His Many Masks *The Boy fan fiction*

Chapter Three

"He who does not trust enough, will not be trusted"
                                                                          - unknown

I opened my eyes and immediately felt sharp pains vibrating though my head. Instantly remembering how I blacked out, I sat up. I was on a sofa in what I guessed to be a library in the house based on the vast amount of books lining the shelves that were set against each wall of the room. My breath hitched as I locked eyes with the man.

He sat in an odd position in a chair across from the sofa I was laying on. His right hand was folded neatly in his lap, while his left hand was wrapped tightly around the arm of his chair. I could see the whites of his knuckles, as they clung to the arm.

The man didn't move, in fact, he had no reaction to me waking up. Completely conscious at this point, I began to internally panic. The body. For a split second, I feared the worst, that shortly I would be the next victim.

The longer I sat there, the more I wanted to run. Run away and never come back. The man didn't move or speak. I kept my eyes on him waiting for him to leave so that I could sneak out the back door. He didn't move. As if he could read my thoughts, he sat still, eyes locked on mine for what seemed like hours. I slowly pressed my back as far as it could go into the back of the sofa. Tiny beads of sweat began to form on my scalp. My heart was pounding in my chest as we sat in front of one another.

Nothing about him was threatening except for his mask. His clothes were shabby and ill fitted on his lanky body. His hair was wildly curly and tufts if it framed his mask. His eyes were dark, but there was something about them that wasn't evil. The thing about him that terrified me the most was the fact that he was so unpredictable.

After seeing that he wasn't moving any time soon, I stole a quick glance at the door.

Luckily for me it was open. If I could just find the strength to run to the front door, I could outrun him in the woods. He still had a stab wound he couldn't outrun me.

With a sudden burst of confidence and adrenaline, I jumped up from the sofa, and began to run towards the door. The man must've been ready for my attempt at escape, because he was already behind chasing wildly after me.

I ran down the hallway, and to the foyer. I could smell the pine and grass through the door. I was so close to the outside I could taste it. I pushed my legs to move faster, the man's footsteps began to sound farther and farther away.

Once I got to the door, I flung it open and lunged outside.

I lost my footing however, and tumbled down the stone steps. During my fall I felt a pop and a crack, and then came a searing pain I had never felt before once I landed on the ground.

Against my own restraint, I let a cry escape my lips while I clutched my ankle. It was easily fractured. The pain was nothing like a sprain or something minor.

Hearing the front door open, I scrambled around in the dirt trying to ignore the pain in my ankle to stand up and continue running. The man cocked his head to the side once he saw my tear stained face dusty from the dirt I was laying in.

He slowly stepped closer. I began to scream, I screamed so loud I felt as if the vessels in my neck would burst. I knew I was stupid for doing so, I remembered the walk here. There wasn't another house for miles.

My eyes were stinging and my mouth was dry. I tried to crawl away from the man. He toyed with me, slowly following me as I crawled away from him. It made me angry that he found my state humorous enough to tease me.

He eventually grabbed ahold of me and gently picked me up. I tried to push off of him, I kicked my legs violently trying my best to ignore the almost unbearable pain coming from my ankle.