Date Published: 14th April 2019
Chapter Eighteen: Playing With Fire
For one entire second, everything froze.
She was going to die.
Die.
Jason.
And just as suddenly, she snapped out of it.
She didn't know why she thought of him.
She didn't even know if he was alive.
But he brought her back.
And made her jump into action.
The ground was solid beneath her feet.
So, she pushed. Pushed until the ground was longer beneath her and she was falling.
Falling sideways.
But the bullet was travelling too fast.
Way too fast.
A strangled scream escaped her long before it even made contact.
And then it did.
She felt it sear across the surface of her shoulder, ripping the sleeve of her blue coloured dress.
For a millisecond she felt nothing.
And then she hit the ground.
And all feeling came rushing back.
And it was the most painful thing she'd ever felt in her whole life.
"Merde,"
And then she began to scream.
Screamed as though she were dying. At least then someone would hear her.
Suddenly one of the walls of the room began to move. She stopped midscream and blinked.
She was in a tent!
"Thorne is this really necessary?" came an Irish accented voice from the entrance of the tent.
"Mon Dieu, I expected it to be a clean kill," he said, pointing the gun back at her. "Elle est une fillet très anneuyeux, n'est pas?"
May sucked in another breath and closed her eyes, fear casting a dark, claustrophobic shadow over her heart. Her stomach, realizing it was at the circus, decided to summersault it's way into oblivion and she began feeling slightly nauseous.
The searing pain seemed to wrack her shoulder with new found vengeance.
"There's a policeman outside, Thorne. Apparently e' was driving by the circus and heard a shot and the screaming. e's asking for you," he said.
"Merde,"
May felt the breath she didn't even know she was holding jet out of her mouth in relief.
"Gag her and knock her out," he said before leaving the tent.
And before May could even process what was happening, she was back upright and the black velvet gag was between her lips, and no amount of biting would stifle the burn of it stretching her dry lips apart.
The red-haired man who gagged her shot her a sympathetic smile. "Sorry love," he replied. "You shouldn't have picked a fight with circus people,"
She sent him a pleading look. When he didn't respond he began to struggle; pulling earnestly at her bindings.
With curses that could burn the ears of a sailor, he covered her head with a big black bag. She screamed and screamed, but all that came out of her were soft muffled sounds of protest. Tears began streaming down her eyes as she felt him press at her shoulder wound.
"Stop struggling or I'll press harder," came a steel-like voice.
She didn't care if it was cowardly. She stopped moving.
Suddenly she felt something metallic pound her over the head, making everything go black.
The last thought that flashed through her head was a weird one.
How did Ryan get mixed up in all this crap?
Would she ever be able to make it up to him?
Wait, what?
•••
Nausea and the lack of oxygen woke her up.
Everything was still dark, but she could feel her body twist as if something under her kept moving.
Was she in a car?
She was being jostled around.
The bag over her was smothering. She could barely breath.
"Did you chloroform her yet?"
A hand came into the bag and she felt a damp handkerchief clamp over her mouth and nose with a vice like grip.
She tried to hold her breath against it, but the hand had taken her by surprise. She counted.
One, two, three, four.
She began to struggle, trying not to breath.
Five, six, seven, eight.
She went completely limp.
"She out?"
Suddenly her lungs gave way and she breathed the foul air in.
"I think so," came the Irish voice.
And the hand disappeared.
She began breathing fast; a dark blanket seemed to be floating onto her.
"I think she's finding it hard to breath," came a voice. "Maybe she's allergic to 'form?"
"Nonsense," came Thorne's voice. "I've used it on her before. Years ago, as well. She isn't allergic."
"I'm loosening the gag she-"
"Merde. You Irish and your bloody grande hearts," came Victor. "Check if she's out first,"
"Right," but he'd already loosened the gag.
She felt a hand press into her wound.
But the darkness had already won.
•••
There was a pounding in her head.
And a searing pain in one of her shoulders.
What was happening?
Her eyes opened and she blinked.
But it was still dark.
Her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
The bag.
And then everything came flooding back.
Thorne. The shot. The policeman. The redhead.
But the gag in her mouth, it was loose now.
She stuck her tongue at it and pushed it over her lower lip. Using her tongue, she pushed it lower and lower. Until finally she could use her jaw to manipulate it into falling to her neck.
Then she reached for the bag. Breathing in, she sucked the bag into her mouth and somehow she got between her teeth. Bending her head low as she could, she began to tug. And bite. And shake.
After what felt like an eternity, the bag dropped to the ground.
She was inside a dark room.
It had to be a room. The walls were solid.
A small stream of light came from a tiny window at the upper corner of one of the walls.
She didn't know where she was or how long she'd been there. But judging by the fact that all she could see was the moon shrouded by a dark, dark sky, she guessed that she was in a basement of someone's house and it was nightfall.
She was still bound up. Except she was on a revolving desk chair now. Her hands were still tied behind her back and her mouth had been gagged with the same velvet gag. Her legs were tied to the cylinder on the base of the chair in a way that her legs rested on the base of the chair-not the floor. She wouldn't be able to try any falling tricks anymore.
She had to think.
She had to get out.
She just had to.
She could only hope that maybe, maybe Ryan had tried to check up on her and found out she was missing.
And maybe somehow saved Jason?
'He isn't super man or a time warlock, May.' Came the ever-faithful voice in her head. 'Besides, why would he want to have anything to do with you after the way you rejected him?'
God, her conscience was a pain in the behind sometimes.
She looked at her surroundings. She had to move. Maybe get to something sharp enough to cut the rope on. But how?
All she could do was spin in circles now.
She started.
Didn't roller chairs have a push down lever?
She immediately began feeling around the back of the chair for the lever. When that endeavour was fruitless she began twisting and turning so that the chair would spin, feeling for the lever all the while.
There was no lever. What?
She let out a soft cry of frustration.
She had to try and free herself.
She looked at her feet. Maybe if she pushed her feet together-yes, then the rope would be loose enough to slip her feet out. After some initial difficulty, she squeezed her feet out of their confinement.
Freedom!
Now she could stand if she wanted to.
All that was left were her hands.
Maybe there was a sharp edge on the chair? She looked; but the best she could find was the edge where the back of the chair connected with the seat. Maybe if she rubbed the rope against the wedge hard enough she could free herself.
She pushed herself down. Lower, lower until she could wedge that part of the chair between her hands. She pushed herself back up and started rubbing the rope against the edge of the chair.
She heard a creak from outside the door.
Panic laced her blood like cancerous cells. The pain in her shoulder began to beat-as if her heart had somehow found an outlet through it. She glanced at it and cringed. Blood crusted the edge of her wound and if she turned toward the light she could see metallic slivers glinting in the moonlight.
Wait a minute!
She stood up and pulled her hands with her. They slid easily up the back of the chair. Smiling, May pulled her roped hands out of their confinement and felt like slapping herself for her stupidity.
Suddenly a door opened, and she heard a click. Light flooded the room and stung her eyes.
She quickly pushed herself back down, pushed her feet behind the chair and hid her hands behind her back.
Maybe she'd made a terrible mistake.
She needed to find a way to cut the rope.
Or maybe she could do one of those movie tricks where she brought her tied hands to her front?
No, that would be too obvious.
"Ah, ma chére you are awake. And you have got your gag and bag off. C'est merveilleux! Blonde's-ces n'est pas bet, rien?" he chuckled. "Well, it doesn't matter now. You see, we need you alive. Your armoureux has saved your frère and is searching for you."
It was probably the most stupid feeling to have but she felt relieved.
So much relief.
"Ah, you are relived, oui?" he said, grinning. "You are alive. Your brother is alive. And the man who killed your parents is alive. They will somehow find you, kill me and you will live-what do call it?-mais oui-happily ever after. Non?"
"He didn't kill them! You did," she shot back.
'Trés mature, May. Way to go with trying to get the upper hand,' came her concious.
"Last time I check ma chére, it was your armoureux who killed him. But alas, his reappearence has destroyed everything. Now I am forced not to leave any lose ends,"
He was playing with her. Drawing her in, lashing her out. Threatening her, laughing at her. She didn't know why he was doing this. But she didn't really care. At least she had more time to live.
She just had to keep him talking. "I don't think killing me and Jason will solve your problems."
"Of course they will. And I can frame Ryan for the murder. Trés facile,"
"Just like you did ten years ago. Somehow," She replied, clearly frustrated.
He looked at her suspiciously. Then he gave her a sadistic grin. "Bon, I shall help, alright? Let's play our game then shall we?"
"Which one? We've been playing games all day," she shot back.
He laughed. It didn't sound sane. "The one where you guess what happened and I say whether you are correct or wrong,"
"Fine," she replied. "But you need to answer one question,"
"Go ahead." He said, conversationally. "I will if it's the right question,"
"Why Ryan?"
"Wrong question Maybelline,"
She wanted to cry out in frustration. But she had to keep her cool. Had to buy them time.
"Why did you kill his parents? And his sister?"
"Ah, I like this question. It isn't the correct one, but I like it all the same. And therefore, I shall answer it,"
She scowled at him, searching the room for something sharp. He hadn't yet noticed her unbound legs, nor had he noticed that her hands were no longer in their previous position.
Maybe his sight was not as good as it used to be.
Maybe if she kept him talking he wouldn't notice.
But she had to be careful. She couldn't egg him on like she had in the tent. That had only got her shot.
Hopefully Ryan would deposit Jason somewhere safe and come find her. Hopefully.
Her heart rebelled against her thoughts.
She was leading him into a trap.
And then Thorne would kill them all.
Stupid, treacherous heart.
"Adriana was a school friend of his mere, Maria . She and her husband helped her escape. And voila she had to die. Rosalinda of course was a sad death. But I needed him to actually believe he-whoops. Mais non, I must not get ahead of myself," he grinned. Suddenly a ping erupted from his jacket pocket. He took out his phone and glanced at the thing, irritated. Then a smile crept to his face. "Excusez-moi, I must attend to your armoureux. I will be back in deux minutes. Au revoir, chére. Hopefully, when I am back, you will ask la vrai question, oui?"
And with that he left the room again.
May jumped off the chair and began to search for a sharp object. She surveyed the items in the room. There was the chair. A table lay at the south of the room, on the opposite wall to the door. Other than that, the room was empty.
She quickly crossed the room, turned around and began using the dull edge of the table as a blade. After a few seconds she felt something loosen. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder that had erupted because of her movement, she began rubbing harder.
After what felt like an eternity she'd reached a point where she could snap the rope in two and free her hands. But she didn't.
She went back to the chair and gingerly placed herself back on it.
Why would Ryan have to be made to believe that he actually killed Rosa? If he had done it why would he not remember it?
Unless-unless he had been right, and Thorne had gotten a man who looked like Ryan to kill her parents.
But she knew in her heart that it was Ryan who killed her parents.
She knew.
Didn't she?
***
Next Update: 16th April 2019