A Cry for Help

Part Five

I gulp, hesitant, aware of the unspoken danger. I narrow my eyes at the brutish man before me. "What's going on?" Not only is Jeanie's wellbeing nagging me but also the apparent threat of my own.

"Some people need a lesson in compassion, and you're going to help a stranger realize that." Before I can ask another question, a small handgun appears from his jacket as he yanks it out like a skilled magician.

Within a split second, I'm staring down the barrel. The realization of my dire predicament turns the once peaceful isolation of the forest into something eerie.

I raise my hands in protest. How did I get myself into this? More importantly, how do I get myself out? "I've already learned my lesson in compassion. That's why I'm here. 'Hero,' remember?"

"Call it a sacrifice for the greater good." Beyond his manic grin his hand trembles. Is nerves taking over, making him fight to keep the gun steady? "Now hand over your wallet."

"No problem." I pull my wallet from my pant pocket and toss it to him. He nearly misses, but catches it with his free hand.

With the gun pointed to my face, he skillfully removes my driver's license and drops the wallet to the floor, ignoring the cash and credit cards. "Now use the phone I gave you to dial a random number starting with our area code, and when someone answers, say, 'I know you have no idea who I am, but I need to talk. I'm gonna kill myself.' Keep them on the line no matter what. See if they're as good at finding this place as you were."

My temples thump with the rapid beat of my heart and a bead of sweat drips down the curve of my ear.

He explores his pocket and lifts an ID card in his hand, a picture of a woman on the front. His laugh cuts through the secluded park as he shakes his head like a soaking wet dog. "Sorry but Jeanie won't save you. Not if she gives a damn about her and her family. See, I know where she lives and she knows what I'm capable of. You will too."

I gulp down another huge lump. "Listen—"

"Don't think about dialing the police or revealing my plan. You try to run or do anything to mess this up and you're dead. I promise you, all it takes to stop you is one bullet and one second." His words seep from his lips like a rehearsed poem, reminding me of the stereotyped bad guys in the movies.

My chest burns before I remind myself to breathe. "Wait—"

"Get someone to take your place and I'll let you go. But if you say anything I don't like, your body will be found floating in the river with a bullet in it."

Without blinking, I fixate on his smirk. With every twitch of his lips, a ball of anger grows within me. Am I really going to let him get away with traumatizing others for sick revenge? How far has his terror gone? If he's been doing this for a while—or managed to hurt or even kill someone—he would've been imprisoned by now. The town is too small for his merciless crimes, or even a murder, to go on unnoticed. In fact, his courage may have recently inflated, seeing how his plan worked on Jeanie and me so far. However, there is an end in sight for this sick game.

Coming to a realization, I sneer.

"You've never killed a person in your life." My voice is steady and calm, unlike his hands. "You've only fantasized about a sick revenge against people who never cared and never will. Believe me, taking a life is something that will haunt you for the rest of yours."

He glares. "Dial a number."

"You want to do something drastic to get people's attention?"

His smirk disappears and he cocks the gun. The familiar click echoes in my ear, reminding me of Jeanie's frightening ordeal and filling me with a sense of optimism that she got away.

"Dial. A. Number."

"Look at you. You're terrified." I stare into the dreary orbs of his eyes. "You're nothing but a criminal. Not the hero you think you are."

He clenches his teeth and places a finger on the trigger. "Dial."

The shards of glass and twisted metal pierce the flesh of my palm as I squeeze the broken pieces of my phone in my fist. "When you cry out that last time, the moment you actually need it, they will laugh and tell you to jump."

"Dial!" he growls, eyes wide and empty.

I palm the phone, press ten numbers on the keypad with my thumb, and lift it to my ear.

"Hello?" a voice answers.

Lessons come easy for some. Others have to learn the hard way. Still, others never learn at all. Pushing aside my selfish needs is a goal that is hard to come by. I realize this as I stare down the muzzle of the gun and speak into the phone. "I'm so sorry, and I love you both alwa—"

The End