"I'll have to figure things out as I go along. Finding out which one of these low lives killed her is the first step. I can't even seem to do that." I sigh.

  "It was Damien." He says flatly.

  “What? How do you know?" My voice wavers a little. I'm now paying full attention.

  "Everyone knows he is the family's hitman. The whole family has enemies, but not all want to get their hands dirty. This is where he comes in. You've seen firsthand how merciless he can be."

  "On more than one occasion," I murmur. "Would you believe it if I told you I saw him show mercy as well?"

  "Damien? Mercy? Now I understand why you're here. You’re naive."

  "I—

  "I've witnessed him killing with no hesitation. Whatever you saw must have been an act because no one's ever seen him do anything but kill."

  I think of my incident with Damien and how I was so quick to label him innocent. Sure, he spared my life, but he shot and nearly killed someone else. To boot, he beat someone senseless right after. He is no saint, but I still couldn't wrap my head around one thing.

  "If he's so merciless, why are both of us alive?"

  Suddenly, the chains on the other prisoner begin rattling violently. "This is surviving, not living. Look at us! We're beaten to a pulp and waiting to be killed. I'm not sure why you find it so hard to believe it's him. You can have Stockholm syndrome all you want, but I want to get out of this place and be as far as possible from Damien and his mini mafia."

  "Good luck with that," I retort. "These shackles are not going to fall off. You'd break every bone in your hand trying to escape them, but you’re free to try.”

  I listen as he wrestles with the shackles like I did when I was first thrown in here. No matter how strong he is, popping out of steel is impossible. After he works himself up, I hear him kissing his teeth.

  "I may be naïve, but I know my limit," I tell him. He sighs out loud but doesn't bother saying another word to me. If he manages to live past a few days, he'll understand why my spirit is broken. “By the way, you never told me your name?” I ask.

  “Luke. You?”

  “These days? Trouble magnet.”

  Jump Scare

  Lydia

  I pull into the gas station's parking lot, my tires screeching, and throw my car into park. When I unlock my phone again, I begin going over the map, peering at the intricate lines, symbols, and landmarks on the screen. I am so lost trying to memorize it that I'm unaware when a shiny white sports car pulls up to the gas station behind me. The windows are rolled up, and there is a constant hum from the music playing loudly on the inside. The car itself looks vintage, but not in an old way. It looks old-school but costly, like the type of cars people collect. The driver of the car carelessly parks it sideways, blocking me in. I'm tempted to argue with the owner of the vehicle and find myself stepping out of my car in annoyance.

  Seconds after I exit, someone steps out of the car and turns his back to me. I can see the long, expensive coat he's wearing, and the expensive sunglasses perched atop his head. Judging from appearance alone, he's probably arrogant, most likely wealthy. I keep walking, my feet slamming hard against the ground. The man turns a little, and the sun reflects off the shiny object in his hand. He holds it up to his ear, growling into it. I stand a few feet away, listening to the heated conversation. The tone of his voice makes me rethink my anger, so I stop in my tracks and take in the words coming from his mouth.

  "Why did you take so long to inform me about this?" The man nearly shouts into the phone. He begins talking more rapidly as his frustration grows, and his suit becomes more disheveled with each wild gesture he makes. After a few moments, he slams his phone against the side of his car and takes a deep breath.

  The man whirls around, and I quickly bow my head, embarrassment heating up my face. I slowly lift my eyes to the man's face, and the feeling of a tight fist clenching around my heart is unmistakable. It's Arthur Beauford.

  Once the initial shock of the situation wears off, I hurriedly duck my head and jump back into my car, trying to appear as inconspicuous as possible. With my heart pounding, I rummage around in my car as if I’m looking for something. From the corner of my eye, I can feel his piercing gaze upon me, but I don’t dare to look up. I’m willing to linger in my vehicle in order to evade any type of conversation. But he abruptly returns to his conversation, not giving me another thought.

  He speaks in a much calmer tone now, and I’m able to make out snippets of his words, but they start to fade away, and he disappears on his way to the convenience store inside the gas station. I want so badly to drive off, but I'm still stuck in the parking lot. I wait until, uneasily, he returns a few minutes later, still on his phone. "I'll take care of his nosy son later; he's not a real threat, especially since my nephew has him locked up in the warehouse. Don is who we need to worry about." He takes his keys from his pocket and gets back into his car.

  "Find Don Carter. He can't leave here alive." His words linger in the air as he hangs up. After what seemed like an eternity, he pulls out of the parking lot, leaving me to try and figure out what warehouse he was talking about.

  I remain in my car, completely immobile and terrified. His tiny admission provides more than enough evidence to deduce what is going on. Both Mason and his dad are in town. Mason is somewhere being held against his will while his father is being hunted at this very moment. I gaze at the location where his car was only moments ago, speaking out loud, "I'm not sure what Don Carter has done, but he doesn't know the kind of trouble he's in." Can't their family keep away from danger?

  As I try to make sense of the situation, I'm faced with the moral dilemma of who to save first. I get the feeling whatever problems Don has found; he's had them coming for a while. It was Mason who was innocently sucked into all of this. From what I've learned of his reputation, Don can take care of himself. Mason has already been found and captured. The apparent answer slaps me in the face, as if I am crazy for even asking. All it takes is for Arthur to change his mind, and his life will be snatched away. I can’t allow it.

  After spending the last few hours going over the map in detail, I eventually conclude that there are only two warehouses in Rose Hills. This makes it much simpler for me to figure out Mason's location. I scan the map once more before deciding that the closest option would be the best.

  I have no idea what to expect when I arrive. Would there be men stationed around it keeping guard? Do they even think Mason is capable of escaping? It's hard to say. I've never met Damien before. I don't know how his brain works. He could be well thought out or a complete airhead. For my sake, I hope he's the latter. If he's anything like his father, I'm in for a long and arduous ride.

  After carefully following directions, I arrive near where the warehouse should stand. It's not a residential area—which makes sense considering what goes on inside. It's a large building that's easily visible from the street. I don't drive directly up to it, but instead, park about two blocks down and walk the rest of the way. I'm not sure if anyone is watching, but I don't want to take the chance.

  As I approach, I look for people and vehicles, both of which are not around. The warehouse looms over all the trees surrounding it. The walls are covered in ivy and moss, and the windows are boarded up. I creep closer to the front of the building, constantly looking over my shoulder. A thicket of trees surrounds the entrance, and the door is barely visible. It looks abandoned, which makes it the perfect place to take a prisoner. I walk around the building, searching for windows or another entrance.

  As I make my way around the side of the building, I spot a window low enough for me to look through. I try to get a glimpse of what's inside, but it's too dark, and I can't make out much. It looks like I'll have to go inside. I carefully walk around the building, keeping to the shadows of the trees until I see another door come into view. I am cautious not to make any noise as I make my way over to it. Despite the presence of a chain on the door, it appears to be unlocked. I slowly open it, peeking my head inside. It's completely dark inside, and I can only make out the shapes of objects. I walk further into the darkness, carefully feeling my way through. I get past the main room and make it into an open area before my feet land on something sharp, and it crunches loudly. The murmuring that comes from across the room causes me to pause, my heart pounding in my chest. There are people inside.

  "Hello?" A man's voice calls out. My eyes dart around in the darkness, looking for a place to hide. I move swiftly but quietly, navigating my way through large boxes and crates. The entire time I can hear multiple feet rushing behind me. Soon, the last of the evening light from outside allows me to see a few feet ahead and exit the building. I slam the door shut on whoever is chasing me and sprint behind the nearest tree.

  As I hold my breath, I wait anxiously for the door to reopen. When it does, my heart starts to beat much faster. I can make out the sound of them moving around in the forest for a while before they eventually decide to turn back. When the person returns to the warehouse, they ask someone else to exit, and I hear them rush off. After waiting a few seconds, I take a peek out from behind the tree to see who is there. As far as I can tell, it appears to be a couple of teens with spray cans in their hands—most likely, meaning that Mason is not here at this warehouse.

  To be completely sure, I go inside and check. I use the flash from my cell phone this time to illuminate the dark room. There’s graffiti on the walls with messages such as “don't trust anyone.” I roll my eyes but continue scanning the place. It's quiet, eerie, and dank. I probe deeper, checking all the rooms inside and finding nothing but corroded barrels, broken machines, and beer cans strewn across the floor. There is nothing of any value, and certainly not Mason.

  With a sigh of resignation, I leave the warehouse, feeling a little defeated. The other warehouse is located on the other side of town, an hour's drive away. Not wanting to waste any more time, I run back to my car and begin the journey. Despite feeling exhausted from the night's events, I pay close attention to detail, making sure I don't miss any turns.

  Taking note of my surroundings helps the time pass by less anxiously. Nothing really stands out to me until I catch a glimpse of Mason's car parked outside what seems to be a bar. For a brief minute, I slow down, but I don't even think for a second that Mason is inside since he is sober. I'm just curious to know who's driving his car. Nevertheless, I move on.

  There is no time to chase behind a criminal right now. I have to focus on finding Mason, and fast.

  With the sun setting and the streets becoming darker, I realize I need to hurry if I want to get to the other warehouse while there is still some light left. I don't want to be caught off guard by any surprises; I'd much rather face whatever I have to out in the open during the daytime. Unfortunately, I know that won't be the case.

  As I expected, when I finally reach the second warehouse, it's pitch black outside. I am only able to recognize the warehouse because it's the only building in the vicinity. A dying streetlight nearby is trying its best to illuminate the area, but it's not enough. Occasionally, I use my flashlight, briefly turning it on when I require it and immediately turning it back off to save battery life. I do this until I arrive at the entrance, which is left wide open, leading me to believe that somebody has recently been here. I silently pray that, if it had been one of the Beaufords, they have now gone.

  With a feeling of relief that I don't have to fumble around in the dark, I can see the light shining inside. I move in cautiously but still manage to be taken aback by the dramatic shift in the temperature. Inside, this building has to be about fifty degrees hotter than outside. A few feet away from where I stand are two metal posts with chains on them. The floor beneath it is stained with dark red liquid. My hands immediately fly up to my mouth in shock. Am I too late?

  I stare at the floor again, this time noticing fresh drops of blood in a trail leading outside. I tell myself to be optimistic. Maybe he managed to escape. If that is the case, he couldn't have gotten very far. Maybe there is still a chance for me to find him.

  A Turn of Events

  Mason

  Whssshhh

  I inhale deeply. The air is thick and heavy, like a heavy blanket of humidity. I can feel the sweat dripping off my forehead, and my vision is blurred. I sum it up to two reasons—the deprivation of light, or my body trying to decide which functions are most important.

  Breathing is becoming increasingly difficult, and I can barely keep myself upright without effort. When the sound of Luke's sputtering disappears for a while, I take it that I'm alone. I can't even remember when it happened. Still, it's easy enough to guess what happened to Luke; he is dead, and soon I will be too. I cough, and this time a slimy liquid comes up with it. For the first time since arriving there, I am thankful for the lack of light. I probably would have gagged if I had seen what came out of my body.

  I inch away from the pile next to me. The little movement makes me dizzy. I shut my eyes to get some relief from the feeling but soon feel myself nodding off. I'm not sleepy, but the heat and my inability to breathe are making my body shut down involuntarily. I'm halfway into unconsciousness when the sound of crunching outside startles me. A moment later, the door screeches open. It might be Damien, but I have very little energy to express the fear bubbling up in me.

  I muster the courage to look up, but struggle to make out the outline of the person who walked into the room, leaving the lights off. From the blurry shape I can see, the figure is too little to be Damien. They seem to look directly at me. As they approach, my vision doubles, and I feel my head tilt back until it slams into the wall. It takes me a second to realize that I'm vomiting again—or trying to. Nothing comes up. The figure is directly in front of me when my dry heaving is over. I can now clearly make out the body of a female. Something is glinting in her hands. Just as she raises it over me, the door creaks again, and she disappears.

  Now in the doorway is another silhouette. This time, it's a man. I don't get a chance to see his face because he's too quick. One second he's there; the next, he's charging toward me. Even so, I don't flinch. I wait for the distinct voice before I conclude who it is in my mind.

  "Oh, Maassoonn." The voice taunts, and I begin breathing a little heavier. The footsteps making their way toward me are slow and deliberate. Damien kneels down in front of me and rattles the metal restraints on my hands. It causes pain to sear my chest and arms. I can only grit my teeth and wait until he's finished.

  "You were unconscious when your little friend was taken. We killed him, by the way." He slaps my face twice, and I flinch. The stinging sensation lingers in my eye. I blink a few times to try and clear the blurriness. He walks over to turn the lights on and returns holding a knife. He twists and turns the blade a few times before pointing it at my chest. The anticipation is excruciating, and I can feel the sweat dripping down my forehead. I refuse to break my gaze and give him satisfaction. He steps closer, and I can smell the strong scent of alcohol on his breath. I had never truly comprehended how terrible it is.

  He drags the sharp edge of the blade over my chest and pauses at my neck, lightly piercing the skin. I can sense the trickle of my blood running down my torso as I wait for him to finish what he started. Fortunately, his phone interrupts him before he gets the chance. He points the knife at me before taking his phone out of his pocket. His face contorts in an instant. Whatever the person on the other end of the call is saying must be important because he ups and leaves at that very moment, not even bothering to turn the lights off.

  Immediately after the thick doors shut abruptly, the female—who I had thought was only a figment of my imagination—returns. She rushes up to me and takes out the little item I saw her holding. It turns out to be a key. She inserts it into the lock and jiggles it around a couple of times.

  “Why isn't it working?" she says, frustration lacing her voice. Shamefully, it's only then that I realize what she is doing. She checks the key again before sticking it back into the hole in the shackles. My heart races as I watch her frantically turn the key in the lock. I feel my arms tense as she works, and then suddenly, with a click, the shackles fall away from my wrists. I am free! Before I can take in the moment, she grabs me and drags me out of the warehouse. We run, stumbling over each other in our haste to escape. I can feel her grip on me tighten as we race away from our captors.

  The woman leads me to a small blue van. I've seen this vehicle before but never knew who it belonged to. When I'm settled into the passenger seat, she hops into the driver's seat and wastes no time cranking up the engine. She spins the wheel hard, sending us reeling away from the warehouse. I take the opportunity to question my savior as we speed away.

  "Why are you helping me?" I ask, my voice cracking mid-sentence. She seems to be lost in her own thoughts, and it takes her a few moments to register my question. When she does, worry lines gather on her forehead, and she keeps her eyes on the road ahead.

  "Who are you?" I speak up and suddenly understand why she hasn't answered me. My voice is just a chapped whisper and not as loud as I had thought. I tap her arm, and she glances at me before slowly returning her attention to the road again. This time when I ask her name, she purposely hesitates. I know all too well the look on her face; she is ashamed of something. I can feel the tension in the air as I wait for her to answer me.

 

1 2 3 4 5