Emperor of Mayhem

03

// T H E S E R I A L K I L L E R \\

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I had imagined myself waking up in a dungeon, or a basement that reeked of cement and water with neither a window nor source of light and air. But as luck may have it, perhaps, I kind of woke up feeling like I was floating in the arms of something fluffy and warm, then adjusting my sight to reality I saw that I was on a king sized bed. Unlike all the kidnapping scenarios I had seen in movies, neither my hands nor feet were restricted from movement, meaning I could easily make a dash for the door and escape for my dear life.

But I couldn't.

He was right here with me-the serial killer.

The grey, intricately designed couch he was occupying was just a couple of steps from where I was on the comfortable bed. And beside the couch was a square table, on the table was a black, shiny gun. His left hand was just inches away from the gun, which meant any little stunt and he would blow up my head all over this precious bed.

I squirmed in my position again when I felt his eyes on me for a second too long. Though I particularly found it hard to hold his gaze. The dimness of the room made his silver eyes more sharp and more piercing, as they waited for me to make the mistake of trying to escape probably. Only if he knew I was smarter than that. I was definitely going to escape from here, of course, but not when the gun was so close to him. I wasn't stupid enough to just wave my precious life in front of him like that.

"Azania," just like he did a few seconds after he noticed I was awake earlier, he echoed my name like a siren's call, though dark but my stomach still fluttered at the sexiness in it.

"A-z-a-n-i-a," there was a pause after every alphabet, "Azania."

"Azania," I dragged in harsh air through my teeth, so close to blowing up but I hoped I didn't. That darn gun sitting beside him right now could silence me for good.

"I'm curious," his eyes were now on the lighter in his right hand, watching with interest when he clicked it and the yellow flame began to dance to an unknown beat at the tip, "What does it mean?"

Sighing tiredly, my head fell against the headboard, "God is listening," I replied in a bored tone, "It means God is listening."

"God is listening," he mused in his deep, sensual voice, his back reclining further into the couch, legs lifted only to cross themselves on the round coffee table placed before him, "God is listening." He repeated, twirling the light around his long and slender fingers, and I was just wondering how a man's nails were more manicured than mine.

"Azania," this time, I just had to groan, my face falling into my palms.

And when I looked back up, his eyes were on me, glistening with dark humor, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Do you believe in God?" he asked, his eyes flickering with curiosity. They almost looked genuine.

"I don't know," I shrugged, but not a dismissive one, "But I think I have a good heart. And at the end that's what matters, right? A good heart."

"Well, guess what?" another click echoed, and yet again, the yellow flame came to twirl at the tip of the lighter, burning for a second or more before dying out again. I could only wonder why he kept doing that. What was the idea behind it?