Daniel
He has a butcher knife in hand. "I'm not supposed to kill you yet, but I may make an exception."
I jump out of the chair, staring him down. I hold the cord in one hand, hiding it behind my back, and do the same thing with the beans in the other. I lift my chin defiantly, feeling less weak with something else in my system.
We stand and stare at each other for several minutes.
"Then do it," I challenge.
He takes a step towards me, but something clatters up above our heads.
"Oh--" the cuss word muffles indistinguishably through the thick floorboards.
Panicked, the kidnapper dives at me with his knife, stabbing its blade at me desperately. I jump back and swing the can at his head. It hits with a loud thunk, and he staggers back. He kicks me, his bad leg collapsing on itself. Before I can run past him, he grabs hold of my ankle and jerks me to the ground. His fingers wrap around my wrist. A slice. A sting. A warm trickle. A red glove showering over my hand.
He doesn't get the chance to slice open my other wrist before I kick out toward his head. He rolls away too quickly and rises to his feet.
"I made a mistake. I need to fix it." He shakes his head, flicking off invisible creatures from inside his ears. "I slipped up. They sent me here to send a message. Three boys, they told me. That's it. I took the first a month ago. Then your Mexican friend. But you--you weren't supposed to happen. You were an accident."
He pulls the gun from within his jacket. I hear a bang, then two more. I look down and see blood, but I don't feel anything other than the fire in my wrist. I look back at the criminal, now on his knees, mouth open. The life fades from his wife eyes, and I finally identify the two small spots in his chest where blood begins to seep out of.
"Daniel Oswald?" a pale man with dark hair asks.
I look back at him, my own eyes bulging. Words fail me.
"My name is Jasper Baxter. I'm with the FBI. Your friend Casey sent me to find you. Please come with me."
I follow him slowly up the stairs, eyes landing on my wrist. "I'm bleeding."
"Yes."
I sit in his car, but he doesn't drive anywhere familiar to me. He seems to leave the town entirely.
"Where are we going?" I ask.
"A safe house, you could say," he says. I don't like the tone of his voice. It's too flat. Nothing like the voice of a hero, but maybe that's just me.
"Can't I go home?"
"No, Daniel. Jake left a big mess by taking you. Someone has to clean it up."