Kisses From Death | Book 1

T H I R T E E N

T H I R T E E N
The Face of Death

EVERY SO OFTEN, there will be a yell that echoes hauntingly down the hallway. No matter if it was the voice of a woman or a man, a teenager or a fully grown adult, it would still send a cold shiver down from the back of my neck all the way to each end of my nerves. The putrid, stinging metallic scent of blood never left, staining each corridor after the last, and by now, the soles of our shoes were stained a brilliant red that could never be washed off.

Such a waste it was to throw away a newly bought pair of boots. Serves me right for even considering about wearing them to a party.

The gun, my last safety device, was held tightly in my hand, fingers intertwined around the trigger as if ready to shoot on command. All this time, Cassiel and I walked in silence. Though, his ever-looming presence had never left. I could feel him there, walking barely two feet away as if he was watching my back for me. It felt good to be able to count on someone even for the shortest of time.

I knew that the chances of him flipping on me and throwing me to the devil were high but there was not much in which I could do. I was fresh out of choices and the only thing in which I could possibly do was just to pray that I could trust Cassiel truly.

Needless to say, the journey was slow. Since we had left the room, it had been half an hour and yet, we were still roaming the wooden hallways with no way out. It had been a mistake to enter the corridors in the first place, knowing that they could only lead to dead-end corridors with traps that would seal our fate. Nevertheless, we ventured on without a map or a damn clue as of to where each turn would lead us, only praying to whichever gods that would accept our prayers that our every decision would be the right one.

Through this time, I couldn't help but wonder what if I had decided to not turn up for the party. Perhaps I would be in the comfort of my bed at this very moment, tucked safely away under the warm duvets with the television playing in the background. Or perhaps I would've been at a different party, watching the national countdown on someone else's television, with sane party goers and hyped music blasting in the background.

The possibilities were endless and yet, all this wondering would still not change my current predicament. That was because, in reality, no amount of money in the world could buy me a time machine to use right now to turn away from this very second.

The truth was that I was undoubtedly stuck here, condemning not just me but also my friends to a possible death and trapped with three untrustworthy men and four serial killers. And in a time like this, it was only ever getting louder that the truth could be more painful than a thousand bullets rained upon one's body.

"Stop that," Cassiel said, snapping me back to our current situation.

It seemed as though I was daydreaming a whole lot more after this happened. On a normal day, I might have found this new-found trait really comforting as daydreams often help me escape reality. But in spite of that, if I were to daydream at any given second in this current reality of mine, it might just be the last thing I will do.

"Stop what? What is it that I did again that could possibly irritate you?" Scowling, I didn't even bother to shoot him a look, but I had a feeling that he was rolling his deep evergreen, ever-changing eyes.

For a man with such a foul personality, I had to admit that Cassiel was a man with a beautiful set of features. He had a straight nose and flawless skin that seemed like polished marble. His hair was the color of the earth after winter is finally gone. It resembled the fallen leaves of autumn, those that cascaded to the ground along with the gentle soothing cool winds; it resembled the color of a glass of cold whiskey on a summer's night out with friends; the color of pine cones on a tree with lush vibrant green leaves that colored his eyes. When he moved, the strands of his hair reflected the light rays that hit, coloring certain strands into the dark golden amber of honey in a jar.