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“It is. Please. It’s all there,” I beg.
“With interest?” He sneers. When I hesitate he grins. “Thought so. We’ll be keeping a hold of your girl and your stepbrother until the matter is resolved.”
“Please! Are they both okay? Can I see them?”
He grins again. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He pulls out his phone and shows me a grainy image that appears to be CCTV footage, of two people in a cell of some sort. One is clearly Candy, huddled in a corner, wrapping her arms around herself. The other is a curled up lump in the centre of the floor. It might be my stepbrother but I can’t tell.
“You can’t do this!” I cry, tears of desperation forming in the corner of my eyes.
“We can and we will. And if you know what’s good for you, as soon as you’re healed, you’ll work on getting my bosses that interest,” he growls.
“Healed? Healed from what?”
“From this.” He pulls out a gun and fires before I can even register what’s happening. A pain – a burning agony unlike anything I’ve experienced before – tears through my chest.
I stumble backwards, clutching the wound, as the man turns and disappears back into the van. I collapse onto the ground, writhing in pain, my thoughts spinning out of control. The image of Candy huddled in the corner of a dark cell, alone and frightened, fills my mind. And my stepbrother, curled up in a ball on the floor. Are they even still alive?
As the pain begins to subside, and I begin to feel cold and numb, I realise that I need help. I need to get to a hospital, or I’m going to die. I manage to crawl to the side of the road, into the light of a street lamp, where I hope a passer by or car will see me and stop. I know it’s unlikely though. No-one in Sycamore ever sees anything.
CANDY
In the distance, there’s muffled footsteps. My heart pounds as the rhythmic clinking of metal draws nearer. A door creaks open, sending a sliver of light into the dungeon, and I squint against the sudden intrusion, trying to discern the figure that emerges from the darkness.
A masked face, cold and expressionless, gazes at me with an unsettling detachment. It’s nothing like the soft neon glow of Don’s mask. My breath catches in my throat as the stranger moves closer, their footsteps heavy and damning, as the flickering light reveals the contours of a hooded cloak that shrouds their form. Fear knots in my stomach, rendering me speechless, but I try to convince myself everything will be alright.
They’re covering their face. That means they don’t plan to kill me, right?
The masked figure looms over me, and the weight of their gaze penetrates me through the darkness. A chill runs down my spine as they reach for a set of keys, their metallic jingle cutting through the oppressive silence. With a deliberate slowness, they unlock the chains that bind my wrists, each clink echoing like a twisted melody.
As the chains fall away, I pull my wrists close, rubbing the sore, bruised skin. I meet the masked stranger’s gaze, seeking answers in the depths of their emotionless eyes. They remain silent, the mask concealing any hint of their intentions.
Without a word, the stranger gestures for me to stand. My limbs protest as I struggle to rise, my weakened body rebelling against the commands of my frayed nerves. The stranger watches, unmoving, as I wobble to my feet, my muscles protesting the sudden change.
It feels like I’ve been down here for days, but I don’t have a fucking clue. My body is stiff, sore, and cold.
At least I’m still in my dress from the club. My shoes have been taken. Or lost. I don’t care. I’m just glad that I’m not naked and that the aches in my limbs aren’t from something horrific.
Grabbing me roughly, the stranger leads me out of my prison and into the corridor. The dim light casts elongated shadows on the cold, stone walls. The air grows colder, and a draft whispers through the narrow corridor. I shiver, the reality of my captivity settling like a heavy stone in the pit of my stomach.
When we reach another door, the stranger pushes it open, revealing a staircase that ascends into an unknown abyss of darkness. A hesitant glance back at the dungeon makes me realise the gravity of my situation – escape is not an option.
Reluctantly, I follow the masked stranger up the stairs, each step resonating with the uncertainty of my fate. The journey feels endless, a voyage into the unknown, and I can’t shake the feeling that every step takes me further from the relative safety of the dungeon into something terrifying. Away from the life I was living and coming to feel comfortable in.
As we emerge into a new environment, my eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden intensity of light. Blinking away the disorientation, I find myself in a barren room with only a chair inthe centre. The masked stranger gestures to the seat, their silent command leaving no room for disobedience.
I lower myself into the chair, my senses on high alert. The room is sparse, with only a single, flickering bulb dangling from the ceiling. Shadows dance across the walls, creating an unsettling audience to watch my turmoil.
The stranger stands before me, their mask a wall that obscures any trace of humanity. Is that deliberate? A heavy silence stretches between us, broken only by the distant sounds of the outside world filtering through unseen cracks. Nothing is recognisable to me. We could be anywhere. And as I was clearly knocked out by some sort of drug – the only thing to explain the pounding headache and cottonmouth – I realise that ‘anywhere’ could literally be any part of the world. I don’t know how long I was out.
The air is charged with tension, anticipation mingling with dread.
Finally, the stranger steps forward and tosses something to me. I catch it on instinct. It’s a bottle of water, the seal unbroken. I know that doesn’t mean shit, but I’m so thirsty.
I crack the seal and drink until the vessel’s empty.
Then the stranger speaks, their voice distorted by the mask. “You’re here for a reason,” they say, each word measured and deliberate. Questions swarm in my mind, desperate for release, but I don’t dare voice them. “But whether you leave dead or alive, depends on them.”
DON
