Sixty-Nine (Danny); Ritual.
"What the fuck was that, ritual blood-letting or what?" I mutter to no one in particular as the door slams shut after our 'captor'. I don't recognise him, and I don't think Heather does either. Poor bitch looks terrified, though I think she's trying not to. Her eyes are wide, her lips are set, as if they'll wobble if she doesn't, and she's clutching at the spot on her arm that the twat cut.
"I thought... Shit... I - I thought we were going to - to die..." she stutters. I was right; she is terrified. I haven't heard her stutter like that for a hell of a long time! I shift uncomfortably.
"Yeah, well, we haven't." The unspoken word 'yet' hangs in the air between us. Great move Elfman. I congratulate myself. In the dim light of this pokey little room we're in, Heather's face is pale, and I guess I shouldn't have leapt at her like I did earlier. I didn't realise it was her, for a start! Suppose I should start thinking before I act... Hah, likely!
I sigh irritably, shutting my eyes to block out Heather's tears. Unfortunately I can't block out the sounds of her crying. Stifled, choked little sobs I know I'm not supposed to hear. I partly want to yell at her to shut the fuck up...but I can't quite bring myself to say it. I feel damn ill now. Guess the headache's kicking in; I always get sick with headaches. And the fact I've a baseball-sized lump on the back of my skull isn't contributing to making me feel better. Nor is the gash on my temple.
I'm getting freaked out here in spite of myself... What the fuck is going to happen to us? Why the fuck are we here in the first place?! Dammit, this isn't helping my headache any... There has to be a reason... Ransom is the only thing I can come up with, but ransom from who exactly? No one gives a shit about me, unless the kidnapper is of the mistaken opinion that Fox will cough up to get their snarky old composer back.
Hardly likely. And I suppose Heather is here because she's Tim's wife. God, I still hate saying that! I mean, I've nothing against the girl, just - her being Tim's wife still feels wrong somehow... She's too - young? Do I mean too young? Fuck it, I don't know... She's too fucked-up -You're a fine one to talk, Elfman!- and she seems so unstable... Pots and kettles, Elfman, pots and kettles...
The door opens, and so do my eyes -I'd hardly realised I'd closed them...- and I see Heather edging backwards out of the corner of my eyes. I look over to her; her eyes are so damn wide it unnerves even me!
"Aw, now don't look so scared," the man walks in, shutting the door behind him. Him saying that might actually work. If he got rid of the ten inch blade. And puts on a mask.
I suddenly get a sick feeling in the base of my stomach as I figure out this guy isn't afraid to let us see who he is... Which must mean... Fuck! I watch him as he advances towards Heather, who looks like she's trying to be brave, but it isn't working. Those blue eyes are so wide they could now pass as sizeable dinner plates. Shit... I look back at the still-advancing man and shiver as imperceptably as I can manage. If he isn't afraid to show us his face, who he is, that must mean we're... That we're...
That we're not going to be left alive to tell anyone.
Chapter 68 ; Contents ; Chapter 70
