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Phil is a sadist, and he likes to toy with people to get a rise out of them, as their fear fuels his inner psychopath. But Phil tires quickly, and like all psychopaths, he loves power and control. So by saying no, I’m taking that away from him, something which he will ensure I pay for.
And by pay, I mean he will go after everyone I love.
He won’t stop until every person I care for is dead. And he’ll make certain their final moments on this earth are beyond painful, so when that time comes, they’ll beg him to kill them.
“Okay,” I whisper, sickened by my decision. I look at Tristan, begging him to forgive me.
“Mia, no!” Tristan roars, his head shaking uncontrollably. “No! Kill me! Kill me! Let her go, please, let her go. Kill me, but let her go.”
“No,” I spit, my heart breaking at his chivalry.
“I have your word?” I say to Phil, my eyes narrowing.
“Cross my heart,” he replies, gesturing over his chest, and I scoff, as he doesn’t have one. “Not a hair on this pretty boy’s head will be harmed.”
Satisfied with his response, I whimper, “Okay…I’ll do it.”
“No!” Tristan cries, futilely pulling at his restraints.
Thomas finds watching Tristan fight against the ropes, which bind his wrists to the arms of the chair, simply hilarious, so I snarl, “Untie him. I’m not going anywhere with you until I know he’s safe.”
Thomas looks at Phil, like the dog he is, obviously asking his permission before proceeding.
“Fine.” He sighs, brushing a piece of fluff from his black suit jacket, not at all perplexed by the scene before him.
“Mia, no—don’t. Not for me. Please, don’t risk your life for me,” Tristan begs, fighting Thomas, moving from side to side as Thomas attempts to untie his hands.
“I have to. There’s no other choice. My life is worth sacrificing if it means you get to live. You deserve redemption, but I don’t. I never did,” I sadly confess, thinking back to all the horrible things I’ve done.
“No!” Tristan bellows, desperately trying to break free. “You’re a good person, Mia. Please don’t give up. I need you. We all need you!”
“Stay still!” Thomas roars, whipping him across the face with his gun.
“You said you wouldn’t hurt him!” I scream, my eyes focusing on the trickle of blood pouring from Tristan’s mouth.
“Oops.” Phil shrugs, unmoved by Thomas’s violence.
“I’m sorry, Tristan.” I sob into my palm. “Please forgive me.”
Both Phil and Thomas laugh at my helplessness while a tear trickles down Tristan’s bloodied cheek.
“This is suicide,” he cries, his voice cracking.
“It’s the only way,” I reply in a mere whisper, shaking my head.
Thomas bends in front of Tristan, pulling a knife from his boot to hopefully untie him. But when the door bursts open, startling the four of us, we all freeze to see who has barged in and, hopefully, saved the day.
“Mia, are you in here?” Cynthia asks but gasps when she witnesses the scene of pure bedlam before her.
Thomas slowly stands when he sees her, and his face softens. But just as quickly, it then contorts as if remembering a bitter memory, tainting any love he once had for his wife.
“Thomas?” she wheezes, her hand flying to her throat.
But suddenly, something strange happens.
I watch as Cynthia’s horrified gaze lands on Phil. She stares at him, never blinking, and I realize that behind her stare, I see…recognition and betrayal.
But that’s impossible, isn’t it?
