers in the area dispatching…

He waited and waited as he heard the faceless voices coordinate positions, relay orders back and forth until the voices became nearly silent, the spaces between communication getting longer. 

He knew it was about to go down and he’d never been more afraid of something he had no control over in his entire life. He felt helpless and small and the finality of what would come finally began to sink in. He plopped himself down on one of the couch cushions as he let his head hang and the tears began to fall. 

It would all be over soon.

But what would they be then?

___

He heard voices, banging, a cacophony of sounds. It was deafening. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, dry like sandpaper. He opened his eyes and spotted the bowl of water. Pride be damned ...he needed water. He reached out and pulled it closer, leaning his head in and sucking it up the best he could. He felt like his heart was beating a hundred miles an hour and he was lightheaded, but he at least had some clarity. He wanted to cry as he realized he was chained to the wall, collar held tight to the chain leash via padlock. He wasn’t going anywhere.

He tried to scoot himself closer to the wall so that he could maybe prop himself up, but his muscles were not in the habit of cooperating and it was a struggle. He’d made it barely a meter when he heard a loud bang and suddenly it was just so incredibly loud and bright. 

He couldn’t keep focus and covered his ears as he swore he heard gun shots.  He looked up and saw a figure headed for him, but another shot and it fell to the ground in front of him. He saw Olivier standing nearby, barking orders into a phone. No one was really paying the weak hostage any attention.

Then he saw it… a gun. 

It was maybe three feet away, he could easily get to it, but could he use it? Did he even know how? He couldn’t seem to remember, but something told him to get it.  He began to make his way over, using every bit of adrenaline his tired, weak body had. He closed his fingers around it and pulled it close.  He didn’t have enough energy to think and be scared at the same time and it was all happening so much faster than his brain could keep up with.

He heard laughing, that bastard that put him here… 

It took a few moments to register exactly what was going on. The door to the outside had shut and it was darker now, easier on his eyes. There were 3 men in uniforms that he could see, all with guns pointed at the man who’d started all of this.

“Put it down, son.” He heard someone say from somewhere nearby and it was only then that he realized he was pointing a weapon straight at the man who’d taken away everything. 

“Do it. Make me a legend.”

That voice made his skin crawl and his blood boil.  He was trembling, barely able to hold the weapon, but he kept it up, eyes wide and wild. 

“Do you know what I was going to do? I was going to cut out your tongue and mail it to your beloved Scott. Let’s hear you sing then.”

The officers were trying to get him to be quiet, but they didn't want to spook the frightened man holding a gun.

Mitch just wouldn’t put the gun down, not because he didn't want to, he just couldn't seem to make himself move. 

“It’s over now.”  A hand covered his own and gently pried the weapon away from him. He watched the grin slide from Olivier’s face replaced with a snarl as he went to raise his own weapon, pointing it directly at Mitch.

It happened in the blink of an eye. The gunshots were deafening in the small room, but soon the devil was laying in his own blood, eyes vacant. He would never terrorize them again.

It was really and truly over.

He let himself relax, the weight of the chain and the exertion of the past few minutes draining him down to nothing and he welcomed the feel of the cold floor against his cheek.

He could hear voices, sirens, gunshots. It all began fade away.

His heart which had been racing before felt like it was about to take off. His chest began to burn, muscles tightening and twitching. He could hear them calling for cutters and a medic.

His vision began to blackout and he could feel hands on him but couldn’t hear or respond to anything. He couldn’t help but laugh just as he was about to slip into the nothing. His final thought…

How ironic, to die just after being saved. Fu⍧k you Alanis.   I love you, scott....i'm sorry.