Chosen

???

Edited as of 9-2-16

???:

I wake up laying on my back. I have no recognition of the time, but somehow, I feel safe. How very wrong I am.

"What are you last words?" the voice booms.

What? Where am I now? I feel bindings on my arms and legs. . .again. I panic and start thrashing despite the pain in my side. My head is strapped down as well. I can't even move it one millimeter to the side. Right above me is a dentist light, except it seems like he has replaced the bulbs making it as bright as the sun. My eyes water and I close them to protect them.

"Don't struggle, just answer."

"Let me go, you sick bastard!" I scream, thrashing even more.

Stab.

I scream even louder. Screaming seems to help with the pain a bit, so I just let loose and scream, all the while thrashing against the straps that keep me prisoner. My throat hurts, but I keep screaming. When I was a little girl, we used to hold contests on who could scream the loudest with the most horror movie worthy pitch. I was the winner five times in a row, then I lost my voice and couldn't give my speech on global warming. But this time I have to wonder, how can there be any more pain?

"I expect more from you Alana, and here I thought a change in scenery would help you think, and screaming is not an answer."

I open my eyes only to see the sun, and I have to close them again. Damn these lights. I simply rely on my ears to know where this sicko is. I can hear his heavy footfalls as he walks around me, and there is a hum in the air, like I am sitting on one of those electric boxes.

"I never even got to ask my question," I weep stupidly, but I don't know what else to say. It hurts too much. I would say anything just so he wouldn't wound me again. Yet he doesn't want me to say just anything, he wanted something much harder to give. What did he want? Shakespeare worthy last words? Wild west last words? Maybe he wanted words in a whole different language, I knew some German. No matter what I would say he wouldn't let me go.

"Oh yes, I had forgotten about our little deal." He paces around the room like the creep that he is, "Since I have forgotten, you may ask three questions before I ask mine again."

I take a shaky breath. My head is pounding, and as soon as a coherent thought forms it swims away from me out of reach. I can feel my blood seeping out of my body, I am weak, my fingers and toes are numb. I am going to die, I really am going to die.

"Do I know you?" I ask knowing that if I asked for his name he wouldn't give it to me.

"Not by name, but we have met three separate times."

I swallow, confirming my suspicions: I knew this guy. He got close to me before he chose me. But I have no doubt that he is going to kill me, "How do I know you will let me go, even if you like my answer?"

"Well, you don't. I have never lied to you, that is all I can offer." He paces to my right, the side left untouched by the knife. Four stab wounds now, how many more could my body take?

"You should give me a knife because I don't like your answers."

"Ha! I knew you still had some spirit left in you after all!" he laughs. "Now, you only have one question left, ask carefully."

"What is the closest anyone has come to passing your-test-interview or whatever?"

"It was a boy, right from college. His last words were, 'you are not worthy to hear my last words'."

"Did you let him go? What happened to him?" I ask, my mouth has run away with me and I can't stop myself from wasting my questions. Such stupid questions! I blame the blood loss. Trying to think is like trying to swim in jello.

"Ahh. Well that is two questions you do not have yet."

I let out a cry of dismay; I know what he will say next.

"What are your last words?"

I take a deep breath, "There is nothing left to say."

There is a pause, silence. My captor must be at a loss for words. Oh, how I wish I could see him! Did I do well? Will he let me go free? Is there hope for me after all?

"We are getting closer." The blade cuts into my untouched side, deep. I let loose a string of profanities. I once read in a study that cursing can actually relive minor pain, but this was not minor it is major. So colossal is this pain that it is like boulders were caving through my body.

"Because you are doing better, I will answer both of your questions before in addition to a new one. The boy succeeded my test, the only one to do so. He had seven knife wounds. I think I might have even punctured one of his lungs, but I am no doctor. True to my word I set him free. I followed him for a ways because I would have to hide the body if he didn't make it. He made it to a road, but died there." I could actually hear some remorse in his voice. He sounds sad. But I find it hard to believe since he is a stone cold killer, killing nine . . .maybe I will be ten.

"What lead you to this, to killing people? Just to hear their last words? It's sad don't you think? All you really had to do was watch some sad movie with people dying in it. But no you decide this, killing innocent people? Why?" What will become of me? I feel faint. Am I losing consciousness? Am I dying yet? I only have five stab wounds, but I don't think I can make it to seven, or even six.

"I don't really know why I chose this path. Maybe it was when my wife died, she was in that hospital bed, looking at me, dying, and she said nothing to me. She just smiled and waved at me. She could have said anything, I love you, or I hate you, anything but such stupid, simple, silence. Maybe I am trying to fill that gap, find something that she would say." It is hard to catch on to what he is saying because it sounds distant, as if his words are being carried to me on the wind. I must be dying.

"I don't feel bad for you. It's hard for me to feel anything but hate towards you. And you should feel all of my pain and more!"

"I understand. You are only being fair after all." He paces. Each step echoes in my ears. My pain seems to drift away slightly, like a balloon, but I can easily pull that string back again. But why would I? I could just let it go, and drift away forever. . .

His voice cuts through this fog like an arrow through the air, "What are your last words, truly? I can see that you are close now: this might really be it for you. What are your last words?"

I ignore him and his stupid games, I just continue my little tirade. I can let that balloon drift away, but he interrupted me. I should share my regrets though, shouldn't I? Maybe I could actually make him feel guilty. Maybe I can change his life so he never kills again . . . ha I am so funny! Nothing I, or anyone could say would ever change this man. He has a taste for it now, he would never stop. I also found the irony. Even if I did say the right words and he let me go, and somehow I live, then my last words would not truly be my last. This is all just some big game, and even though I am following the rules, he could just kill me anyway.

"When most people die," I start, "at least they can see something they love, their families, the stars, the ceiling, but all I have is this light I can't bear to look at and you. I still don't know what you look like. Your wife was looking at you when she died, and at least you knew at some point that she loved you, for whatever stupid reason. But me? I have no family here, no stars, no ceiling, but I do have you, and you definitely are not something worth loving or looking at as I die. So go away and let me die alone because I think I can love myself so I am not truly alone." The speech takes everything out of me. Who knows how long I have been bleeding. I might as well have been here for an eternity. But I can feel that balloon in my hand- it is pulling to get away. I loosen my grip. . .

In the haze, as I let go, I hear him whisper silently, "You have done well, and I'm a man of my word."

y