𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

𝟏𝟏 | 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲

"Oh my. Isn't that Ria O'Donnell?" the man aiming at my head asked, almost like he didn't want to believe I was real. Meanwhile, I was trying to find out whom this cold voice belonged to or to recognize the person in front of me only by the features of their body, but it was pointless. The stranger was dressed in black, with the same hood as the men on the recording. A burning question flashed through my mind: Is this the same person who kidnapped my mom?

I've been considering all the possibilities of escape. Sadly, only one seemed feasible to me.

"In all my beauty. What if you introduced yourself as well?" I replied. I knew I had to do something as soon as possible. If he had called his backup and they'd come, it would get us into trouble... it could be over for us. Although I didn't know anything about Otto's self-defense skills, I was sure that the two of us wouldn't be able to handle them all. Especially if the others were as strong as their colleague.

"Funny like your dad. He's like that too, you know, always making fun of things he shouldn't. But he'll be done laughing as soon as I bring him your beautiful head in the box," he hissed menacingly. Despite his dark hood, I could tell he was smiling revengeful the whole time. A dramatic pause followed, with which he apparently tried to scare me.

I narrowed my eyes to thin lines and had to try hard to keep myself from scratching his out.

"Can you tell me what you want from me, or are you going to keep talking shit?" I said rudely. This person will not have my respect.

"Watch your tongue, girl, or I will cut it out," he threatened. I never knew when to stop talking back, so I opened my mouth with the intention to say something. Otto let out a painful sound and I saw the man's hands changing their color as he tightened the grip around my friend's neck. This made me stop myself from speaking up. "Is something on your mind, dear?"

Every other word that has come out of this guy added to my horror. My lower lip was shaking, fear and anger mingling in my veins stretched like ropes. I realized that I couldn't let him see, I couldn't let him know how much he affected me because it would make him feel like he had power over me. And that was what his ego wanted; I could tell.

With feigned peace, I clenched my teeth and fists into small bumps. The torturous silence was eating my soul alive. I felt humiliated because I had to listen to the stranger and bite to my tongue. But to me Otto's life was more important than pride, so I just stood quietly, waiting for what will happen next. The man laughed grunty and said:

"You knew very well that the weakest link will go first. So why did you leave him alone?" All the blood froze in my veins as I looked at the frightened Otto. He looked horrific. As I looked him straight in the eye, for a moment, I wasn't sure if he was afraid of his prisoner or me. Why am I doing nothing? The longer I wait, the more trauma I will cause him.

I wish this was a movie. All I would have to do is look desperately, and in the most exciting moment – when everyone is about to lose their lives, an immortal hero would save us both. But this was a reality. Unless I decide to stand on my own two feet, no one will save our asses. Only ourselves.

I took advantage of the moment when the man was expecting an answer from me and did three things at once – lowered my head under the weapon, which I also pushed up with my hands and kicked the opponent to his crotch. Of course, I was trying to be very careful not to hurt Otto. I pressed the gun against the man's abdomen as Otto freed himself from the grip. He hid behind me, and I snatched the gun from the man's hand, leaving him disarmed and shocked by what had just happened.

"I bet your head would please Lucifer a lot more," I said, referring to his comment about the gift in the box.

Slowly opening the door, I stepped in. The man sitting in front of me could see neither me nor the bit of dim light that illuminated him. He couldn't do anything. Move, see, or talk. I took good care of all that.

He could only breathe, hear footsteps echoing in the empty room, and fear.

Fear me...

It was dark everywhere, only a single strip of light was penetrating through a small window bricked into the wall. As I walked over to my prisoner, I pulled down a piece of scarf that was tied to his eyes.

"Knock, knock," I said, waiting. A pair of coal-black eyes looked at me, curiously and boldly, at the same time. I really tried to believe that there was some fear hidden under the mask of this fearless hero. Even if just a small one – as small as a walnut, I was determined to do everything I could to grow it into excruciating terror. He should be afraid.

It wasn't until a while later that I realized that the guy couldn't speak because of the tape on his mouth. Without a pinch of compassion, I tore it down and a muffled scream echoed through the room.

"Knock, knock," I began again. The man kept looking at me like I was crazy but answered anyway.

"Who's there?"

Now, he didn't look menacing at all. Without a hood covering his face, he looked...human. Except for those eyes. They remained the same. Cold. And yet, they were forcing me to be a little kinder. Slow down the pace. Put away my darkest thoughts and ideas on how to take the soul from this man's body and at least try to talk normally. Like two ordinary people.

But we were not ordinary. The blood of the innocent on our hands united us.

I know what you're asking.

Has Ria O'Donnell killed anyone yet?

No, she didn't.

So how can I talk about blood on my hands?

Simply.

It's not just about who pulled the trigger or who cut their neck with a knife. Everyone who has seen it, every person who knew about it and was silent or helped to cover the tracks in the woods – they are all guilty and can be blamed.

I could be blamed.