SURVIVAL HORROR | PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER | KIDNAPPING | SUSPENSE | PARANOIA | TENSION

GUT FEELING

by: JARMAGIC

Have you ever wished for a redo? For a second chance?Promising to get it right this time? Did it come true, or were you left having to live with the repercussions?

We all make mistakes and have to live with the consequences, right? Sometimes they teach lessons or offer experience. But sometimes, mistakes can do the opposite. They can take from us. Our opportunities our confidence, our trust.

And sometimes, even just a simple mistake can be enough to take our lives.

Cluelessness isn't to blame. I knew the stories. I'd seen the reports, read the articles. I was aware this kind of evil existed. I just never thought it was this close.

I'd fooled myself into believing that "my world" was somehow separate from the one hosting these tragedies. Their victims, their criminals. They weren't real people, just characters in some fictional story.

Oh, how I wish that were true.

???

My night started like always: I finished my shift, grabbed my drawstring bag from the back counter, and headed for the exit. As usual, my coworkers offered me a ride home. As usual, I declined. The question used to bug me, but now it doesn't phase me. Like a story I've heard too many times.

Sometimes, I wonder if they even mean it anymore or if it's just become more of a habit. Kind of like saying, "How are you?" already expecting the response to be as hollow as the question.

It didn't matter. My apartment was only six blocks from here. You could almost see it from the parking lot, if not for the taller buildings between. I didn't mind the walk. In fact, I usually looked forward to it. It was my time to mentally separate work from home, to process the day, and clear my head before stepping inside.

Which was exactly what I was doing when a strange feeling took center-stage in my mind.

I had trouble placing it right away. I told myself it was probably because of the untraditional silence outside tonight. No typical bass bumping from the bar next door. No indistinct voices slurring drunken nothings into the night. Not even the hint of a breeze.

It wasn't terrifying? just, empty.

But that's how it starts, isn't it? With the little things. The clues you failed to discern as warning signs, or that gut-feeling you dismiss as paranoia. Like the man who lingered a little too long outside the shop, or the phony flyer that wasn't on anyone else's door, only mine.

It's all so obvious now, but in those moments, it all felt insignificant. Just life happening.

???

Growing up, my father had always told me to trust my instincts. He was right about that, but that part was easy; I trusted them more than I trusted myself. The problem with that was: I'd never been shown what to do with that trust. How to "pull the trigger," so to speak.

I remember he'd also said, on too many occasions, that life isn't fair. Right again. It wasn't fair.

This wasn't fair.

This would be my first encounter. I'd never been given the opportunity to learn through experience either, like I'm sure most people get to.

Lucky people?

???

I focused my attention on the rotation of my steps, to distract myself, to stay calm.

No need to spook over nothing.

Logic.

But deep down, I knew? I should've turned back. Should've taken the ride.

But, I didn't. I just kept walking. Even when the feeling of being watched arrived, I only quickened my pace.

Nothing bad could ever happen to me, right?

I was about halfway home when I saw him, the outline of a man in a hood leaned against a parking meter. One foot planted, the other crossed in front. He didn't move as I got closer, he just stared. No phone in his hands, no cigarette, no reason to be standing like he was.

I couldn't stop now. I didn't want to seem scared. I wasn't, really.

I felt waves of heat rise from beneath my shirt collar. Instincts screaming for me to turn around, go back, but I couldn't. My body betrayed me. My feet moved on their own, inching me closer, little by little.

When I was about 20 feet from him, he uncrossed his legs, and pushed himself off the meter. Cool and casual.

My heart dropped to my stomach and I sank my teeth into my tongue. I couldn't make out the details of his face yet. Every ounce of my being begged for him to just let me pass. I kept my eyes down, lowering my head.

Time slowed as I focused on my breathing. For a moment, it felt like the silence was made of glass; it shattered the instant he spoke. My bones, too, were made of glass, shattered glass, now coursing my veins, slicing me up from the inside.

I'll never forget his words, smooth and scripted.

"Could you help me with the time?"

I wanted to ignore him. I wanted to sprint away passed him. I wanted nothing more than to disappear, but my body reacted before I could. I felt my hand reaching into my back pocket, grabbing my phone. My legs quit moving and my feet rooted me to the spot.

He now stood within arms reach, looking intently at my face. I didn't look up right away, but I could sense his eyes all over me. My fingers shook uncontrollably as I pressed the power key. I swallowed hard and pushed out the words, "11:09"

I expected that to be it, the end of our interaction. I started to take a step forward just as he did, blocking the sidewalk with his body. I slowly raised my head, until my eyes met his. His hood was down now and I could clearly see his face.

His face was a contradiction. Plain, easy features, yet something about them didn't sit quite right. His skin looked too smooth, like dried wax, but uneven and lumpy, and pulled too tight over his bones.

And those eyes were the worst part. They were dull and lifeless, like they weren't seeing me at all, just looking through me.

He smiled. Small, but polite.

"Thanks," he said. "I thought it was later."

His voice was almost pleasant, sturdy and regulated, but there was something off in the way he spoke, like he was trying too hard to make it sound normal.

I forced a nod and stepped to the side, but he mirrored me. I felt like I was the new kid at school and I'd just had my first run-in with the school bully. I felt helpless, terrified yet somehow, doubtful. He spoke so friendly, said casual, harmless things. He gave me nothing to be sure of.

I couldn't speak. I just attempted to step around him, but he put his hand on my chest, stopping me again. He breathed a humorous laugh, subtly but knowing.

"Hey, don't rush off. You live around here?"

I knew I should've just ignored him. Should've walked right passed him, but his question was casual enough that my brain hesitated, not wanting to be rude, not wanting to provoke.

I shook my head. "Just passing through."

A lie.

His face scrunches in confusion, pinching his chin.

"Really? I feel like I've seen you before."

He said it slow and purposeful. Like he was already expecting that answer from me.

I took another step forward. He didn't stop me this time, he just follows along side me, like we'd been walking together the whole time.

I don't look at him, I just stuff my hands into my hoodie pockets, keeping my eyes down.

"Where you headed?"

I hesitated.

"Home." I heard myself say.

Stupid.

He let out a small chuckle. "Oh yeah? Long day?"

Every hair on my body stood on end. There was no reason for the question to feel wrong. People made small talk all the time, but this wasn't small talk. This was something more like how an adult might speak to a shy child in order to win their trust.

I didn't answer.

He didn't seem to care. In fact, he seemed amused by my reactions.

We kept walking. The sidewalk felt too narrow. His shoulder nearly brushed mine.

Then he broke the silence, "I get it," he continued, "It's nice to have a routine. Same streets, same people. Makes you feel safe."

I exhale.

He turned his head slightly, watching me now. Studying me.

"Like, take me, for example," he said. "I always take this walk around this time. Just to clear my head. You probably never noticed, huh?"

He didn't sound like he was lying, or like he was trying to intimidate me, just stating a fact. But that didn't make me feel any better. If he was telling the truth, then that meant he probably knew where I lived.

The thought of swiveling on my heel and sprinting back to work or to the police department crossed my mind, but what if he was innocent? What if I was overreacting? What if his approach was genuine? I'd look like a total coward, that's for sure.

He quit talking for a second. My nerves relaxed. Logic took over and my thoughts cleared. Then instincts quickly followed, kicking into high drive. That's when an idea came to me. I didn't spend much time thinking it through, I just glanced over.

His attention was fully set on something inside his hoodie pocket, facing away from me.

In an attempt to get a better view, I turned my head more until I could see a faint light so dim I almost thought I was hallucinating.

But I wasn't.

It was a phone. Which means he had no need to ask me for the time to begin with.

He whipped his head around and immediately, the light vanished. His focus remained locked on me. I tried to play it off, like I hadn't seen anything, but my face must have given me away. He leaned his head back, looking at me out of the side of his eyes, almost playfully. Then he smirked, struggling to hold back laughter.

"What?" he asked, still smiling, teeth clenched. "Loosen up, man," he demanded, less friendly this time. Then he nudged my shoulder.

I used this moment to try out my stupid idea. I pretended to lose balance, sidestepping and tripping myself on purpose. I let my phone slip from my hand in the hope that he would bend down to pick it up. If he did, I'd kick, grab my phone, and make a run for it. Stupid. But it was all I had.

We both froze, eyes locking together. I tried to speak, to say something, anything to cover my act, but he seemed to have already caught on to my scheme.

He remained calm, quietly observing my erratic movements, folding his arms knowingly as I picked up my phone, slipping it into my back pocket.

"Sorry," I heard myself say, followed by a pitiful, obviously fake laugh, choking on my words. "I just thought you would have? never mind."

"What? You thought I was going to pick it up?" he asked, sounding surprised with a hint of amusement.

I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it.

" - Why? What were you gonna do once my back was turned?" His voice boomed in the night, louder than he probably intended. His eyes burned into mine. His whole demeanor changed.

He was enraged.

"Real tough guy, aren't you?" he muttered, stepping toward me aggressively.

I flinched, instinctively raising my arms in defensive. Then he froze. His expression dropped. He looked past me. His entire body relaxing for a split second, almost as if he'd powered down.

Before I had time to process it, he snapped back to life, throwing his arms open and chuckling.

"I'm fucking with you, bro," he laughed, pulling me in for a hug as if we were best friends.

"Chill out." He mused. His eyes locked into mine, head nodding for us to keep walking. "You're starting to creep me out," he said through a laugh.

My apartment is just around the corner, down the alley.

�"All right, man," I begin, suprised at how normal my voice sounded, "Guess I'll be seeing you around?" My sorry attempt at shaking him off.

"You guess?" he shoots back.

Before I can respond, he grins. "You better act like you know it. You ain't seen the last of me."

I don't acknowledge him. I just let out a short laugh, shaking my head. "Take it easy," I say, stepping quickly into the alley.

I keep my head down, picking up my pace. Adrenaline spikes through me as I fight the urge to glance back. I hold my breath so I can hear better, listening for any sound beyond my own footsteps.

About halfway through, I finally give in and glance back. I choke on a startled shout. He's right there, just a few steps behind me, matching my pace perfectly.

Anger flares in me when I catch his smile, like this is some kind of joke.

I stop abruptly, whirling around. "Come on, man," I roar, "leave me alone!"

He lifts his hands in mock surrender, taking a step back. His grin falters. He looks unsure. Then, he lets out a low grunt but doesn't say a word. I throw up a hand in disbelief, spin on my heel, and keep moving.

Just as I do, I hear an engine start up. The sound is so loud in the alley.

"Delivery vans don't run through here at this hour." I thought to myself.

My instincts take over before my brain can catch up. My legs move faster, until I'm sprinting at full speed. Tires squeal and the vehicle gets louder.

I throw one last glance back. He's closing in fast.

I push harder, my lungs burning, legs aching, propelling myself toward the alley's exit. Just as I near the corner, headlights blast on, blinding me. A van blocks my path, angled diagonally with its sliding door wide open. I try to stop, but my foot slips on the loose asphalt. I skid forward, arms flailing, straight to the van.

Two men step out, one from each side. I whip around, but it's too late. The freak is right there.

I'm trapped. Defenseless. Drained.

I try to speak. To beg. But nothing comes out. My eyes dart, desperately searching for a way out.

"Don't move," one of the men orders.

Fear locks my body in place. When I finally manage a word, all I can say is, "Please," Over and over, so faint I can barely hear myself say it.

"Get in the van."

I don't move. I can't.

"Now!" His voice explodes through the alley.

My body obeys before my mind can resist. I stumble backward toward the open door.

"Quiet," His tone sharpens. "Lay face down and don't move."

I comply.

My mind fights. My mind loses.

Before I can complete his instructions, I'm thrown against the floor, my face smacking against the metal interior. I'm winded, breathing sporadically. The smell of sweat and filth settle in my nose.

I feel pathetic. Weak. My body obeyed them like I was nothing. Like I was already theirs.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I want to believe that I would've fought harder, that I would've gone down swinging, but the truth is: the second he raised his voice, I broke.

My mind is someplace else, no matter how hard I try, what I can't seem to swallow is what he did: him - the guy who walked with me, talked with me. The one who cracked jokes and acted like this city belonged to both of us.

He set me up.

I try to tell myself it doesn't matter, that a stranger's loyalty was never mine to lose, but the betrayal strikes a chord deep inside me.

A boot sinks into my side. Hard.

"Comfortable down there?" one of them jokes.

I don't answer.

The weight of a knee presses between my shoulder blades, crushing me into the floor. Something cold and sharp, metal, taps against the back of my skull.

"You're gonna behave, aren't you?" His voice is casual, almost bored.

I force myself to nod.

The knee lifts, but before I can breathe, my arms are yanked back. Something rough wraps around my wrists. Tape. The kind that tears skin when you pull it off.

"Tighter," another voice adds, "Make sure he feels it."

The tape constricts. My fingers tingle as it digs into my skin, cutting the circulation off almost instantly.

The van bumps unevenly, making it impossible to find any comfort. I can't relax, not when I can hear them talking. They speak in low murmurs and half-formed sentences,

"?shaking like a damn leaf?"

"?bet he'll cry if you?"

All broken up with spells of sadistic laughter. I try to listen to the sounds outside, but there's nothing. No sirens. No voices. No chance of someone noticing.

They grab my ankles. More tape. My legs are forced together. My movement stolen completely. Then, he grips the back of my neck, digging into my skin, pulling my head back. His voice shoots directly into my ear.

"You ever wonder what it feels like?"

I don't move. I don't answer. �

"?to disappear?"

His words rake through my body. His chuckle ricochets against my skin.

"Relax," he murmurs. "You'll find out soon enough."

The van jerks left. My shoulder slams into the metal wall. I barely react. I hardly feel the pain. My mind is circling the same thought over and over.

"How many people have sat where I'm sitting now?"

"You hear how quiet he is?" One of them laughs, almost mocking. "That ain't normal."

"Nah," another agrees. "Most of 'em are a mess by now. Cryin', beggin', pissin' themselves. You ever had one go mute like this?"

There's a pause. Then a snort. "Once. But she wasn't quiet by the time we were done."

They laugh again. I feel sick to my stomach.

"I dunno," the first guy muses. "Kinda makes it too easy. Like, c'mon, kid? where's the fight? The struggle? The screaming?"

Silence.

He continues, lower this time, thoughtful, almost. "Maybe I like how easy he is."

The van slows, then speeds up again. My wrists throb against the tape.

"Hmph," the first guy grunts. "Y'know what? New game. We see who gets him to scream the loudest."

"Now that's an idea."

I keep my composure, refusing to give them a single reaction.

But they aren't done.

"You ever think about all the people that go missing?" someone asks casually, as if talking about the weather. "I mean, really think about it."

No one answers.

"F.B.I says over six hundred thousand disappear every year in the U.S. alone." He chuckles. "And guess how many end up being us?"

The other chimes in, speaking under his breath. "More than you'd think."

I just stare at the floor.

"You ever hear about that college girl a few months back? The one they swore was 'trafficked' or whatever?"

Another joins in. "Pfft. Yeah. 'Trafficked' my ass."

"That was us."

Their words are invasive, embedding under my skin.

"And that construction worker who never made it home? Oh, and the hiker they found pieces of? Us again."

The van hits a pothole, tossing me. I land on my wrists. The pain fades into the background.

"And guess what?" The guy leans in. I can feel his breath against the back of my neck. "Tonight? You're just the first of many. We're not even close to done."

The van takes a sharp turn, and I slide against the floor, barely resisting. My mind is too busy processing everything they've said:

Six hundred thousand a year. More than I'd think. The first of many.

The guy closest to me taps his fingernails against the seat, "So," he says, dragging the word out. "Who wants first shot at our little mute?"

One of them steps forward, pressing their weight against my leg. A boot nudges my ribs. Not hard, just testing.

"Mm. I dunno," another guy says. "Something about this one's? off."

"Oh, don't start that weird shit again."

"I'm serious." He pauses. "You feel it, right?"

He takes some time to consider. "Now that you mention it? yeah."

My skin prickles up. I don't move.

"This one's too still."

"Yeah. It ain't normal."

The guy at my side leans in, hot against my ear. "You're thinking too much," he murmurs. "I can feel it."

Another guy snickers. "You know what I think? He's trying to act tough. Thinks if he stays quiet, we'll get bored."

The one beside me clicks his tongue. "Oh, we never get bored."

A sudden yank. My wrists burn as someone pulls me upright. I grunt, my first real sound in minutes.

"There we go," the guy says. "Didn't like that, did ya?"

"Still no scream, though."

"Nope. Guess we'll just have to get creative."

They laugh again, but this time, there's an edge of eagerness to it.

The guy holding me tugs a handful of my hair to get closer. I can feel his lips just behind my ear.

"You ever wonder," he whispers, "what happened to the ones who did scream?"

The van comes to a stop. He grabs the back of my shirt, pulling me into a headlock.

"Right on time," one of them says.

They slide the door open, a band of voices call out. There's a brief moment of silence, and then a scream.

He releases me with a shove, "guess you're about to find out."

The rest of the guys around me perk up to attention like wolves picking up the scent of blood.

"Damn, she's got some lungs on her."

"She's perfect."

The guy closest to the door claps his hands. "Let's move!"

They move out as one. I crank my neck just enough to see out of the door. Across the lot, I see her. Small and defenseless. She's backed up against the alley wall. The same guy who led me here is standing right in front of her. His arms are raised high above her. He steps closer.

"Shhh, shhh, come on now," he insists, "No need to make a scene."

She keeps screaming.

His face drops and he shuts down again. Then he glances over his shoulder at something. I hear it, too, but I can't see it. The sound of a vehicle approaching.

The guy straightens up. "Shit! Someone's - "

"GRAB HER!" One of the guys command.

The group erupts into action.

The girl tries to make a run for it, but they're faster. One of them lunges at her, grabbing her wrist. She jerks, kicks, and lets out a scream so loud it made my ears ring.

The vehicle is coming up fast. Headlights wash over the alley.

"GO, GO, GO!"

They don't have time to be careful now. Someone puts a hand over her mouth. Another snatches her legs. Her screaming continues. She fights against their grip, using any limb she can manage to get free to push against the van walls, against the brutality of what's happening.

Then, in one violent motion, she's thrown inside. Her phone slips from her body landing beside my foot. No one saw, except for me. Not even the girl.

The doors slam shut.

The van accelerates, fast, concealing her cries into the night. The girl hasn't given up. Not yet. She continues to scream, despite having her mouth buried under the hands of one of the kidnappers.

In one swift swing, I knock her phone with the side of my shoe, sliding it just close enough for me to make out the details on her screen. It's a GPS signal, actively sharing her location with someone.

"Shut her up!" someone shouts.

The guy holding her adjusts his grip, squeezing tighter. She breathes through her nose, jerking in panic, but still, her fight doesn't stop.

I glance up. No one is paying any mind to me.

Her phone screen times out, dimming the light. I use this moment to scoot a few inches until I am able to conceal the phone beneath my body.

"What the hell was that car?" another voice cracks.

"Where'd it even come from?"

"Did you know them?" The guy in the passenger seat looks back, locking eyes with the girl.

She shakes her head violently.

"Bullshit!" he growls.

"I don't know them!" she cries out, "I swear!"

A deadly silence takes over the van. The guys don't press her for more, but their faces are full of suspicion. �

"Listen," the driver calls out. "Nobody saw shit. We're good. We're fine."

The others pause. They want to believe him. They need to believe him.

"Yeah," someone finally speaks. "Yeah, okay. Just some random - "

" - Oh, no..."

The words are a death sentence.

The guy riding shotgun spins around at nightmare speed, "What?"

"It's back."

I don't even want to look, but I have to. I move just enough to see through the back window.

Headlights. Close. Following us.

"Drive faster!" one of them hisses.

"I'm already pushing eighty!"

"LOSE THEM!"

The van swerves hard, slamming me against the wall. The girl yelps.

When the van straightens, I can see that the headlights haven't faltered. They just keep coming.

The girl looks over with a visible fear that makes me weak. She takes in the tape constraints I'm in. Her eyes meet mine, peeling wide with an understanding when she notices her phone.

One of the guys see this and slams my head against the ground. My muscles relax out of my control. The metal of the vans interior and the pressure around my wrists and ankles hold my attention, keeping me from nodding off.

The tape binds me so tight.

I try to focus, try to get a grip on what's happening, but every time I reach for clarity, a wave of dizziness strikes twice as hard.

I don't see the girl for a moment, I don't see her phone either. All I can see are boots shuffling around in front of me. Then, her body crashes into me. She's heavy, limp, crushing my lungs. I can hear her breathing in constricted, pained spurts.

My vision fades in and out, along with my hearing.

She looks at me and pauses. I've never seen someone look so scared.

My head aches. A sharp pain shoots in my temples. "Don't look at me like that," I manage to push out.

She ignores me. Her eyes move to the tape. She cringes. I don't blame her.

I try to pull away from fear that they'll see her trying to help, not knowing how they might react, but I can't find the strength.

A high-pitched ringing sounds inside my ears, getting louder until I can't hear anything else. My visions tunnels; stars forming in my peripherals. I almost think I hear a siren in the distance, but I don't trust it.

The van bumps over something in the road, intensifying the confusion. I can't tell if I'm dreaming or losing consciousness. All I know is: I've lost feeling of my body.

In a flash, I see the girl's head ducked under her arms. One of the guys repeatedly swings an extension chord, striking her with enough force to draw blood.

Anger infects me, coursing through my veins, like I've never felt before. It awakens a primal instinct deep inside me. An undeniable urge to protect her. And with it, a sudden form of clarity. My vision returns, then my hearing, almost. Not perfect, but something. I try to sit up, but before I can, my head is slammed into the floor again.

The sounds of the sirens are louder now? I think. I'm almost certain they're real this time. They're close. I can almost feel them rushing toward us. I feel a spark of hope wash over me, then everything goes dark?

???

When I open my eyes, I see her. Her eyes meeting mine again. My mouth is dry, my throat like sandpaper. My vision fading in and out. I don't know how much time I have left. I feel myself slipping into a place of no return, but then a stinging flash of pain hits me in my face, yanking me back to reality. The girl continues slapping my face as I blink in my surroundings.

Up front the kidnappers argued with each other, discussing their plans for me and the girl.

Before I could fully process it, the van door flew open. Two of the kidnappers leaped out, evading detection.

"Was this it?" I thought, "is this where it all ended?"

Sirens blared. Blue lights bled in through the windows. Police cars pulling in from every direction, forcing the van to a halt. The kidnappers cursed under their breath, fighting to regain control, but we were boxed in.

The driver goes berserk, shouting unintelligibly, rattling himself. He repositions the van, then steps on the gas. The other one turned to face me. His eyes burned with a hatred I couldn't name.

"This is just the beginning," he threatened, spit flying from his mouth, "You think you're safe, but you aren't."

I had no doubt that he meant exactly what he'd said.

The driver doesn't slow, slamming head first into two police cruisers, sending them flying into the alley walls.

The driver sings a victory cry, glancing over his shoulder with a crazed face full of pride, but the police were relentless. They surrounded us, pinning us in with ease, blocking every avenue of escape.

They were closing in all around us. One of the cruisers, now just inches behind us on the left side of the van, made its move. The officer accelerated, ramming into the rear panel. The van slid sideways, pinning me against the wall. The driver cursed, but his grip weakened, and the wheel spun from his hands. The van veered, slamming into the curb.

The engine seized to a halt.

We were done. There was nowhere else for them to run.

The kidnappers were scrambling like cornered animals. The officers swarmed in like a tide, cuffs snapping into place.

Flashes of lights and hurried movement blurred around my field of sight. I couldn't take my eyes off of the van. The officers quickly pulled me away, checking me over with swift, practiced hands.

They didn't ask questions, not yet.

I wanted to speak, but my tongue felt paralyzeed.

I caught a glimps of the two guys that were now in custody just as they were being taken away. One of them notices me.

"You feel lucky to be alive, kid?" he began, laughing histerically. "You're gonna wish you were dead. Our game ain't over."

I should have felt relieved now that the danger had passed. But I didn't. I couldn't. I believed every word of he'd what he said, only furthur skewing my sense of safety.

My freedom wasn't mine. My life wasn't spared. Their game wasn't over?

I wondered if the two who'd hopped out had truly evaded law enforcement or if the officers knew. And what about the guy who lured me in the beginning? Had they caught him? Did they even know to look for him?

Then the questions came. All the right questions. I knew all the answers, but instead of telling, I just stared blankly into space, unable to give any reaction.

They eventually gave up, logged the encounter with the information they had, and ensured me that they'd be "keeping a close watch."

They "guaranteed" my safety, even though they knew, just as much as I did, that they couldn't keep promises like that.

For hours, I remained, unmoving, replaying every event that had taken place tonight. The officers now speaking in proud, almost conceited tones, shouting, "all clear!" after each alley they checked. They continued scouting until no Fog-of-War remained on their map.

I wanted to trust that they had it under control, but my fear wouldn't fade. If anything, it only became more profound.

When their duties were nearing an end, one of the officers approached me. He was tall, his face was made of iron, but something in his eyes didn't match.

"You're safe now," he said, nervously.

I knew right away that he didn't believe that.

"We're going to take you to a safe place, alright? We've got everything covered here."

My legs felt like a foreign language as he guided me away. I turned to the streets behind us, leaning my weight into the officer. My legs gave out even after I saw the road was empty.

Then I heard tires skid? too close.

The officer fought to hold me up. My chin resting on his shoulder. He was tense at first, but embraced my weight like a hug, once he understood how shaken I was. He was looking over my shoulder and I was looking over his.

Tears blurred my vision.

That's when I saw a figure folding in an out of the darkness. A figure I couldn't be sure of at first. I grunted, kicking my feet in an effort to ground them. The officer's grip only tightened on my arm, pulling me closer. I gave everything I had left in me trying to scream, to shout, to alert the office.

The figure moved closer, revealing the unmistakable sheen of a knife reflecting at its side.

It was in that moment, I finally knew the truth:

It wasn't over.

The figure manisfested into the man I was sworn safety from, his steps were impossibly light. They made no sound.

I threw all of my body weight into the officer, trying to get him to turn around, but he only further supported me. He reached for his radio, telling me again, "You're safe now, I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you."

A second shadow appeared. Then a third.

The officer's hand moved to his holster, but I knew it wasn't because he knew. Even if he did, there were too many of them.

The last thing I remember seeing was the santanic smirk on the attacker's face just as he sank the knife into the officers shoulder.

I was immediately dropped to the ground, forced to listen to his pained screams. The wet, sludgey sound of the knife repeatedly being plunged into his body.

I was helpless, just dead-weight, now being lifted away, smuggled into the night. Their hands tight over my mouth, plugging my nose for long spans of time. I couldn't be sure when, if, I was breathing or not.

And then everything stopped. No more sound. No more feeling. Everything went completely dark?

???

I have no memory beyond that point.

Even now, clarity has not come. I'm in a state that feels like a dream, but I can't trust it. I don't truly know if I'm still alive or if this is death. I fight to understand where I am. I try to piece it together with anything real, but all I have are my own thoughts. And even those are questionable.

My sight is gone. Absolute pure blackness in every direction. Not a spec of light anywhere.

I lie against a cold stone slab, naked, wet and freezing cold, unable to detect the location or position of my body? my arms, my legs, my hands...

I hear sounds, but they are distorted, almost like I'm underwater, but I can surely breathe. The air is bitter and icy with a stench I cannot name. It's putrid and constant, never losing it's intensity.

I am so hungry, and have been for so long. Logic tells me that starvation should've taken me by now. I have no memory of chewing,�no taste to be sure of. Sometimes, in the blurred line between sleep and wake? or maybe, between life and death? an odd sensation of grit finds its way between my teeth. It's flavorless and rubbery. Always accompanied by a wrenching, stabbing pain in my stomach, gurgling and pummeling my insides, burning like a tolerable lava.

My mind swings back to the last day I could see. The last things I surely heard. To those words that never left me. They keep coming back.

"You're gonna wish you were dead. Our game ain't over.

Whenever I wake, if that's what this is, they're the first thing I think about. In a cold sweat, those words don't rest. They circle around my head, in and out of my thoughts. Sometimes they loosely glide in a figure eight, like floss beween teeth, in through one ear and out the other. Repeating the process over and over.

Other times it's as if the words are strung tight on a chord, like a harp, ready to be strummed. They invade the air, taking form in a sadistic stream of musical notes, playing on a thread to no end.

But then?

SNAP !

The thread breaks. The words scatters. And for the first time since I'd heard them, I hear nothing at all.