Introduction
"Rings and bullets, black and gold. You're ash and embers with a flaming soul."
The cold steel pressed against my skin sent shivers down my spine as I fought to stay conscious. The recent memory clung to my mind, refusing to let go. "You don't believe me, do you?" he had said, his deep brown eyes bloodshot and desperate. Now, as I sat in the damp, dark basement, his words haunted me.
I turned my head over my shoulder and saw a guy leaning against the wall on his phone. At any moment, I could be killed, and there was nowhere to go. My breath hitched as I tried to quiet my hyperventilating. The musty air choked me, and my hands were clammy.
"We've been here for a while. Where are you—" the man's words were cut off by another man's voice over the phone. I couldn't make out any words, nor could I focus on my own thoughts. I had to get out of here.
With a sudden burst of adrenaline, I launched out of the chair and threw my body up the stairs. The man shouted after me as I smashed open the door, looking around frantically for an exit. Blank, dirty walls and shadows surrounded me. I ran towards a door with boards across the window. Arms grabbed me, lifting me off the floor. I kicked and screamed frantically, feeling my foot connect with a wall, pushing us backwards. He slipped on the hardwood floor, his grip loosening.
I squirmed out of his grasp and saw a guy whip out a knife at me. "Darren, put the blade down!" a man hissed through his teeth. The guy with the knife, shaking and bug-eyed, hesitated. His cheeks were hollow, his body sticks and bones, and he wore a stained white tank.
"Put it down!" another man raised his voice. In the chaos, I realised I had run straight into the blade. We stumbled backwards, and he smashed his head on the wooden stairs. I crawled over his lifeless body, up the stairs, and across a kitchen, my heart pounding in my chest. I gaped at the next flight of stairs. The hallway was pitch black.
Everyone was silent, maybe processing the situation. I ran from room to room, trying to dislodge boards over the windows, but nothing was giving. I bashed my fists on the thick wood and dug my nails under the nails frantically.
Everyone was silent because they knew I wasn’t going anywhere up here. What was I thinking?
I lodged myself between a toilet and a wall in utter debility. I then asked myself what I had my hand wrapped around. The palm of my hand was slipping off a metal handle wedged in my torso. Thick black warm liquid ran down my fingers. I felt puzzled and slid the metal out of my side. My eyes went wide as I lost grip from shaking.
"Don't-" I saw a shadow looming in the doorway with a hand out. Heavy boots made their way upstairs. He tried to turn the bathroom light on. It wasn't working.
"I found her!" he alerted them. He put a hand out, cueing me to stay down. He tore off his shirt and shoved it into my side. I couldn't understand why I wasn't feeling screaming pain. It was merely a lazy, spreading dull ache.
The front door opened and slammed. "What the HELL is going on?!" A voice split the air in two.
"Oh man..." The guy kneeling beside me wouldn't stop staring at the knife on the floor. I wasn't sure if he was saying that about the knife or the boss.
A shadow loomed in the doorway, and he attempted to flick on the light. The man in the doorway turned on his phone flashlight.
"Jesus-" his face seemed to drain at the sight. I guessed it was their boss, the way everyone stayed behind him. The guys all seemed like they were waiting on him to lose his mind, and nothing was said for a few stretched seconds.
The boss knelt down and tried to examine the damage. He flung his hand into the air. "I can't see shit."
He quickly forced me to my feet, pressing my shoulder against the wall to steady me, "You're going to hate me."
"I already hate you."
He threw his arms under me and lifted me up. I felt pressure in my ears and my eyes pulsing.
Everything was happening rapidly. The violent car ride to a place I'd never been before. The unknown destination had anxiety choking me.
The fireworks inside my chest were the worst part, from the erratic terror. I didn't feel like I had a heart anymore. It was like a fist trying to break down a wall from inside me.
As I sat pressing my back into the seat of the car, the manager pressed a towel into my side. I couldn't see what he looked like. I only noticed his deep and angry voice and cold, glistening eyes.
He had big hands, one holding the shirt on my side and the other clutching my wrist.
"EASY, Jess!" he shouted at the driver as we tried not to be thrown around.
I can remember his breaths, raspy and fast. His muscles were rigid and tense. I knew he wanted to say something, the way his eyes searched me. No one had the energy or a clear head to even try.
We came to an abrupt stop and his shoulder pounded against the back of the driver's seat. He threw open the door and he lodged his arms under my armpits and pulled me out of the vehicle.
Splitting pain made me black out for seconds since I don’t remember being thrown over his shoulder like a ragdoll. His footsteps ricocheted beneath me. I could see his feet running, yet in slow motion. The world was a glitchy blur, and a deafening buzz sounded when he shoved open a large metal door.
