Mr. Petrov was still whimpering in pain from the leg wound, lying on the floor like a broken, bloody dummy. I knelt by him, totally-not-on-purpose letting my full weight rest on his leg. He screamed in pure agony. Good. I took out a knife, stabbed the floor just a couple inches before his eyes. “So, where exactly were we, Yegor?”
His sobs made his mumble even harder to understand.“Dammit, no, no, what the hell do you want from me...”
I waited a few seconds, seemingly thinking about where we had left our conversation. “Oh, yeah. I was asking you if I should keep my word.” Again I pointed at the bright red letters on the wall with my head.
“Look, I don't have anything else...” blablabla. You've tried that about a dozen times already, Mr. Idiot. Should be obvious enough by now it won't work, shouldn't it?
I took the signed agreement out of my pocket. Showed it to Mr. Petrov, so he knew what it was. His eyes were fixed on it as I slowly tore it in two. “Look, Yegor. If you think I'm after a few pennies, you're wrong.”
His eyes were wide open in shock. He obviously wanted to reply, but words wouldn't come out of his mouth.
I couldn't help grinning like an idiot. I easily dug out the knife from the floor. “This is what I actually want from you, Yegor.” I said, as I ripped his shirt and carved the mark on his chest. Again deep enough so it would leave a nasty scar.
He started whimpering like an idiot, while blood oozed from the wound. I couldn't help staring. There is something... fascinating about slowly trailing blood drips. The way they taint everything. Or maybe I'm just weird, I don't know.
After a couple minutes of staring, I pet his chest. Cool blood. I spread it all over him as I broke the silence. “You know what it means?”
He stared at me, confused. There was only one kind of people who did that sort of things, right? … Wrong. He started mumbling again. “No, no no no no, please... just tell me...”
“I'm trying to tell you, you blockhead. Would be easier if you shut up and listened, though.”
Silence. Finally.
“It means you better do whatever I ask. Yegor, I know you have quite some influence in certain circles. I'm here after that. …Well, among other things.”
“You... you could have just asked...”
“And an idiot like you would have said no, or, best case, put too high of a price. For just one time. No, Yegor. I want to be able to actually trust you, even if it's only because you're too scared of what happens if you betray me.”
He closed his eyes, not fully realizing what it all meant. “Okay... okay, I'll do what you ask...”
“Whatever. The word is whatever. Anyway. I think nobody has yet bothered to tell you who I am, did they?”
He opened his eyes, preparing himself for the hit. Yet he did not expect... this. He nearly had a heart attack when I flashed him my ID card.
“Now, don't be stupid and think the authorities can help you, because, well, both officially and unofficially, most of them work for me. And don't be so stupid as to think the families – the wolves – can help you, because if they could do anything, I'd be dead by now. Understood?”
He simply nodded.
“Okay. So, you just said, you'll do whatever I ask you to, didn't you?” I paused, long enough for him to nod again. “Good. Now, I know you're not in top shape, but I'm sure you can at least turn around and sit.”
“Please, I'm...”
“That looks worse than it is. Come on. Sit. Looking at them. There's nothing to see on this side.” I got to his side and helped him sit up. Then I knelt just a foot behind him. I was beaming, the test has always been my favorite part. “Now, now. I hope you can understand, I need to see if I can actually trust you.”
“What... what do you want from me.”
I reached into my jacket's inner pocket. There it was. My trusty old gun. I teased him, let him feel the warm barrel against his temple. “Exactly what are you willing to do, Yegor?”
“Please, just tell me what you want already.” His voice broke.
“Nuh-huh. Told you. Answer is Whatever you ask.” I handed him the gun. “Take this.”
He grabbed it, but his shaky hands could barely hold it.
I got even closer, hugging him from the back. Grabbing his arm and steadying his hands so the gun pointed straight at its target. His son. “Kill him.”
2018-03-16
Hell (21) - Risks
They were late. Of course they were. There was no way to do that distance in an hour, and I had instructed the cop to make sure they weren't in time.
It took them nearly two hours to finally arrive. Mr. Petrov was seemingly calm. Except it was obviously just a lie. He was both boiling with anger and terrified at the same time, just below the surface. I quickly noticed the bulge in his jacket. Idiot, you're too thick to conceal a gun in there.
He gave a quick glance at his wife and son, and after seeing they were still not dead, glared at me. His contained breath betrayed his apparent manners.
I decided to keep the show going. A playful, friendly smile was the perfect contrast to my words. “You're late, Yegor. Now I'm at a loss as to what to do. You see, I tend to think I'm a man of my word. And you're late.” I pointed at the wall with my chin. The big red letters announcing a probable fate. They're dead.
He took a deep breath, trying hard not to explode. “There is no way in hell to do that ride in an hour.”
I grinned harder. “Well, I would have understood, you know, five, ten minutes of courtesy. But you're an hour late.”
He looked down. Words failed him. I noticed his fists, knuckles turning white by the second. He was trying hard to maintain his self-control.
Just a little bit further. “So, should I keep my word, Yegor?”
He exploded. His yells echoed through the whole house. “You bastard. You say you're a man of your word, but I signed that... thing, and you kept playing your sick game. I'll make you pay for this. I'll have your goddamned head.”
Again I let him finish his rant before calmly replying to it, my usual happy grin accentuating my words. “Well... I thought I had already told you where your son is.” I pointed at him with my chin.
“Two damned days later, and making sure you ruined their lives in the process.” He finally drew out the gun. “I'll return you the favor, you bastard.” He took a step backwards.
I took a breath. Careful now. I got this. “You want to be careful with that, Yegor. Someone could get hurt.” Come on, you idiot. I locked my eyes onto his. That was the trick. The eyes always betray your intentions long before you get to act on them. That's the secret to dodging a bullet.
And I saw it. The determination. The decision that it was now or never. Idiot. I jumped onto him a split second before he pulled the trigger. My hand grabbing his at that very instant, pushing it upwards so the gun would fire at the ceiling. Bang. We both fell to the floor, rolling in a mess of tangled arms and legs. I saw the gun flying away. Good. One less thing to think about.
I was trying to fully immobilize him when I heard a soft click behind me. “Freeze.” The idiot of a cop. Well, at least this time he wasn't yelling.
I sighed. “Kenya. Don't do this.”
“Hands where I can see them. This is it. You've done enough harm.”
Slowly I raised my hands. “For the last time, son. Don't do something you'll regret. You know better than to think it can work. If it did, someone would have stopped me ages ago. Or do you think there's no one who wants me dead?” Come on, boy. You have to get closer to handcuff me, and that's providing you didn't forget to bring the handcuffs. Come on. Try and see what happens.
I heard him swallow. Then the handcuffs flew past me, just out of reach. Seriously? Can't this kid do anything right at the first try? His voice was quite calm, nonetheless. “Put them on.”
I couldn't help laughing. “They're out of reach. Also, let me ask you a question. Why should I?”
“I'll shoot. You're resisting arrest.”
Idiot. “... I though you would have figured it doesn't work that way, son. After all I've told you.”
“You're a scoundrel, and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've done.”
“You know, I hate when kids act like pretentious jerks. You have nothing. You can't win this war. Now, for the last time. Sheathe that gun. Don't make me tell you why, son. Don't ruin the surprise yet.”
I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. But he was too much of a fool to make the right choice. “Put your hands in the back of your head. Don't make me shoot.”
I sighed. “Then make sure you don't miss, 'cause you'll hit Mr. Petrov.” I slowly put my hands where he said. This was easier the closer he was.
I looked at the handcuffs. The idiot totally forgot about me as he bent down to take them. That might have worked if he had been about six feet further away. But his gun was a mere two feet from me. I lunged to him, grabbed his hand and tore the gun from it long before he realized what had happened.
He fell to his knees and instinctively raised his arms as he saw the barrel just inches from his face.
I grinned. “Son. What the hell did I tell you? Huh? About pointing a gun at me?”
“Shit, no, no, I'm sorry, I... Please...”
“Shut up. And get on your feet, you fool.” I got on my feet too as Mr. Petrov was trying to make sense of the situation and maybe try some other stupidity. I kicked him down again before turning back to Kenya. “Okay. Where the hell were we.”
“Please. I... it won't happen again.”
I cornered him against the wall. “Hands up, son.” He raised them as I put the gun against his temple. “Now, son.” I heard Mr. Petrov stir up. Another idiot. That one at least didn't knew who I am. I turned around and shot him in the leg. That would give him something else to worry about. I ignored his screams as I turned back to meet Kenya's eyes. “Seems like one can't have a normal conversation in here.” Once more I brushed his temple with the barrel.
His eyes filled with tears. I guess that was the first time he saw someone getting shot.
“Anyway, son. I remember telling you you'd regret it if you pointed a gun at me again, didn't I?”
He started stuttering, mumbling nonsense. “Y-yes, bu-but, oh, shit, no, no, p-please, please...”
I got closer to him, my voice an eerie whisper barely audible even to him. “So, give me a reason to not act on it.”
His voice failed him as he started sobbing uncontrollably. Seriously, why does it always have to be the most incompetent cop the one that ends up poking his nose around? Every single time. I swear. It's like the rest knew better.
I kept whispering, not wanting the Petrovs to hear me. “Kenya. Have you forgotten the message I left for you in the car?” A pic of his sister and him. Taken from her house.
He froze, his eyes open wide, his mind racing, unable to fully process the words.
“Now, calm down. I'll give you one last chance.” I softly petted his chest, casually tracing the wound from the previous day. “But if you fail me again, I swear all of this is nothing compared to what I'll do.” I signaled at the Petrovs with my head before handing him the gun, hoping he wouldn't be that kind of idiot.
I took a step back. The young man's legs failed him and he curled up into a ball. The gun escaped his hands as if it was burning-hot. Well. One less thing to worry about. I turned around to focus on the real target: Mr. Petrov.
It took them nearly two hours to finally arrive. Mr. Petrov was seemingly calm. Except it was obviously just a lie. He was both boiling with anger and terrified at the same time, just below the surface. I quickly noticed the bulge in his jacket. Idiot, you're too thick to conceal a gun in there.
He gave a quick glance at his wife and son, and after seeing they were still not dead, glared at me. His contained breath betrayed his apparent manners.
I decided to keep the show going. A playful, friendly smile was the perfect contrast to my words. “You're late, Yegor. Now I'm at a loss as to what to do. You see, I tend to think I'm a man of my word. And you're late.” I pointed at the wall with my chin. The big red letters announcing a probable fate. They're dead.
He took a deep breath, trying hard not to explode. “There is no way in hell to do that ride in an hour.”
I grinned harder. “Well, I would have understood, you know, five, ten minutes of courtesy. But you're an hour late.”
He looked down. Words failed him. I noticed his fists, knuckles turning white by the second. He was trying hard to maintain his self-control.
Just a little bit further. “So, should I keep my word, Yegor?”
He exploded. His yells echoed through the whole house. “You bastard. You say you're a man of your word, but I signed that... thing, and you kept playing your sick game. I'll make you pay for this. I'll have your goddamned head.”
Again I let him finish his rant before calmly replying to it, my usual happy grin accentuating my words. “Well... I thought I had already told you where your son is.” I pointed at him with my chin.
“Two damned days later, and making sure you ruined their lives in the process.” He finally drew out the gun. “I'll return you the favor, you bastard.” He took a step backwards.
I took a breath. Careful now. I got this. “You want to be careful with that, Yegor. Someone could get hurt.” Come on, you idiot. I locked my eyes onto his. That was the trick. The eyes always betray your intentions long before you get to act on them. That's the secret to dodging a bullet.
And I saw it. The determination. The decision that it was now or never. Idiot. I jumped onto him a split second before he pulled the trigger. My hand grabbing his at that very instant, pushing it upwards so the gun would fire at the ceiling. Bang. We both fell to the floor, rolling in a mess of tangled arms and legs. I saw the gun flying away. Good. One less thing to think about.
I was trying to fully immobilize him when I heard a soft click behind me. “Freeze.” The idiot of a cop. Well, at least this time he wasn't yelling.
I sighed. “Kenya. Don't do this.”
“Hands where I can see them. This is it. You've done enough harm.”
Slowly I raised my hands. “For the last time, son. Don't do something you'll regret. You know better than to think it can work. If it did, someone would have stopped me ages ago. Or do you think there's no one who wants me dead?” Come on, boy. You have to get closer to handcuff me, and that's providing you didn't forget to bring the handcuffs. Come on. Try and see what happens.
I heard him swallow. Then the handcuffs flew past me, just out of reach. Seriously? Can't this kid do anything right at the first try? His voice was quite calm, nonetheless. “Put them on.”
I couldn't help laughing. “They're out of reach. Also, let me ask you a question. Why should I?”
“I'll shoot. You're resisting arrest.”
Idiot. “... I though you would have figured it doesn't work that way, son. After all I've told you.”
“You're a scoundrel, and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've done.”
“You know, I hate when kids act like pretentious jerks. You have nothing. You can't win this war. Now, for the last time. Sheathe that gun. Don't make me tell you why, son. Don't ruin the surprise yet.”
I could almost hear the gears turning in his head. But he was too much of a fool to make the right choice. “Put your hands in the back of your head. Don't make me shoot.”
I sighed. “Then make sure you don't miss, 'cause you'll hit Mr. Petrov.” I slowly put my hands where he said. This was easier the closer he was.
I looked at the handcuffs. The idiot totally forgot about me as he bent down to take them. That might have worked if he had been about six feet further away. But his gun was a mere two feet from me. I lunged to him, grabbed his hand and tore the gun from it long before he realized what had happened.
He fell to his knees and instinctively raised his arms as he saw the barrel just inches from his face.
I grinned. “Son. What the hell did I tell you? Huh? About pointing a gun at me?”
“Shit, no, no, I'm sorry, I... Please...”
“Shut up. And get on your feet, you fool.” I got on my feet too as Mr. Petrov was trying to make sense of the situation and maybe try some other stupidity. I kicked him down again before turning back to Kenya. “Okay. Where the hell were we.”
“Please. I... it won't happen again.”
I cornered him against the wall. “Hands up, son.” He raised them as I put the gun against his temple. “Now, son.” I heard Mr. Petrov stir up. Another idiot. That one at least didn't knew who I am. I turned around and shot him in the leg. That would give him something else to worry about. I ignored his screams as I turned back to meet Kenya's eyes. “Seems like one can't have a normal conversation in here.” Once more I brushed his temple with the barrel.
His eyes filled with tears. I guess that was the first time he saw someone getting shot.
“Anyway, son. I remember telling you you'd regret it if you pointed a gun at me again, didn't I?”
He started stuttering, mumbling nonsense. “Y-yes, bu-but, oh, shit, no, no, p-please, please...”
I got closer to him, my voice an eerie whisper barely audible even to him. “So, give me a reason to not act on it.”
His voice failed him as he started sobbing uncontrollably. Seriously, why does it always have to be the most incompetent cop the one that ends up poking his nose around? Every single time. I swear. It's like the rest knew better.
I kept whispering, not wanting the Petrovs to hear me. “Kenya. Have you forgotten the message I left for you in the car?” A pic of his sister and him. Taken from her house.
He froze, his eyes open wide, his mind racing, unable to fully process the words.
“Now, calm down. I'll give you one last chance.” I softly petted his chest, casually tracing the wound from the previous day. “But if you fail me again, I swear all of this is nothing compared to what I'll do.” I signaled at the Petrovs with my head before handing him the gun, hoping he wouldn't be that kind of idiot.
I took a step back. The young man's legs failed him and he curled up into a ball. The gun escaped his hands as if it was burning-hot. Well. One less thing to worry about. I turned around to focus on the real target: Mr. Petrov.
Hell (20) - Breaking Point
Mr. Petrov was a mumbling mess. Nobody knows what was inside his mind, 'cause it seemed lost to madness.
Kenya, who seemingly had become a sort of protector for him, was pacing around. Anxious. Andrei had been crystal clear. An hour. Problem was, the car ride was somewhat longer than that. They'd have to speed. And hope for the best. Having a police car meant nothing if he didn't have an official order to rush, and he was pretty sure the man's threats didn't count.
It also did not help that Mr. Petrov was curled into a ball, sobbing and mumbling nonsense, and wouldn't listen to reason. Or to anything, for that matter.
The young man froze as his own earpiece beeped softly. Shit, no. “Hey Kenya. Still remember our deal?” Pause. Was he waiting for an answer? Really? “Make sure you don't get in time. The latter the better.” Beep.
Kenya did not know how to react. It was obvious they wouldn't make it in time. So at least he'd be... following his orders. But... he did not want to think about what that meant. Still, he had not say not to come, so he still had to bring Mr. Petrov back from the realms of madness. He sighed. “Hey. Mr. Petrov. We're already late. Do you even hear me?” Sigh. “No. I guess you don't. Shit. You didn't even heard the last part, did you?”
He started pacing around. Glancing again and again at Mr. Petrov, who was still a broken mess. Shit. Andrei's words kept echoing inside his head. His burning chest painfully accentuating them. He realized this couldn't end well, and that legally, he was an accomplice. Not that it mattered, but he could never live with that.
Finally, Mr. Petrov's eyes shifted into focus. Realizing where he was. He stared at Kenya for a second, before trying in vain to speak. It took him about three attempts until proper, intelligible words came out. “What time is it? How... late are we?”
Kenya sighed. “Even if we go at full speed, we're already late. And that's assuming there are no speed traps. If they stop us... who knows how long will it take.”
“Why didn't you...” Mr. Petrov tried to ask.
The young man exploded. “Look, I've tried to bring you back from your mind trip for at least, what, ten minutes? Don't tell me why didn't I shit.”
Mr. Petrov sighed, getting to his feet. “Okay. Alright. We better hurry.”
He ran to his car, completely forgetting he was an old man who hadn't done proper exercise in the last 30 years. When he got there, he was out of breath, too weary to even drive, half of the muscles in his body aching from the run. He handed the car keys to Kenya.
Kenya, who seemingly had become a sort of protector for him, was pacing around. Anxious. Andrei had been crystal clear. An hour. Problem was, the car ride was somewhat longer than that. They'd have to speed. And hope for the best. Having a police car meant nothing if he didn't have an official order to rush, and he was pretty sure the man's threats didn't count.
It also did not help that Mr. Petrov was curled into a ball, sobbing and mumbling nonsense, and wouldn't listen to reason. Or to anything, for that matter.
The young man froze as his own earpiece beeped softly. Shit, no. “Hey Kenya. Still remember our deal?” Pause. Was he waiting for an answer? Really? “Make sure you don't get in time. The latter the better.” Beep.
Kenya did not know how to react. It was obvious they wouldn't make it in time. So at least he'd be... following his orders. But... he did not want to think about what that meant. Still, he had not say not to come, so he still had to bring Mr. Petrov back from the realms of madness. He sighed. “Hey. Mr. Petrov. We're already late. Do you even hear me?” Sigh. “No. I guess you don't. Shit. You didn't even heard the last part, did you?”
He started pacing around. Glancing again and again at Mr. Petrov, who was still a broken mess. Shit. Andrei's words kept echoing inside his head. His burning chest painfully accentuating them. He realized this couldn't end well, and that legally, he was an accomplice. Not that it mattered, but he could never live with that.
Finally, Mr. Petrov's eyes shifted into focus. Realizing where he was. He stared at Kenya for a second, before trying in vain to speak. It took him about three attempts until proper, intelligible words came out. “What time is it? How... late are we?”
Kenya sighed. “Even if we go at full speed, we're already late. And that's assuming there are no speed traps. If they stop us... who knows how long will it take.”
“Why didn't you...” Mr. Petrov tried to ask.
The young man exploded. “Look, I've tried to bring you back from your mind trip for at least, what, ten minutes? Don't tell me why didn't I shit.”
Mr. Petrov sighed, getting to his feet. “Okay. Alright. We better hurry.”
He ran to his car, completely forgetting he was an old man who hadn't done proper exercise in the last 30 years. When he got there, he was out of breath, too weary to even drive, half of the muscles in his body aching from the run. He handed the car keys to Kenya.
Hell (19) - Nightmare
The show wasn't over yet – it had just started. I signed at Mr. Petrov's son to get in front of the cam. He too was sobbing, also deeply shocked about what he had just seen. A screen is never the same as seeing it happen a mere ten feet in front of you. Nor is it the same after you know firsthand what it feels like.
His rich-kid manners had vanished. He wasn't willing to risk another painful demonstration of how he couldn't do shit about all this.
Out of view, I ordered him. “On your knees, boy.”
He knelt before the camera, terrified both of what would happen if he didn't, and of what would happen if he did.
“Anything you want to tell daddy, boy? He's watching.” I laughed.
The young man closed his eyes. I had given him a rough script, but I wanted him to use his own words, make it sound true.
“Father. Please. Help us. You... you've seen what he does. Please. He said he'll... he'll kill us if you don't agree to his deal. Father, I know you care about us. Please. Please, don't let him...” He broke in tears, not able to say another word.
My earpiece beeped once more. “You bastard, I already signed that... thing. I told you, I have nothing else to offer. What the hell do you want from me?” Mr. Petrov. Desperately trying to be brave. Idiot.
I stepped into view. Mr. Petrov kept ranting as I cut his son's hands free from the binds.
“I don't think he has really seen what I do yet, boy.”
The young man fell silent, probably thinking on what the hell what could that mean. Trying to figure out what could be worse than what I had already done.
“Take off your clothes.”
He tried. But his hand wasn't helping, especially with the tight buttons. His stumps were still aching, and I saw some fresh blood in one of them, probably from tearing a scab. After a while, he finally managed to get the shirt off. I realized it would take him forever to take off everything else, so I helped him – I quickly cut through it all, leaving him fully naked.
The poor idiot tried to cover himself, but I stopped him. “No, no. Hands up. Now, you know what's this?” I showed him a bottle of cheap vodka.
“I... I don't...”
“Don't worry, I'm not that sick to make you drink this crap.” Well, I may have tried if it was actual vodka, heh. “Still, I'd close your eyes and mouth, if I were you.”
He started babbling as I unscrewed the bottle and poured some of the liquid over him. He was too scared to realize that something was off, that it didn't really smell of alcohol. Though nobody really thinks cheap vodka smells of alcohol, I guess. He started sobbing as I grabbed the lighter and again flicked it alight. “Please...”
I smiled at him as I took the lighter to his chest. The flame took hold immediately, and the liquid exploded in a burst of fire.
A few seconds later, it was over. I did a quick scan of him. Some blisters were starting to form in his legs, and overall he was pretty red. But fine. You see, that's one of my favorite tricks. Swap the cheap vodka in the bottle with acetone. And as long as you don't pour too much, so it burns fast enough, it's perfectly safe. Cold flames. Heh.
He still had his eyes shut. I grabbed his chin and made him look up – into my eyes. “Open your eyes, boy.”
He looked at me as if he had just awoken from his worst nightmare, just to realize it had all been real. He was trying to say something, but words failed him.
“It's okay, boy. I don't want you dead, you know. Your dad would never agree to any kind of deal, don't you think?”
My earpiece beeped again. “What the hell do you want from me, you bastard.”
“Funny, Yegor. You haven't had the guts to say anything until it's been obvious he was safe.”
Mr. Petrov doubled his cursing efforts at my words, but I ignored him. I focused back on his son.
“Give me your hand, boy.”
He was sobbing yet again, terrified of what would happen next, but complied.
I firmly grabbed it by the wrist. Then drew a knife and sliced his forearm open, right above the wrist. Just skin deep – enough to draw a safe amount of blood. People tend to overestimate how much does a wound bleed. Couple that with the fact that you can lose about a quart of blood and still be perfectly fine, and it makes up for some pretty bloody and shocking play.
“How did that feel, boy? … Want to repeat?”
He started mumbling. “No, fuck, please, please, stop it...”
I took the knife to his chin and again made him look at me. “You really think I care about your opinion, boy?” I laughed. “But, it's okay, I'll give you a chance. Do as I say, and this will be over.”
“What... what do you want from me...”
I put the knife in his hand, closed his fingers –what was left of them, anyway– around the handle. I then released his wrist.
He almost dropped the knife, but ultimately managed to get a somewhat good grip on it, considering he was already missing three fingertips.
I circled him and crouched behind him to talk into his ear. “Now, first, I'll tell you what happens if you don't do what I say.” I whispered. My own earpiece was enough for Mr. Petrov to hear me despite the low voice. “I'll do it myself, and I'll make sure to do it slowly so it hurts like hell. Understand?”
The young man nodded.
“Okay. I want you to cut yourself. Slice the other wrist open.”
The knife dropped to the tile floor with a soft clank. He started sobbing and mumbling nonsense.
I took the knife, letting most of my weigh rest on him for a second. “Look, I'll tell you what's going to happen. You will do it. Maybe not this time. Maybe you want me to show you how bad it can hurt when done properly. But sooner or later, you'll decide you've had enough. Realize that there's no way around it. And by then, I'll make sure it's worse. I haven't made up my mind yet, but I can ask you to cut deeper. Or even slower. Or... maybe more than once. You want that?”
Silence, only broken by his barely audible sobbing.
“Or you can skip that part. All it takes is a quick slice.” I handed him the knife.
He ignored me and kept mumbling, so again I grabbed his hand – this time from further up the forearm – and let the knife rest right on top of his wrist. “Just don't forget, you could have avoided this.” I said as the knife started slicing into his flesh.
He started whimpering pathetically almost immediately.
I let him feel the knife slicing into his wrist for a bit longer. A cut like that won't draw that much blood, anyway. Then I leaned over him yet again. “So, have you changed your mind yet? … This is your last chance before it gets worse, boy.” I handed him the knife.
He hesitated a bit before taking it. Then it almost slipped from his bloody hand again.
“Careful, or you'll get hurt.” I teased him. “Now, cut your other wrist.”
Sobbing and whimpering, he took the knife to his forearm, probably too scared to move further down. I corrected him, gently took his hand and placed the knife right over the wrist. “Cut it open.”
It took him a split second. He had overestimated the force needed to get through skin and flesh, and so he cut almost to the bone. I grabbed his hand, and quickly grabbed the shirt he had taken off before. It was bleeding too much to go looking for something else. I took my time to make sure it stopped.
Both him and Mr. Petrov were dead silent as I finally let go of the bloody mess of his right hand. It still trickled a bit, but that wasn't a concern. It would stop on it's own soon enough. I quickly checked his pulse. Somewhat fast but well defined. Nothing to worry about. Yet.
Then I grabbed his left hand again. Got it right in front of the camera. “I want you to see this too, Yegor.” I took the knife again, and with a flick, I hacked off what was left of his pinkie.
The young man's screams flooded everything. I stood still, grinning. Poor boy. Too bad this was about the only way to get at his father. Mr. Petrov cursed to himself, finally convinced that I wouldn't stop, as I placed the knife against the last joint of his ring finger. And with another quick movement, I hacked off what was left of it.
Blood was gushing fast from what was left of his hand. And his pulse had been already somewhat fast last time I checked. I took the lighter once more. It was much faster than pressure. And it meant a better show too, so, win-win.
About a minute later, the two stumps – if you could call them that – were fully cauterized. The stench of charred flesh inundated everything. I held my breath. No matter how many times you've smelled it, it's never pleasant.
Again I checked his pulse. Definitely faster than before, and somewhat weaker. Okay, that was it for the day, I wasn't going to risk a shock. I looked at the cam. “Yegor. I'm sure you know where I am. You have an hour to get here. Or else.” I pointed with my thumb at the red letters behind me.
His rich-kid manners had vanished. He wasn't willing to risk another painful demonstration of how he couldn't do shit about all this.
Out of view, I ordered him. “On your knees, boy.”
He knelt before the camera, terrified both of what would happen if he didn't, and of what would happen if he did.
“Anything you want to tell daddy, boy? He's watching.” I laughed.
The young man closed his eyes. I had given him a rough script, but I wanted him to use his own words, make it sound true.
“Father. Please. Help us. You... you've seen what he does. Please. He said he'll... he'll kill us if you don't agree to his deal. Father, I know you care about us. Please. Please, don't let him...” He broke in tears, not able to say another word.
My earpiece beeped once more. “You bastard, I already signed that... thing. I told you, I have nothing else to offer. What the hell do you want from me?” Mr. Petrov. Desperately trying to be brave. Idiot.
I stepped into view. Mr. Petrov kept ranting as I cut his son's hands free from the binds.
“I don't think he has really seen what I do yet, boy.”
The young man fell silent, probably thinking on what the hell what could that mean. Trying to figure out what could be worse than what I had already done.
“Take off your clothes.”
He tried. But his hand wasn't helping, especially with the tight buttons. His stumps were still aching, and I saw some fresh blood in one of them, probably from tearing a scab. After a while, he finally managed to get the shirt off. I realized it would take him forever to take off everything else, so I helped him – I quickly cut through it all, leaving him fully naked.
The poor idiot tried to cover himself, but I stopped him. “No, no. Hands up. Now, you know what's this?” I showed him a bottle of cheap vodka.
“I... I don't...”
“Don't worry, I'm not that sick to make you drink this crap.” Well, I may have tried if it was actual vodka, heh. “Still, I'd close your eyes and mouth, if I were you.”
He started babbling as I unscrewed the bottle and poured some of the liquid over him. He was too scared to realize that something was off, that it didn't really smell of alcohol. Though nobody really thinks cheap vodka smells of alcohol, I guess. He started sobbing as I grabbed the lighter and again flicked it alight. “Please...”
I smiled at him as I took the lighter to his chest. The flame took hold immediately, and the liquid exploded in a burst of fire.
A few seconds later, it was over. I did a quick scan of him. Some blisters were starting to form in his legs, and overall he was pretty red. But fine. You see, that's one of my favorite tricks. Swap the cheap vodka in the bottle with acetone. And as long as you don't pour too much, so it burns fast enough, it's perfectly safe. Cold flames. Heh.
He still had his eyes shut. I grabbed his chin and made him look up – into my eyes. “Open your eyes, boy.”
He looked at me as if he had just awoken from his worst nightmare, just to realize it had all been real. He was trying to say something, but words failed him.
“It's okay, boy. I don't want you dead, you know. Your dad would never agree to any kind of deal, don't you think?”
My earpiece beeped again. “What the hell do you want from me, you bastard.”
“Funny, Yegor. You haven't had the guts to say anything until it's been obvious he was safe.”
Mr. Petrov doubled his cursing efforts at my words, but I ignored him. I focused back on his son.
“Give me your hand, boy.”
He was sobbing yet again, terrified of what would happen next, but complied.
I firmly grabbed it by the wrist. Then drew a knife and sliced his forearm open, right above the wrist. Just skin deep – enough to draw a safe amount of blood. People tend to overestimate how much does a wound bleed. Couple that with the fact that you can lose about a quart of blood and still be perfectly fine, and it makes up for some pretty bloody and shocking play.
“How did that feel, boy? … Want to repeat?”
He started mumbling. “No, fuck, please, please, stop it...”
I took the knife to his chin and again made him look at me. “You really think I care about your opinion, boy?” I laughed. “But, it's okay, I'll give you a chance. Do as I say, and this will be over.”
“What... what do you want from me...”
I put the knife in his hand, closed his fingers –what was left of them, anyway– around the handle. I then released his wrist.
He almost dropped the knife, but ultimately managed to get a somewhat good grip on it, considering he was already missing three fingertips.
I circled him and crouched behind him to talk into his ear. “Now, first, I'll tell you what happens if you don't do what I say.” I whispered. My own earpiece was enough for Mr. Petrov to hear me despite the low voice. “I'll do it myself, and I'll make sure to do it slowly so it hurts like hell. Understand?”
The young man nodded.
“Okay. I want you to cut yourself. Slice the other wrist open.”
The knife dropped to the tile floor with a soft clank. He started sobbing and mumbling nonsense.
I took the knife, letting most of my weigh rest on him for a second. “Look, I'll tell you what's going to happen. You will do it. Maybe not this time. Maybe you want me to show you how bad it can hurt when done properly. But sooner or later, you'll decide you've had enough. Realize that there's no way around it. And by then, I'll make sure it's worse. I haven't made up my mind yet, but I can ask you to cut deeper. Or even slower. Or... maybe more than once. You want that?”
Silence, only broken by his barely audible sobbing.
“Or you can skip that part. All it takes is a quick slice.” I handed him the knife.
He ignored me and kept mumbling, so again I grabbed his hand – this time from further up the forearm – and let the knife rest right on top of his wrist. “Just don't forget, you could have avoided this.” I said as the knife started slicing into his flesh.
He started whimpering pathetically almost immediately.
I let him feel the knife slicing into his wrist for a bit longer. A cut like that won't draw that much blood, anyway. Then I leaned over him yet again. “So, have you changed your mind yet? … This is your last chance before it gets worse, boy.” I handed him the knife.
He hesitated a bit before taking it. Then it almost slipped from his bloody hand again.
“Careful, or you'll get hurt.” I teased him. “Now, cut your other wrist.”
Sobbing and whimpering, he took the knife to his forearm, probably too scared to move further down. I corrected him, gently took his hand and placed the knife right over the wrist. “Cut it open.”
It took him a split second. He had overestimated the force needed to get through skin and flesh, and so he cut almost to the bone. I grabbed his hand, and quickly grabbed the shirt he had taken off before. It was bleeding too much to go looking for something else. I took my time to make sure it stopped.
Both him and Mr. Petrov were dead silent as I finally let go of the bloody mess of his right hand. It still trickled a bit, but that wasn't a concern. It would stop on it's own soon enough. I quickly checked his pulse. Somewhat fast but well defined. Nothing to worry about. Yet.
Then I grabbed his left hand again. Got it right in front of the camera. “I want you to see this too, Yegor.” I took the knife again, and with a flick, I hacked off what was left of his pinkie.
The young man's screams flooded everything. I stood still, grinning. Poor boy. Too bad this was about the only way to get at his father. Mr. Petrov cursed to himself, finally convinced that I wouldn't stop, as I placed the knife against the last joint of his ring finger. And with another quick movement, I hacked off what was left of it.
Blood was gushing fast from what was left of his hand. And his pulse had been already somewhat fast last time I checked. I took the lighter once more. It was much faster than pressure. And it meant a better show too, so, win-win.
About a minute later, the two stumps – if you could call them that – were fully cauterized. The stench of charred flesh inundated everything. I held my breath. No matter how many times you've smelled it, it's never pleasant.
Again I checked his pulse. Definitely faster than before, and somewhat weaker. Okay, that was it for the day, I wasn't going to risk a shock. I looked at the cam. “Yegor. I'm sure you know where I am. You have an hour to get here. Or else.” I pointed with my thumb at the red letters behind me.
Hell (18) - Mrs. Petrov
I threw Mrs. Petrov before the camera, right in front of the three-foot tall message. “They're dead”. She started wailing, more from the shock than from any real pain. How cute. She was so clueless.
I sent the shack's audio feed to my earpiece before stepping into view. “Why, hello, Mr. Petrov. I'm guessing you were wondering what had been of me lately.”
My earpiece blared. “You bastard, you'll pay for this! What you did this morning was already bad enough, but this... I'll have your head for this, I swear!”
I patiently waited for him to finish his curse, a smile creeping onto my lips. Idiot. He was still as clueless as the first day, when he received the first parcel. Once he finally shut up, I drew a knife. I heard him mumble nonsense, but I ignored it. I knelt by Mrs. Petrov's side, making sure the cam could see everything. She was also whimpering pathetically. As if I had already done anything. Idiot.
I pet her hair. “Honey, I'll be honest to you. I think your hubby's lied to you. He knows much more than he seems to have told you. For example... he knows this is happening.”
She broke long before I started with her. The thought that Mr. Petrov could be behind this all was too much. She probably started thinking about how many times his husband had been out and away this week, and how he hadn't seemed that shocked that very morning, especially after he came home really late yesterday, and... Heh. Nothing like not telling all the truth to make people think whatever you want them to, no matter how foolish it seems.
Still, I couldn't care less about her. This was about Mr. Petrov. And that meant using her too. I took the knife to her face. Quickly glanced at the cam, winking an eye at Mr. Petrov. The old man started cursing again, but shut up once the knife started slicing her flesh. Slowly, so he would have all the time in the world to stare. To realize.
This had never been about his money, this was about his life. I carved an X on her cheek, a deep cut so it would leave an awful scar even if she went to have it stitched. Her screams echoed around the house, making me grin like an idiot. Those little details always perk me up.
I let the knife on the floor and softly pet her cheek, took in the feeling of her warm blood staining my hand. I gently traced the wound with my fingers. I felt tempted to mess around for a bit, but decided to not take risks, the cut was bleeding more than I had expected. She was already in emotional shock, last thing I needed was a physical one too. I brutally cut her shirt and pressed it to her cheek. I had to stop the blood, and at the same time, give a good show. This would work for both.
The earpiece was silent the whole time. Seems like Mr. Petrov too was in an emotional shock. Poor idiot. If only he knew.
After a few minutes, her cheek seemed to stop bleeding. I looked at my work. Yeah, it would leave a nasty scar no matter what. Mr. Petrov would never forget what I had done. What I can do. I heard him sobbing in the earpiece.
I got up and dragged her out of the cam's field of view.
I sent the shack's audio feed to my earpiece before stepping into view. “Why, hello, Mr. Petrov. I'm guessing you were wondering what had been of me lately.”
My earpiece blared. “You bastard, you'll pay for this! What you did this morning was already bad enough, but this... I'll have your head for this, I swear!”
I patiently waited for him to finish his curse, a smile creeping onto my lips. Idiot. He was still as clueless as the first day, when he received the first parcel. Once he finally shut up, I drew a knife. I heard him mumble nonsense, but I ignored it. I knelt by Mrs. Petrov's side, making sure the cam could see everything. She was also whimpering pathetically. As if I had already done anything. Idiot.
I pet her hair. “Honey, I'll be honest to you. I think your hubby's lied to you. He knows much more than he seems to have told you. For example... he knows this is happening.”
She broke long before I started with her. The thought that Mr. Petrov could be behind this all was too much. She probably started thinking about how many times his husband had been out and away this week, and how he hadn't seemed that shocked that very morning, especially after he came home really late yesterday, and... Heh. Nothing like not telling all the truth to make people think whatever you want them to, no matter how foolish it seems.
Still, I couldn't care less about her. This was about Mr. Petrov. And that meant using her too. I took the knife to her face. Quickly glanced at the cam, winking an eye at Mr. Petrov. The old man started cursing again, but shut up once the knife started slicing her flesh. Slowly, so he would have all the time in the world to stare. To realize.
This had never been about his money, this was about his life. I carved an X on her cheek, a deep cut so it would leave an awful scar even if she went to have it stitched. Her screams echoed around the house, making me grin like an idiot. Those little details always perk me up.
I let the knife on the floor and softly pet her cheek, took in the feeling of her warm blood staining my hand. I gently traced the wound with my fingers. I felt tempted to mess around for a bit, but decided to not take risks, the cut was bleeding more than I had expected. She was already in emotional shock, last thing I needed was a physical one too. I brutally cut her shirt and pressed it to her cheek. I had to stop the blood, and at the same time, give a good show. This would work for both.
The earpiece was silent the whole time. Seems like Mr. Petrov too was in an emotional shock. Poor idiot. If only he knew.
After a few minutes, her cheek seemed to stop bleeding. I looked at my work. Yeah, it would leave a nasty scar no matter what. Mr. Petrov would never forget what I had done. What I can do. I heard him sobbing in the earpiece.
I got up and dragged her out of the cam's field of view.
Hell (17) - Blind Trust
The idiot had thought staying in a shitty road motel would help him hide. From me. As if tracking the movements of his credit cards was that hard. As if he didn't have a tracker on his car.
I waited outside the place until he left. Then went in. The kid at the reception desk immediately provided me with a room number and a spare key upon seeing my ID card. I rushed there. It was still early, but I wanted to cause a good impression, and that meant I could use all the time I had.
Mrs. Petrov was white as I opened the door. “Who... who the hell are you?”
I showed her my ID card. “I'm investigating the disappearance of Mr. Petrov's son, Miss. I would like you to come with me, to a safer place. Also, ask you some questions, see if you can help me piece this puzzle together.”
She immediately relaxed. That ID card does wonders, I swear. For those who don't notice what department it is from, anyway. The agency is overall a respected institution. My department, not as much. She came to my car without giving it a second thought.
She seemed to realize something was off as we reached her neighborhood. “Mister, this is... where exactly are we going?”
I stopped the car at a red light for a little too long as I slightly opened my jacket, revealing the inner pocket's contents. A gun.
She froze, painfully aware of her mistake.
I smiled and winked at her. “Don't try to do anything stupid, Miss. It won't work.”
We arrived at their house by 11.30 am. Good, I had more than enough time to get everything ready.
“Miss. You'll walk straight into the house. Don't try to do anything stupid, like running away, because it will have consequences. Understand?” I patted my inner pocket.
“Y-yes.” She stuttered.
“You may be tempted to call the police, but I already told you who I am. The police won't help you get out of this, believe me.”
She started sobbing. “Do you at least know where my son is?”
I tried hard to not laugh in her face, but damn was it hard. “You'll see him in a moment, Miss.” I winked an eye at her. “Now, I'm opening that door for you. Let me repeat it. You'll walk straight into the house. Don't try anything. Or else. Any questions?” And so, I got out of the car and opened her door.
She rushed inside the house. Too scared of what could happen if she didn't.
I opened the car's trunk. Mr. Petrov's son was there, sobbing pathetically under the gag. I drew a knife and cut the binds in his feet.
“Hey. We're there. Let's go. Come on.” I harshly pulled him out of the trunk from his arm.
He sobbed even more pathetically when he saw we were at his house. I tugged at him. There was nobody around, but still I didn't want him to draw attention.
Mrs. Petrov started whimpering and babbling when she saw the boy. I threw him towards her, so they both would have something to do. Meanwhile I set up the camera, and wrote one last message on the wall. They completely ignored me, too focused on assessing each other's state. Good.
I checked my phone once I had readied everything. Mr. Petrov and the young cop were already outside the shack. Time for the show to start. I unlocked the shack's door. Let Mr. Petrov know what had been of the thugs he had talked to. He would have to thank me for that one, those people could be even more of a headache than me. Then turned on the cam. Let them read the last message. “They're dead.”
I waited outside the place until he left. Then went in. The kid at the reception desk immediately provided me with a room number and a spare key upon seeing my ID card. I rushed there. It was still early, but I wanted to cause a good impression, and that meant I could use all the time I had.
Mrs. Petrov was white as I opened the door. “Who... who the hell are you?”
I showed her my ID card. “I'm investigating the disappearance of Mr. Petrov's son, Miss. I would like you to come with me, to a safer place. Also, ask you some questions, see if you can help me piece this puzzle together.”
She immediately relaxed. That ID card does wonders, I swear. For those who don't notice what department it is from, anyway. The agency is overall a respected institution. My department, not as much. She came to my car without giving it a second thought.
She seemed to realize something was off as we reached her neighborhood. “Mister, this is... where exactly are we going?”
I stopped the car at a red light for a little too long as I slightly opened my jacket, revealing the inner pocket's contents. A gun.
She froze, painfully aware of her mistake.
I smiled and winked at her. “Don't try to do anything stupid, Miss. It won't work.”
We arrived at their house by 11.30 am. Good, I had more than enough time to get everything ready.
“Miss. You'll walk straight into the house. Don't try to do anything stupid, like running away, because it will have consequences. Understand?” I patted my inner pocket.
“Y-yes.” She stuttered.
“You may be tempted to call the police, but I already told you who I am. The police won't help you get out of this, believe me.”
She started sobbing. “Do you at least know where my son is?”
I tried hard to not laugh in her face, but damn was it hard. “You'll see him in a moment, Miss.” I winked an eye at her. “Now, I'm opening that door for you. Let me repeat it. You'll walk straight into the house. Don't try anything. Or else. Any questions?” And so, I got out of the car and opened her door.
She rushed inside the house. Too scared of what could happen if she didn't.
I opened the car's trunk. Mr. Petrov's son was there, sobbing pathetically under the gag. I drew a knife and cut the binds in his feet.
“Hey. We're there. Let's go. Come on.” I harshly pulled him out of the trunk from his arm.
He sobbed even more pathetically when he saw we were at his house. I tugged at him. There was nobody around, but still I didn't want him to draw attention.
Mrs. Petrov started whimpering and babbling when she saw the boy. I threw him towards her, so they both would have something to do. Meanwhile I set up the camera, and wrote one last message on the wall. They completely ignored me, too focused on assessing each other's state. Good.
I checked my phone once I had readied everything. Mr. Petrov and the young cop were already outside the shack. Time for the show to start. I unlocked the shack's door. Let Mr. Petrov know what had been of the thugs he had talked to. He would have to thank me for that one, those people could be even more of a headache than me. Then turned on the cam. Let them read the last message. “They're dead.”
Hell (16) - Doubts
It was still early when Mr. Petrov arrived at the shack. He tried the door, but it was locked. So he sat on the big rock, waiting for... he shuddered. Calling those men would cost him dearly, he knew. But, better pay that price, than let that bastard have his way. He had tried to play by his rules, and all he got was a “I can't help you” from the police Captain, and his son hurt. He felt sick at the very thought of what he'd seen yesterday.
He started getting impatient as time passed. They were supposed to be there by 11.30 am, and it was almost noon already. He had had the impression they were not ones to be late. And after that very morning... Finally, about five minutes to noon, he heard a car approaching. He stood up and tried to straighten himself, to shake off some of the dust from the unpaved road. He froze when he saw a police car. … Surely... no. No, there were rumors about the mob and the police working together, but...
His heart sank when the young officer got off the car. Oh, well. At least he seemed to be on his side.
Wait. “Hey. So. How did you know?” Mr. Petrov greeted him.
Kenya looked down. Shit. Mr. Petrov knew, he was sure of it. But his aching chest reminded him he had no choice. He tried hard to steady his voice, but without much success. “Well... yesterday, while... while you were inside, Andrei asked me... to tell you to be here at this hour. I... I never got around to do it, since the Captain held me for... so long. This morning I figured you'd like to know, and I went to your house, but nobody answered the doorbell. So I... thought I'd come here, just in case.”
Mr. Petrov sighed. Wait. His house? How did he knew...? This all seemed a bit off. But he thought wisest to just keep his eyes open. “Oh. Well, the door's locked, so... guess we'll have to wait for that bastard to show up.”
“I... think it may be on a timer, or something. Yesterday it buzzed open long after he left.”
They both sat on the boulder, eyes locked on the ground, uneasy about what to say. Mr. Petrov kept thinking about the young officer. He was totally off today. Maybe realizing the Captain was not the honest man he believed had taken its toll on him. Then his mind started wandering. That morning, not four hours before. The messages... He didn't thought what he was saying. “Well. That bastard delivered the message anyway. In two foot tall letters, right in my bedroom's wall.”
Kenya went white. “Shit.” He managed to mumble, a little too late. He knew about that, of course. Andrei had made him do it. He didn't dare to glance at Mr. Petrov, fearing he could read his expression. He was awfully conscious of his non-existent lying abilities. Then the door buzzed, thank god. He rushed to open it. Get inside. Anything that could distract Mr. Petrov's attention from him.
Mr. Petrov followed him inside, a bit shocked by his reaction. Damn the kid was jumpy today. He thought something was definitely off. He froze in place when the TV came alive, showcasing a static photo. Four thugs laid dead on a huge pool of blood, their throats so deeply cut that their heads were almost severed. He got closer to the screen, and immediately recognized them. The men he had talked to yesterday, the same ones he was supposed to meet today. He froze again when he remembered the second message on his wall. "I know". Damn.
But if he thought that would be the worst of his day, he was deeply mistaken. He realized that as the screen went off for a second, then on again. He immediately recognized the place: his own house. There was another message on the wall, this one in even larger letters. “They're dead.”
He froze at the words. No. No no no, this didn't make any sense, that bastard couldn't possibly know where she was, could he?
He got his answers when his wife flew into view, crashing painfully against the wall, her screams and sobs blaring through the TV speakers. No, she was not dead. Yet, Mr. Petrov thought. He rushed to the door, unable to see anything else, unable to realize, the hour long drive to the god-forsaken shack meant he'd be too late. But the shack's door had been locked again.
He started getting impatient as time passed. They were supposed to be there by 11.30 am, and it was almost noon already. He had had the impression they were not ones to be late. And after that very morning... Finally, about five minutes to noon, he heard a car approaching. He stood up and tried to straighten himself, to shake off some of the dust from the unpaved road. He froze when he saw a police car. … Surely... no. No, there were rumors about the mob and the police working together, but...
His heart sank when the young officer got off the car. Oh, well. At least he seemed to be on his side.
Wait. “Hey. So. How did you know?” Mr. Petrov greeted him.
Kenya looked down. Shit. Mr. Petrov knew, he was sure of it. But his aching chest reminded him he had no choice. He tried hard to steady his voice, but without much success. “Well... yesterday, while... while you were inside, Andrei asked me... to tell you to be here at this hour. I... I never got around to do it, since the Captain held me for... so long. This morning I figured you'd like to know, and I went to your house, but nobody answered the doorbell. So I... thought I'd come here, just in case.”
Mr. Petrov sighed. Wait. His house? How did he knew...? This all seemed a bit off. But he thought wisest to just keep his eyes open. “Oh. Well, the door's locked, so... guess we'll have to wait for that bastard to show up.”
“I... think it may be on a timer, or something. Yesterday it buzzed open long after he left.”
They both sat on the boulder, eyes locked on the ground, uneasy about what to say. Mr. Petrov kept thinking about the young officer. He was totally off today. Maybe realizing the Captain was not the honest man he believed had taken its toll on him. Then his mind started wandering. That morning, not four hours before. The messages... He didn't thought what he was saying. “Well. That bastard delivered the message anyway. In two foot tall letters, right in my bedroom's wall.”
Kenya went white. “Shit.” He managed to mumble, a little too late. He knew about that, of course. Andrei had made him do it. He didn't dare to glance at Mr. Petrov, fearing he could read his expression. He was awfully conscious of his non-existent lying abilities. Then the door buzzed, thank god. He rushed to open it. Get inside. Anything that could distract Mr. Petrov's attention from him.
Mr. Petrov followed him inside, a bit shocked by his reaction. Damn the kid was jumpy today. He thought something was definitely off. He froze in place when the TV came alive, showcasing a static photo. Four thugs laid dead on a huge pool of blood, their throats so deeply cut that their heads were almost severed. He got closer to the screen, and immediately recognized them. The men he had talked to yesterday, the same ones he was supposed to meet today. He froze again when he remembered the second message on his wall. "I know". Damn.
But if he thought that would be the worst of his day, he was deeply mistaken. He realized that as the screen went off for a second, then on again. He immediately recognized the place: his own house. There was another message on the wall, this one in even larger letters. “They're dead.”
He froze at the words. No. No no no, this didn't make any sense, that bastard couldn't possibly know where she was, could he?
He got his answers when his wife flew into view, crashing painfully against the wall, her screams and sobs blaring through the TV speakers. No, she was not dead. Yet, Mr. Petrov thought. He rushed to the door, unable to see anything else, unable to realize, the hour long drive to the god-forsaken shack meant he'd be too late. But the shack's door had been locked again.
Hell (15) - Good Morning
It was early morning when a hysterical scream awakened Mr. Petrov from his restless slumber. He jumped in place, and froze when he saw the message written on the wall, in two foot tall, dripping red letters. “Today, same hour, same place.” Damn. He rushed to comfort his wife, who didn't even understand what was happening. Last few days had been rough for them both, with the disappearance of their son, but... he hadn't had the heart to tell her about his... findings. And now this. She was a complete wreck.
Mr. Petrov tried in vain to comfort her. “Hey, honey. It's okay, I'm here. We'll find who's doing this, I promise. We'll make them pay for it.” He hugged her, but his mind was elsewhere. He went white when he realized, the room had been searched. A couple of ajar drawers gave it away. He tried to avoid scaring his wife even more, but he had to know. He got up and opened one of the drawers.
Gone. He had left the device somewhat hidden among the clothes, and now, the clothes laid scattered around the drawer, making it painfully obvious there was nothing else in there. Damn.
He rushed to the main door. They had a security camera in there pointing outside, surely... He froze once more as he reached the entrance hall. The camera was shattered into the floor, and in the wall next to it, there was another message, also written in... hopefully red paint. “I KNOW.”
Damn. No. Who the hell was that... madman, anyway? … This wasn't your usual kidnapper, that's for sure. He'd heard tales of the mob. They weren't that sick unless you really pissed them off. But he had never dare to even get close to any of that people. Always looked the other way. The families had never been his problem. Looks like until now. 'Cause, who else could it be? Who else could know what he had done yesterday night?
His mind raced to yesterday night as he went back to comfort his wife. Four thugs, each one twice as him. They had agreed really soon to help him... maybe too soon? One thing was sure, his wife needed to get out of there before... he shuddered to think of it. He checked his watch. It was still early, he could find a hotel for them to stay at, and still be on time to the meeting.
Mr. Petrov tried in vain to comfort her. “Hey, honey. It's okay, I'm here. We'll find who's doing this, I promise. We'll make them pay for it.” He hugged her, but his mind was elsewhere. He went white when he realized, the room had been searched. A couple of ajar drawers gave it away. He tried to avoid scaring his wife even more, but he had to know. He got up and opened one of the drawers.
Gone. He had left the device somewhat hidden among the clothes, and now, the clothes laid scattered around the drawer, making it painfully obvious there was nothing else in there. Damn.
He rushed to the main door. They had a security camera in there pointing outside, surely... He froze once more as he reached the entrance hall. The camera was shattered into the floor, and in the wall next to it, there was another message, also written in... hopefully red paint. “I KNOW.”
Damn. No. Who the hell was that... madman, anyway? … This wasn't your usual kidnapper, that's for sure. He'd heard tales of the mob. They weren't that sick unless you really pissed them off. But he had never dare to even get close to any of that people. Always looked the other way. The families had never been his problem. Looks like until now. 'Cause, who else could it be? Who else could know what he had done yesterday night?
His mind raced to yesterday night as he went back to comfort his wife. Four thugs, each one twice as him. They had agreed really soon to help him... maybe too soon? One thing was sure, his wife needed to get out of there before... he shuddered to think of it. He checked his watch. It was still early, he could find a hotel for them to stay at, and still be on time to the meeting.
Hell (14) - Orders
It was quite late when the young officer left the infirmary, with his chest fully bandaged and instructions to come back the next day. The Captain was still in the waiting room, he noticed.
He got up and started walking out. “Hey. Kenya. The doctor told me you have... quite a bad cut, huh?”
“It hurts. A lot.”
“Yeah, that's what happens when you clean a wound. But I don't want you getting an infection, son. Anyway. Our... friend called. Asked if you had delivered the message.”
“N-no, I... Shit. I never got the chance.”
“Well, he also said, since you seemed so... willing to get involved in this –his words, not mine–, that he wants you in.”
Kenya stopped dead in his tracks. “What... does that...”
“First, you need comms. Proper comms, I mean.” The Captain handed him an earpiece. “Put it as deep in as you can, 'cause if it falls... you're in trouble.”
The young man fumbled around with the earpiece for a moment, trying to get it as deep as he could. He froze when he heard a beep and the earpiece came to life. “Why, hello there, Kenya. Remember our deal?” That voice. Shit.
He cursed under his breath before answering a polite, if quite cold, “Yes.”
“Son, I can hear everything you say. Anyway. I need you to do something for me.”
“Oh-okay.” Kenya tried hard to steady himself – crying like a boy never helped anyone. But shit, was it hard to stop himself from running home and curling up in a ball and just cry himself to sleep.
“Well, it's quite simple. Go to Mr. Petrov's house, sneak in, find any comms device, and take it out. As for how to find said devices, there's a detector in the car, don't worry.”
Shit. No. “I... look, I can't...”
“Boy. I won't repeat myself. Oh, one last thing. That message. I've also left some... instructions in a sports bag, in the driver's seat.”
The earpiece beeped again, and went quiet. Kenya was frozen in place. This was too much for him. Having to look the other way was bad enough but... never mind what the man said, this was trespassing and was, in fact, breaking the law. Shit. He hadn't signed up for this.
The Captain grabbed his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “Hey. It's okay, son. Don't fuss over it, 'cause there's just no other way with that man, okay?” He hugged the young man. Damned son of a bitch, always doing the same. Yet, what could he do? Nothing. That had been crystal clear since the day he met Andrei. He shuddered just to think of him. “Son, you want me to go with you?”
“But... this is... no, no, I can't ask you to...”
“It's okay, son. It's... not the first time I've had to... get my own hands dirty. One more won't change anything. And I'd rather be there than risk you messing it up.” The Captain started walking to the car when his own earpiece beeped.
“Captain. I thought you had your own orders?”
The captain cursed loudly to himself before replying. “Look, the kid is a wreck. You send him alone, chances are he'll mess this up.”
“I thought that wasn't your problem, Captain.”
The captain sighed out loud. “You seriously can't be asking me to do this.”
Soft laughter echoed from the earpiece. “As a matter of fact, I am. The kid is not your problem. The men who Mr. Petrov has talked to, are. Don't mess that one up, or you know what happens.” Beep. Dead silence.
The Captain cursed again, before realizing Kenya was staring at him, shocked to hear him swear like that. Everyone thought he was a well-mannered man. And if he had to be honest, he was. Except when that son of a bitch called him. Then he could be easily mistaken for a sailor.
He took a deep breath before addressing the young man. “Look, I don't know what you've heard, but I can't go with you, I have some other business to attend. I'm sorry.” And he got into the building again, leaving Kenya alone with his thoughts.
The officer rocked back and forth for a moment. He couldn't do this. He'd go to the Captain and resign. Yeah. That was it. He had just got past the main doors when his earpiece beeped again. “Go to the car, see what's in there, at least.”
Kenya had made up his mind, and was totally going to stand up to it. “Look, I'm not doing any of this. I'm going to go ahead and resign. Then...”
“Then nothing changes.” The voice was sharp, threatening, even. “I'm not your Captain, I couldn't care less about what you do with your life. Now, go to the car, and see what I left for you in there. I'm sure you want to know what's at stake for you.”
Shit. This all was too much for Kenya. He paused for a second, but turned around and went to the car. On the passenger's seat, there was a black sports bag. He fumbled around with the zip tie, not actually wanting to open it, terrified as to what could be inside. He'd seen enough movies to imagine a gory head, hopefully from an animal. That would have suited the man, too, he thought.
He was deeply relieved as he saw a bucket of paint. Well, it was... bad, but vandalism was better than... whatever you could call leaving a head as a message. He froze when he saw the note on the lid.
There was an arrow pointing to the back. Totally unneeded, it was obvious this was photographic paper. The young man didn't want to know what was on the other side. But he had to... He turned the note around, and almost had a heart attack as he saw the photo. He and his sister. He recognized the photo. She had it in a frame by the TV in her living room.
He got up and started walking out. “Hey. Kenya. The doctor told me you have... quite a bad cut, huh?”
“It hurts. A lot.”
“Yeah, that's what happens when you clean a wound. But I don't want you getting an infection, son. Anyway. Our... friend called. Asked if you had delivered the message.”
“N-no, I... Shit. I never got the chance.”
“Well, he also said, since you seemed so... willing to get involved in this –his words, not mine–, that he wants you in.”
Kenya stopped dead in his tracks. “What... does that...”
“First, you need comms. Proper comms, I mean.” The Captain handed him an earpiece. “Put it as deep in as you can, 'cause if it falls... you're in trouble.”
The young man fumbled around with the earpiece for a moment, trying to get it as deep as he could. He froze when he heard a beep and the earpiece came to life. “Why, hello there, Kenya. Remember our deal?” That voice. Shit.
He cursed under his breath before answering a polite, if quite cold, “Yes.”
“Son, I can hear everything you say. Anyway. I need you to do something for me.”
“Oh-okay.” Kenya tried hard to steady himself – crying like a boy never helped anyone. But shit, was it hard to stop himself from running home and curling up in a ball and just cry himself to sleep.
“Well, it's quite simple. Go to Mr. Petrov's house, sneak in, find any comms device, and take it out. As for how to find said devices, there's a detector in the car, don't worry.”
Shit. No. “I... look, I can't...”
“Boy. I won't repeat myself. Oh, one last thing. That message. I've also left some... instructions in a sports bag, in the driver's seat.”
The earpiece beeped again, and went quiet. Kenya was frozen in place. This was too much for him. Having to look the other way was bad enough but... never mind what the man said, this was trespassing and was, in fact, breaking the law. Shit. He hadn't signed up for this.
The Captain grabbed his shoulder, trying to comfort him. “Hey. It's okay, son. Don't fuss over it, 'cause there's just no other way with that man, okay?” He hugged the young man. Damned son of a bitch, always doing the same. Yet, what could he do? Nothing. That had been crystal clear since the day he met Andrei. He shuddered just to think of him. “Son, you want me to go with you?”
“But... this is... no, no, I can't ask you to...”
“It's okay, son. It's... not the first time I've had to... get my own hands dirty. One more won't change anything. And I'd rather be there than risk you messing it up.” The Captain started walking to the car when his own earpiece beeped.
“Captain. I thought you had your own orders?”
The captain cursed loudly to himself before replying. “Look, the kid is a wreck. You send him alone, chances are he'll mess this up.”
“I thought that wasn't your problem, Captain.”
The captain sighed out loud. “You seriously can't be asking me to do this.”
Soft laughter echoed from the earpiece. “As a matter of fact, I am. The kid is not your problem. The men who Mr. Petrov has talked to, are. Don't mess that one up, or you know what happens.” Beep. Dead silence.
The Captain cursed again, before realizing Kenya was staring at him, shocked to hear him swear like that. Everyone thought he was a well-mannered man. And if he had to be honest, he was. Except when that son of a bitch called him. Then he could be easily mistaken for a sailor.
He took a deep breath before addressing the young man. “Look, I don't know what you've heard, but I can't go with you, I have some other business to attend. I'm sorry.” And he got into the building again, leaving Kenya alone with his thoughts.
The officer rocked back and forth for a moment. He couldn't do this. He'd go to the Captain and resign. Yeah. That was it. He had just got past the main doors when his earpiece beeped again. “Go to the car, see what's in there, at least.”
Kenya had made up his mind, and was totally going to stand up to it. “Look, I'm not doing any of this. I'm going to go ahead and resign. Then...”
“Then nothing changes.” The voice was sharp, threatening, even. “I'm not your Captain, I couldn't care less about what you do with your life. Now, go to the car, and see what I left for you in there. I'm sure you want to know what's at stake for you.”
Shit. This all was too much for Kenya. He paused for a second, but turned around and went to the car. On the passenger's seat, there was a black sports bag. He fumbled around with the zip tie, not actually wanting to open it, terrified as to what could be inside. He'd seen enough movies to imagine a gory head, hopefully from an animal. That would have suited the man, too, he thought.
He was deeply relieved as he saw a bucket of paint. Well, it was... bad, but vandalism was better than... whatever you could call leaving a head as a message. He froze when he saw the note on the lid.
Write on the bedroom wall.
“Today, same hour, same place.”
And somewhere else, “I KNOW”
Make a big mess, will you?
There was an arrow pointing to the back. Totally unneeded, it was obvious this was photographic paper. The young man didn't want to know what was on the other side. But he had to... He turned the note around, and almost had a heart attack as he saw the photo. He and his sister. He recognized the photo. She had it in a frame by the TV in her living room.
2018-03-15
Hell (13) - Late
Mr. Petrov left the Captain's office slamming the door shut. The Captain sighed loudly before addressing the young officer. “Are you okay, Kenya? ... Did he got you? ... I can't help but to notice you're clenching your teeth.”
The officer's eyes welled up. “I... Oh, shit, I can't...”
“I'll be brief. I know the man. Better than I'd like, if I'm being honest. If I have to take a guess, you've been lucky. Now, tell me. Did he give you any orders?”
Kenya looked at the Captain, too scared to say anything.
“Son. I'm on the boat too. You can tell me.”
“He– he told me to keep an eye on Mr. Petrov and to call him if... if he did anything stupid. And... and to deliver him a message.”
“Okay. I'll make that call, don't worry. But you better not lose Mr. Petrov. Honestly, he's scheming something, and I don't like what it could be. Say... what does he know? Mr. Petrov, I mean.”
“I... I don't know, I was outside the shack while they talked.”
“Okay. Now, go after him before it is too late.” The Captain said as the officer opened the door. “Oh. One last thing. Believe me when I say, betraying that man is about the most stupid thing you can do. Okay?”
Kenya nodded before rushing after Mr. Petrov. His chest burned as he started breathing hard from the chase. Soon he had to slow down, or he'd surely faint from the pain. His heart sank when he reached the main door and saw Mr. Petrov's car already gone. It took him all of his self-control to not punch the building's wall. With nothing else to do, he decided to go tell his Captain.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the office door, and heard the Captain talking on the phone.
“Yes, seems like he was too late. ... Okay. ... Okay, yes, I already did that. ... Yes, I'll tell him.”
Kenya knocked on the door as he heard the phone hung up.
“Come in.” The Captain opened the door himself. “Kenya, let me tell you. Go buy a lottery ticket 'cause today is your lucky day.”
“I... I lost him.” The young man looked down, bit his lip hard. Shit. He had messed it all up. The Captain's irony hurt almost as much as his chest.
“Yeah, I know. Look, I called him. We got a tracker on Mr. Petrov's car, so there's no need for you to follow him around. Safer for you too, since he may be trying to contact the wolves. Our... friend has been investigating and seems he does have a possible connection.”
Kenya went white. The wolves – the mob. And... That Guy. And he was caught between the two. He let his back lean against the wall in hopes it would held him, but soon his legs gave up, and he curled up into a ball, sitting on the floor.
He didn't heard the Captain saying that this was their every other day, he just saw his eyes right in front of his, a kind expression in them. He started mumbling. “I... Oh shit, no, no, this...”
“Son, listen to me. Don't worry too much about this, okay?” The Captain bit his tongue for a split second. He had news to deliver, but the poor officer desperately needed some comfort. Oh, well. News can wait. “Listen, your shirt is stained. Let's take you to the infirmary to take care of that.”
“No, no, I don't think that's a good idea...”
“Son. They know. Nobody in here will bat an eye at that.”
The officer's eyes welled up. “I... Oh, shit, I can't...”
“I'll be brief. I know the man. Better than I'd like, if I'm being honest. If I have to take a guess, you've been lucky. Now, tell me. Did he give you any orders?”
Kenya looked at the Captain, too scared to say anything.
“Son. I'm on the boat too. You can tell me.”
“He– he told me to keep an eye on Mr. Petrov and to call him if... if he did anything stupid. And... and to deliver him a message.”
“Okay. I'll make that call, don't worry. But you better not lose Mr. Petrov. Honestly, he's scheming something, and I don't like what it could be. Say... what does he know? Mr. Petrov, I mean.”
“I... I don't know, I was outside the shack while they talked.”
“Okay. Now, go after him before it is too late.” The Captain said as the officer opened the door. “Oh. One last thing. Believe me when I say, betraying that man is about the most stupid thing you can do. Okay?”
Kenya nodded before rushing after Mr. Petrov. His chest burned as he started breathing hard from the chase. Soon he had to slow down, or he'd surely faint from the pain. His heart sank when he reached the main door and saw Mr. Petrov's car already gone. It took him all of his self-control to not punch the building's wall. With nothing else to do, he decided to go tell his Captain.
He stopped dead in his tracks when he reached the office door, and heard the Captain talking on the phone.
“Yes, seems like he was too late. ... Okay. ... Okay, yes, I already did that. ... Yes, I'll tell him.”
Kenya knocked on the door as he heard the phone hung up.
“Come in.” The Captain opened the door himself. “Kenya, let me tell you. Go buy a lottery ticket 'cause today is your lucky day.”
“I... I lost him.” The young man looked down, bit his lip hard. Shit. He had messed it all up. The Captain's irony hurt almost as much as his chest.
“Yeah, I know. Look, I called him. We got a tracker on Mr. Petrov's car, so there's no need for you to follow him around. Safer for you too, since he may be trying to contact the wolves. Our... friend has been investigating and seems he does have a possible connection.”
Kenya went white. The wolves – the mob. And... That Guy. And he was caught between the two. He let his back lean against the wall in hopes it would held him, but soon his legs gave up, and he curled up into a ball, sitting on the floor.
He didn't heard the Captain saying that this was their every other day, he just saw his eyes right in front of his, a kind expression in them. He started mumbling. “I... Oh shit, no, no, this...”
“Son, listen to me. Don't worry too much about this, okay?” The Captain bit his tongue for a split second. He had news to deliver, but the poor officer desperately needed some comfort. Oh, well. News can wait. “Listen, your shirt is stained. Let's take you to the infirmary to take care of that.”
“No, no, I don't think that's a good idea...”
“Son. They know. Nobody in here will bat an eye at that.”
Hell (12) - Stupid Things
Not fifteen minutes after Andrei left, the door buzzed. Kenya spring-jumped to open it, follow the instructions. His chest was too painful to even think of ignoring them. He swallowed, fully conscious about what he was about to do. “Hey. So... we should head back, there's nothing else for us to do here.” Shit. His shaky voice completely betrayed his attempt at appearing calm.
Good thing Mr. Petrov was too much of a wreck to notice. He kept staring at the screen, as if it could somehow hold a clue on where his son was. “I've got to find him. And then snap that bastard's neck.”
Kenya swallowed. Threatening him was a stupid thing to do, but after the other day, he didn't thought Mr. Petrov could possibly keep his word. He dismissed the idea of calling him just for this. “Well, you won't find him here.”
Mr. Petrov gave a warning stare at the young officer. “So aren't you a goddamned cop? Why aren't you, like, searching for clues?”
Shit. Now what. Play it cool, he thought. Still, his eyes darted away from Mr. Petrov's graze. “Well, I... I don't have the equipment, like, to search for fingerprints, or, well, I guess tracking the video feed would be an idea, but we'd need the computer analysts to do that, and, well, I'm ... sure the Captain won't authorize it. Plus, man, we... we already know who he is.”
“I'm going to talk to that stupid Captain again. You coming?” Mr. Petrov's look left clear that he'd not accept a no for an answer.
Which was a good thing, since Kenya pretty much had to tag along, his burning chest reminded him. However, could going to the police be considered stupid? ... Well, the Captain seemed to be on Andrei's side, so... probably not.
They reached the Captain's office as he again was preparing to leave for the day. He sighed when the door burst open. Not that fool again. “Look, I told you...”
Mr. Petrov wasn't in a mood to listen to excuses. “I'll be quick. I've given that bastard what he wanted, yet he still won't tell me where my son is.”
“I told you I can't help you.”
“Listen to me!” Mr. Petrov howled. “We've been to a shack. There's a screen there, with a live video feed to where my son is. I demand...”
The Captain stopped him, his voice also rising. “Look, there's nothing I can do. And you can't storm into my office yelling at me what to do. Now...”
Mr. Petrov's voice turned ice-cold. “You want this to be all over the news tomorrow? I've seen the bastard.”
Kenya froze, his eyes glued to the floor. Going public was indeed a really stupid thing to do, he was sure of it. Shit. Now he'd have to call him. He felt lightheaded at the very thought. His chest throbbed with pain as his breath got faster. Shit. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself, but his stinging chest wouldn't let him.
The Captain noticed his reaction, but he had more pressing matters to attend. “Look, I won't try to stop you.” He said at Mr. Petrov. “But... honestly. That would be a big mistake to make.”
“Is that a goddamned threat?” Mr. Petrov roared again.
Shit. Well, guess it was time to make the call, the Captain thought. “No. Just friendly advice.”
Good thing Mr. Petrov was too much of a wreck to notice. He kept staring at the screen, as if it could somehow hold a clue on where his son was. “I've got to find him. And then snap that bastard's neck.”
Kenya swallowed. Threatening him was a stupid thing to do, but after the other day, he didn't thought Mr. Petrov could possibly keep his word. He dismissed the idea of calling him just for this. “Well, you won't find him here.”
Mr. Petrov gave a warning stare at the young officer. “So aren't you a goddamned cop? Why aren't you, like, searching for clues?”
Shit. Now what. Play it cool, he thought. Still, his eyes darted away from Mr. Petrov's graze. “Well, I... I don't have the equipment, like, to search for fingerprints, or, well, I guess tracking the video feed would be an idea, but we'd need the computer analysts to do that, and, well, I'm ... sure the Captain won't authorize it. Plus, man, we... we already know who he is.”
“I'm going to talk to that stupid Captain again. You coming?” Mr. Petrov's look left clear that he'd not accept a no for an answer.
Which was a good thing, since Kenya pretty much had to tag along, his burning chest reminded him. However, could going to the police be considered stupid? ... Well, the Captain seemed to be on Andrei's side, so... probably not.
They reached the Captain's office as he again was preparing to leave for the day. He sighed when the door burst open. Not that fool again. “Look, I told you...”
Mr. Petrov wasn't in a mood to listen to excuses. “I'll be quick. I've given that bastard what he wanted, yet he still won't tell me where my son is.”
“I told you I can't help you.”
“Listen to me!” Mr. Petrov howled. “We've been to a shack. There's a screen there, with a live video feed to where my son is. I demand...”
The Captain stopped him, his voice also rising. “Look, there's nothing I can do. And you can't storm into my office yelling at me what to do. Now...”
Mr. Petrov's voice turned ice-cold. “You want this to be all over the news tomorrow? I've seen the bastard.”
Kenya froze, his eyes glued to the floor. Going public was indeed a really stupid thing to do, he was sure of it. Shit. Now he'd have to call him. He felt lightheaded at the very thought. His chest throbbed with pain as his breath got faster. Shit. He leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself, but his stinging chest wouldn't let him.
The Captain noticed his reaction, but he had more pressing matters to attend. “Look, I won't try to stop you.” He said at Mr. Petrov. “But... honestly. That would be a big mistake to make.”
“Is that a goddamned threat?” Mr. Petrov roared again.
Shit. Well, guess it was time to make the call, the Captain thought. “No. Just friendly advice.”
Hell (11) - Yegor
The shack's door buzzed open. Mr. Petrov was obviously still staring at the blank screen, but he quickly got up, ready to cover his weakness with a display of anger. Idiot. Like he could fool me.
“You bastard, I was here at the agreed time...”
“And I was making sure you would listen, Yegor.” I smiled. Nobody ever called him by his first name – for a reason.
Mr. Petrov went into frenzy when he heard it. “How the hell do you dare to call me–”
“You can try to hide it, Yegor, but it won't change what you are or where you come from.”
He got dangerously close to me. Except he was as dangerous as a chihuahua. “You have any damned idea on who I am?!”
“Why, of course. Yegor Petrov, today one of the fortunes of the city, yesterday just a farmer who got lucky when the old regime fell. Luck is what got you there, Yegor, and you know it. Luck in never looking where interesting things happen, if I may add.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”
“You should know.” I quickly dug the next plastic bag from my pocket. “Anyway, I got another souvenir for you.” I took his hand and left the gift on it.
He froze. His eyes locked on the bloody bag. He wasn't expecting this.
I made him look into my eyes. “How many more pieces do I need to bring for you to realize that there's no stopping me? Huh? Or will you try and complete the collection?”
He bit his lip for a split second. “Look... Okay. Okay, I'll sign it. But please. Leave him.”
I took the agreement from my briefcase, carefully hiding the the rest of its contents. I left it on the table for him to sign.
He got his own pen and signed it. Then he took a deep breath before staring at me. “Here. You have took everything I have. Now, where is my son.”
“I'm curious. What are you going to do now? Since, well, this includes the company too.”
His eyes were cold as ice. “That's none of your business.”
“I... thought you might try to knock on a few doors, see if someone is willing to give you some credit... return some favors...”
“What the hell does that mean.”
“Just wanted to give you some friendly advice. You may want to be cautious as to which doors you knock on. You don't want to mess around with... certain people.”
“Again, none of your business. Now. Where the hell is my son.”
“He's in a safe place, Yegor. Don't worry. You'll soon hear news of him.” I winked an eye.
He grabbed my jacket, stupidly trying to raise me in the air. “You bastard you told me–”
I drew a knife and sliced his hands' flesh open, forcing him to release me. I put some distance, this wasn't supposed to end up in a fight. “Don't think you can beat me, Yegor. Now, this isn't over yet. I'll contact you, don't worry.” I unlocked the door and left.
“You bastard, I was here at the agreed time...”
“And I was making sure you would listen, Yegor.” I smiled. Nobody ever called him by his first name – for a reason.
Mr. Petrov went into frenzy when he heard it. “How the hell do you dare to call me–”
“You can try to hide it, Yegor, but it won't change what you are or where you come from.”
He got dangerously close to me. Except he was as dangerous as a chihuahua. “You have any damned idea on who I am?!”
“Why, of course. Yegor Petrov, today one of the fortunes of the city, yesterday just a farmer who got lucky when the old regime fell. Luck is what got you there, Yegor, and you know it. Luck in never looking where interesting things happen, if I may add.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”
“You should know.” I quickly dug the next plastic bag from my pocket. “Anyway, I got another souvenir for you.” I took his hand and left the gift on it.
He froze. His eyes locked on the bloody bag. He wasn't expecting this.
I made him look into my eyes. “How many more pieces do I need to bring for you to realize that there's no stopping me? Huh? Or will you try and complete the collection?”
He bit his lip for a split second. “Look... Okay. Okay, I'll sign it. But please. Leave him.”
I took the agreement from my briefcase, carefully hiding the the rest of its contents. I left it on the table for him to sign.
He got his own pen and signed it. Then he took a deep breath before staring at me. “Here. You have took everything I have. Now, where is my son.”
“I'm curious. What are you going to do now? Since, well, this includes the company too.”
His eyes were cold as ice. “That's none of your business.”
“I... thought you might try to knock on a few doors, see if someone is willing to give you some credit... return some favors...”
“What the hell does that mean.”
“Just wanted to give you some friendly advice. You may want to be cautious as to which doors you knock on. You don't want to mess around with... certain people.”
“Again, none of your business. Now. Where the hell is my son.”
“He's in a safe place, Yegor. Don't worry. You'll soon hear news of him.” I winked an eye.
He grabbed my jacket, stupidly trying to raise me in the air. “You bastard you told me–”
I drew a knife and sliced his hands' flesh open, forcing him to release me. I put some distance, this wasn't supposed to end up in a fight. “Don't think you can beat me, Yegor. Now, this isn't over yet. I'll contact you, don't worry.” I unlocked the door and left.
Hell (10) - Revelation
I took my time. I had all day, to be honest. I stopped at a roadhouse to have some food. It was early evening when I got to the shack. The young fool of a cop was there, sitting on a rock. He took his hand to the empty gun holster, then realized it wasn't even there. He stared at his hands, busily fidgeting with a shirt button, as I approached him.
“Hey. I thought you'd have more common sense than to get involved in this again, son.” I greeted him.
His voice was cool. “I'm not letting Mr. Petrov alone.”
I laughed at him. “Well, seems to me like you did. Is he inside?” Of course he was, the door was locked.
He nodded. Seems like yesterday's lesson hadn't been in vain, after all.
I broke the silence. “So. What am I supposed to do with you now? Huh?”
“I don't even have a gun this time.” At least he had some sense of humor. He kept fidgeting with the button, trying hard to keep up the mask.
“So, did your Captain told you?”
“Told me what.” He finally looked up.
“Who am I.”
“You're just a scoundrel who thinks himself above the law, just 'cause some people are unscrupulous enough to turn a blind eye on it.” His voice was completely steady, with just a hint of contained anger. What a nice cop.
I couldn't help grinning. You idiot. You haven't even talked to him, too shocked at realizing he's not the honorable man you thought. “Well... I'll take that as a compliment, but...” To hell with it, if you're stupid enough to come again, then you deserve to know. “But, no, to be honest, I'm not above the law. I am the law.” I handed him my ID card. Andrei Z. Head of Detentions, old KGB. Yeah, the name changed a long time ago, but the new one isn't as awe-inspiring. People never know what you're talking about.
He went white when he saw it. He had surely assumed I was a criminal, probably from the mob. He definitely wasn't expecting me to be on the law's side.
“Now, son. I'm guessing, you didn't saw the last thing I did?” I handed him my phone as it replayed the video feed, right from that noon.
He stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes from it, as he saw the latest chapter. He glanced at me in horror a couple times, especially as I was carving the young man's face. I just smiled at him. I took the phone again once the interesting part ended.
“You're still a sick scoundrel, ID card or not.”
“I won't deny that, Kenya. Now... I bet you've seen that mark around before, haven't you?”
His face went nuclear white as the realization hit him like a train. Yes. The police station was full of cops with it. Most of them in the chest, so it wouldn't be as obvious, but a few ones in the cheek, too. He looked at me, incapable of asking the obvious question.
“That's what I do so people remember me. Now, Kenya. Let me be honest here. I've told you too much for you to forget me. Don't you think?”
He started mumbling. The realization was almost too much for the poor kid. “Oh, shit, no no no no, please, I swear I won't tell...”
I grinned at him. “Shut up. And open your shirt.”
“Please, no, no, I won't...”
“Look, son. Either you open your shirt, or I'll carve your face. Understand?”
He looked in my direction, but couldn't see me. His mind lost who knows where as he unbuttoned his shirt. His trembling hands made undoing the tight buttons hard, and soon he started sobbing.
I patiently waited for him to finish with the last button. Then drew a knife and brutally hacked an X into his chest. Made sure it hurt like hell. I didn't really want to spend half an hour with him, so a proper first impression was a must. I held his mouth shut, muting down his screams to avoid drawing too much attention. Even if most people around the place knew better than to poke their nose around, there could always be someone too stupid to understand why.
I took the knife to his chin and made him look into my eyes. “You know what it means? Ah?”
He tried to shake his head, but the knife wouldn't let him.
“It means, you better do what I tell you. Or else.”
He nodded as far as the knife let him, wincing hard when the tip bit slightly into his skin.
“I'll make this easy, son. Keep a close eye on Mr. Petrov. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Don't try to stop him if he does – get out and call me. I'll take care of it.” I handed him a slip of paper with my number on it.
He hid his face in his palms, trying to hide himself from the nightmare. Shoving your beliefs aside is never easy.
“Button up that shirt. You don't want him to see that. Now I have to talk to him. Once I'm out, wait until you hear the door buzz unlocked, then escort him home. And tell him I've said, tomorrow, same time, same place. Okay?”
He nodded again as I unlocked the door.
“Hey. I thought you'd have more common sense than to get involved in this again, son.” I greeted him.
His voice was cool. “I'm not letting Mr. Petrov alone.”
I laughed at him. “Well, seems to me like you did. Is he inside?” Of course he was, the door was locked.
He nodded. Seems like yesterday's lesson hadn't been in vain, after all.
I broke the silence. “So. What am I supposed to do with you now? Huh?”
“I don't even have a gun this time.” At least he had some sense of humor. He kept fidgeting with the button, trying hard to keep up the mask.
“So, did your Captain told you?”
“Told me what.” He finally looked up.
“Who am I.”
“You're just a scoundrel who thinks himself above the law, just 'cause some people are unscrupulous enough to turn a blind eye on it.” His voice was completely steady, with just a hint of contained anger. What a nice cop.
I couldn't help grinning. You idiot. You haven't even talked to him, too shocked at realizing he's not the honorable man you thought. “Well... I'll take that as a compliment, but...” To hell with it, if you're stupid enough to come again, then you deserve to know. “But, no, to be honest, I'm not above the law. I am the law.” I handed him my ID card. Andrei Z. Head of Detentions, old KGB. Yeah, the name changed a long time ago, but the new one isn't as awe-inspiring. People never know what you're talking about.
He went white when he saw it. He had surely assumed I was a criminal, probably from the mob. He definitely wasn't expecting me to be on the law's side.
“Now, son. I'm guessing, you didn't saw the last thing I did?” I handed him my phone as it replayed the video feed, right from that noon.
He stared at the screen, unable to tear his eyes from it, as he saw the latest chapter. He glanced at me in horror a couple times, especially as I was carving the young man's face. I just smiled at him. I took the phone again once the interesting part ended.
“You're still a sick scoundrel, ID card or not.”
“I won't deny that, Kenya. Now... I bet you've seen that mark around before, haven't you?”
His face went nuclear white as the realization hit him like a train. Yes. The police station was full of cops with it. Most of them in the chest, so it wouldn't be as obvious, but a few ones in the cheek, too. He looked at me, incapable of asking the obvious question.
“That's what I do so people remember me. Now, Kenya. Let me be honest here. I've told you too much for you to forget me. Don't you think?”
He started mumbling. The realization was almost too much for the poor kid. “Oh, shit, no no no no, please, I swear I won't tell...”
I grinned at him. “Shut up. And open your shirt.”
“Please, no, no, I won't...”
“Look, son. Either you open your shirt, or I'll carve your face. Understand?”
He looked in my direction, but couldn't see me. His mind lost who knows where as he unbuttoned his shirt. His trembling hands made undoing the tight buttons hard, and soon he started sobbing.
I patiently waited for him to finish with the last button. Then drew a knife and brutally hacked an X into his chest. Made sure it hurt like hell. I didn't really want to spend half an hour with him, so a proper first impression was a must. I held his mouth shut, muting down his screams to avoid drawing too much attention. Even if most people around the place knew better than to poke their nose around, there could always be someone too stupid to understand why.
I took the knife to his chin and made him look into my eyes. “You know what it means? Ah?”
He tried to shake his head, but the knife wouldn't let him.
“It means, you better do what I tell you. Or else.”
He nodded as far as the knife let him, wincing hard when the tip bit slightly into his skin.
“I'll make this easy, son. Keep a close eye on Mr. Petrov. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. Don't try to stop him if he does – get out and call me. I'll take care of it.” I handed him a slip of paper with my number on it.
He hid his face in his palms, trying to hide himself from the nightmare. Shoving your beliefs aside is never easy.
“Button up that shirt. You don't want him to see that. Now I have to talk to him. Once I'm out, wait until you hear the door buzz unlocked, then escort him home. And tell him I've said, tomorrow, same time, same place. Okay?”
He nodded again as I unlocked the door.
Hell (9) - Empty
It was half an hour before noon when Mr. Petrov and Kenya arrived to the shack. They saw the door open and got inside. Everything was dark. The desk had been cleared out, and now sat empty. The TV screen was off too. Mr. Petrov figured that was good news. He took a seat as he braced himself for the inevitable wait. It was quite early, after all. Kenya decided it would be best to keep guard outside.
Mr. Petrov's nerves had betrayed him long before that half hour had passed, and so, he had been aimlessly pacing around for a long time when the TV turned itself on. He froze. Andrei was in the room with his son.
He cursed loudly at the screen as he heard him talk.
“... You know what I have to do.” The screen echoed.
Mr. Petrov froze as he realized there was nothing for him to do but to stare at the screen, see how that sick bastard... He couldn't even think of it. Instead, he thought he was going to throw up. Lightheaded, he sat on the floor, hugged his thighs against his chest as a terrified kid would do. His eyes locked on the screen, he wished he could look away. But he couldn't.
He started sobbing, whining uncontrollably as Andrei cut up his son's face. His mind had shut down, so he didn't notice the shape, the same X as in the letters' signature. He just kept staring at the screen, not really seeing what was happening anymore.
After what felt like forever, the blaring TV broke his trance. “Mr. Petrov. Wait for me in there, will you? ... I'm sure you're... willing to reconsider your position.” Then it went off.
About ten minutes later, Mr. Petrov's phone rang. That weird number again. He answered it after taking a deep breath. Now that the screen was off, it was time to blow off all the steam and make sure that bastard knew he wouldn't let him have his way.
But he froze when he heard his son on the other end. Sobbing, his voice broken and mended back a dozen times. “Father. It's me. He's told me what he wants. He's told me it's... everything we have. But we'll manage. Please, don't leave me here. Don't let him hurt me again. Please, dad...”
He was going to reply when the call got disconnected. And Mr. Petrov's heart broke. His son. He'd give anything for him. Of course he would. His son was right. They would manage. He was good at business. He'd come up with something. Maybe he could borrow some money for a startup? He had a lot of friends that owed him a favor or two...
Mr. Petrov's nerves had betrayed him long before that half hour had passed, and so, he had been aimlessly pacing around for a long time when the TV turned itself on. He froze. Andrei was in the room with his son.
He cursed loudly at the screen as he heard him talk.
“... You know what I have to do.” The screen echoed.
Mr. Petrov froze as he realized there was nothing for him to do but to stare at the screen, see how that sick bastard... He couldn't even think of it. Instead, he thought he was going to throw up. Lightheaded, he sat on the floor, hugged his thighs against his chest as a terrified kid would do. His eyes locked on the screen, he wished he could look away. But he couldn't.
He started sobbing, whining uncontrollably as Andrei cut up his son's face. His mind had shut down, so he didn't notice the shape, the same X as in the letters' signature. He just kept staring at the screen, not really seeing what was happening anymore.
After what felt like forever, the blaring TV broke his trance. “Mr. Petrov. Wait for me in there, will you? ... I'm sure you're... willing to reconsider your position.” Then it went off.
About ten minutes later, Mr. Petrov's phone rang. That weird number again. He answered it after taking a deep breath. Now that the screen was off, it was time to blow off all the steam and make sure that bastard knew he wouldn't let him have his way.
But he froze when he heard his son on the other end. Sobbing, his voice broken and mended back a dozen times. “Father. It's me. He's told me what he wants. He's told me it's... everything we have. But we'll manage. Please, don't leave me here. Don't let him hurt me again. Please, dad...”
He was going to reply when the call got disconnected. And Mr. Petrov's heart broke. His son. He'd give anything for him. Of course he would. His son was right. They would manage. He was good at business. He'd come up with something. Maybe he could borrow some money for a startup? He had a lot of friends that owed him a favor or two...
Hell (8) - Slowly
I got up early next morning, I didn't want to be late to my appointment with Mr. Petrov's son. I decided to call the old man, for a change. From an untraceable number, of course. Having him calling me non-stop wouldn't be exactly fun.
Mr. Petrov finally took the phone. “Who's this?”
I didn't try to hide the smile in my voice. “Can't you guess?”
Mr. Petrov's voice burst with anger. “Look, you bastard. I'm willing to try to work this out. But...” He kept ranting.
Yeah, try to settle for, what, 60, 80 million, you idiot. So you still have room to breathe. Yeah, nope. Not going to happen. I smiled at the thought and cut his nonsense. “I won't haggle. I told you. A hundred million or that legal agreement. I won't settle for any less. Anyway, same place, by noon. Don't be late, or else.” And I hung up.
It was a couple minutes past noon when I entered the cell. The boy was curled into a ball, a sobbing wreck of a man. He started mumbling as soon as he saw me. “Look, I'll call my father if you want, I'll help you convince him, but please, don't hurt me, please...”
“Well... daddy says he indeed doesn't have that much, but I know he's lying. So... you know what I have to do.” I took the chair and put it in the middle of the room, facing the hidden cam. “Sit. Cooperate, and I'll make it brief.”
The young man was sobbing, his eyes red and swollen. He had probably been crying all night. He sat awkwardly, almost frozen with fear.
I handed him a water bottle. “Hey. You need to drink something, I don't want you dying of dehydration. It's plain water, I promise.”
He drank half of the bottle in one big gulp. “Tha-thanks.”
“No need to thank me. ... Now, you know what I must do.” I drew the knife.
He started mumbling again, his eyes tightly shut as if not seeing me would take all his problems away. “Fuck, no, please, at least let me try to help, I...”
I circled him, leaned over to whisper in his ear so the cam wouldn't hear my words. “Oh, you will help, don't worry. You'll be working for me.”
I shushed him, forcefully closed his mouth as I grabbed his head, when he started mumbling again. This deal was between us both, no need to get anyone else involved. I leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear as I carved an X on his cheek. “Here, let me sign you the contract.”
His muted screams still echoed around the small room. His blood promptly painted his whole cheek, his neck, my own hand, and finally his shirt. Yet the cut wasn't deep enough to warrant quick action.
I ignored it all and kept talking into his ear. “You'll do as I say. Or else. Think this all is bad? … Think again. This doesn't even come close to bad. Yet.” And I raised my voice for the cam to hear me. “Now, boy. Shut up already and give me your hand.”
Nonsense for an answer. Idiot. Like that could help him.
He wasn't cooperating, so I grabbed his hand. Again I let the knife rest against the next finger's last joint. He had stopped mumbling and now was just sobbing, or maybe his sobs muted his nonsensical words. I slowly let the edge dig into his skin, and soon, blood painted his hand crimson. I kept pushing, just letting the blade get through the actual joint. It's never a good idea to try to cut through bone, that's what joints are for. After a couple long minutes of steadily pushing ever so harder, the fingertip was dangling from the skin and a bit of flesh. I glanced at the boy's eyes as I let the knife on his thigh. He had them shut hard, as if seeing what was happening would make it any more real.
“Look at this, boy.” I whispered a split second before grabbing the dangling tip and giving it a quick jerk, tearing the skin and flesh that kept it hanging.
His scream flooded my ears, left them ringing for a few seconds.
I kept looking into his eyes. He closed them tightly a split second after the tug, but soon opened them to find mine. He froze, terrified of my ominous grin. He started mumbling once more. “Oh, fuck, no, no, please...”
Again I took the lighter and flicked it alight. “You know what's going to happen, don't you?”
Mr. Petrov finally took the phone. “Who's this?”
I didn't try to hide the smile in my voice. “Can't you guess?”
Mr. Petrov's voice burst with anger. “Look, you bastard. I'm willing to try to work this out. But...” He kept ranting.
Yeah, try to settle for, what, 60, 80 million, you idiot. So you still have room to breathe. Yeah, nope. Not going to happen. I smiled at the thought and cut his nonsense. “I won't haggle. I told you. A hundred million or that legal agreement. I won't settle for any less. Anyway, same place, by noon. Don't be late, or else.” And I hung up.
It was a couple minutes past noon when I entered the cell. The boy was curled into a ball, a sobbing wreck of a man. He started mumbling as soon as he saw me. “Look, I'll call my father if you want, I'll help you convince him, but please, don't hurt me, please...”
“Well... daddy says he indeed doesn't have that much, but I know he's lying. So... you know what I have to do.” I took the chair and put it in the middle of the room, facing the hidden cam. “Sit. Cooperate, and I'll make it brief.”
The young man was sobbing, his eyes red and swollen. He had probably been crying all night. He sat awkwardly, almost frozen with fear.
I handed him a water bottle. “Hey. You need to drink something, I don't want you dying of dehydration. It's plain water, I promise.”
He drank half of the bottle in one big gulp. “Tha-thanks.”
“No need to thank me. ... Now, you know what I must do.” I drew the knife.
He started mumbling again, his eyes tightly shut as if not seeing me would take all his problems away. “Fuck, no, please, at least let me try to help, I...”
I circled him, leaned over to whisper in his ear so the cam wouldn't hear my words. “Oh, you will help, don't worry. You'll be working for me.”
I shushed him, forcefully closed his mouth as I grabbed his head, when he started mumbling again. This deal was between us both, no need to get anyone else involved. I leaned closer to him, whispering in his ear as I carved an X on his cheek. “Here, let me sign you the contract.”
His muted screams still echoed around the small room. His blood promptly painted his whole cheek, his neck, my own hand, and finally his shirt. Yet the cut wasn't deep enough to warrant quick action.
I ignored it all and kept talking into his ear. “You'll do as I say. Or else. Think this all is bad? … Think again. This doesn't even come close to bad. Yet.” And I raised my voice for the cam to hear me. “Now, boy. Shut up already and give me your hand.”
Nonsense for an answer. Idiot. Like that could help him.
He wasn't cooperating, so I grabbed his hand. Again I let the knife rest against the next finger's last joint. He had stopped mumbling and now was just sobbing, or maybe his sobs muted his nonsensical words. I slowly let the edge dig into his skin, and soon, blood painted his hand crimson. I kept pushing, just letting the blade get through the actual joint. It's never a good idea to try to cut through bone, that's what joints are for. After a couple long minutes of steadily pushing ever so harder, the fingertip was dangling from the skin and a bit of flesh. I glanced at the boy's eyes as I let the knife on his thigh. He had them shut hard, as if seeing what was happening would make it any more real.
“Look at this, boy.” I whispered a split second before grabbing the dangling tip and giving it a quick jerk, tearing the skin and flesh that kept it hanging.
His scream flooded my ears, left them ringing for a few seconds.
I kept looking into his eyes. He closed them tightly a split second after the tug, but soon opened them to find mine. He froze, terrified of my ominous grin. He started mumbling once more. “Oh, fuck, no, no, please...”
Again I took the lighter and flicked it alight. “You know what's going to happen, don't you?”
Hell (7) - Headache
The Captain was getting ready to go home when the door to his office burst open.
Mr. Petrov's angry voice could probably be heard across the whole floor. “What the hell is this, Captain. I've talked with that bastard. He says you won't even try to help me. Well, let me tell you, I sure hope he's lying, or else, I swear you'll regret it, you hear me?”
The Captain let out a deep sigh and looked at him, a mix of pity and uneasiness showing up in his eyes. Dealing with Andrei was unnerving to say the least. “Mr... Petrov. Look, I'll be completely honest with you. There's nothing I'd like more than to stop him.” He bit his tongue, not wanting to say too much. That, too, would have consequences. “But... Last time I tried, I lost about a dozen men. There's no way to stop him.”
Mr. Petrov exploded. “Then call the Army for all I care! Special Ops! Whatever it takes, but you can't tell me you'll just sit there and have me wait for the next goddamned envelope!”
The Captain smiled nervously. This wouldn't end well. It never did. “Call them, go on. They'll tell you the same. Nobody's going to try to stop that man, I tell you. Look... let me be honest here. Best... no. Only thing you can do, is give him what he wants. Accept you have no way around it, get it over with.”
The old man leaned threateningly over the Captain's desk. “Do you know who the hell I am, Captain?!”
He reclined onto his chair, grabbing his forehead, in vain trying to massage out the impending headache. All that screaming and treading over thin ice wasn't good for his head. “Look, Mr. Petrov. I know who you are. Now, let me ask a question. By any chance, do you know who he is?”
“A sick bastard, that's...”
“Well... yes, even he would agree to that. But, no, that's not what I meant.” The Captain sighed, his eyes focusing far away from his office. “I guess nobody out of... certain circles actually knows about him. I... can't really tell you, I'm not risking him... figuring out and paying me a visit.” He looked at Mr. Petrov. “But I'll tell you this. I don't know of anybody that's actually met him, that wouldn't rather die than betray him. ... And I'll be honest, I'm in that boat too. So... Sorry. No, I can't help you, Mister.”
“I'll have your goddamned head on a spike, Captain. Mark my words.”
The Captain sighed as Mr. Petrov left with an angry door slam. Empty threats. Every single time the same. Shit. He hated doing this. Looking the other way had never been in the job description. But alas, it was better than the alternative.
Once he was sure he was alone, he locked the door to his office and unbuttoned his uniform. His shirt. He looked down at his chest. His eyes locked on an old scar in the shape of an X. The mark. He gently traced it with his fingers as he muttered to himself. “You son of a bitch. I swear I'd have your head if I could.”
Mr. Petrov's angry voice could probably be heard across the whole floor. “What the hell is this, Captain. I've talked with that bastard. He says you won't even try to help me. Well, let me tell you, I sure hope he's lying, or else, I swear you'll regret it, you hear me?”
The Captain let out a deep sigh and looked at him, a mix of pity and uneasiness showing up in his eyes. Dealing with Andrei was unnerving to say the least. “Mr... Petrov. Look, I'll be completely honest with you. There's nothing I'd like more than to stop him.” He bit his tongue, not wanting to say too much. That, too, would have consequences. “But... Last time I tried, I lost about a dozen men. There's no way to stop him.”
Mr. Petrov exploded. “Then call the Army for all I care! Special Ops! Whatever it takes, but you can't tell me you'll just sit there and have me wait for the next goddamned envelope!”
The Captain smiled nervously. This wouldn't end well. It never did. “Call them, go on. They'll tell you the same. Nobody's going to try to stop that man, I tell you. Look... let me be honest here. Best... no. Only thing you can do, is give him what he wants. Accept you have no way around it, get it over with.”
The old man leaned threateningly over the Captain's desk. “Do you know who the hell I am, Captain?!”
He reclined onto his chair, grabbing his forehead, in vain trying to massage out the impending headache. All that screaming and treading over thin ice wasn't good for his head. “Look, Mr. Petrov. I know who you are. Now, let me ask a question. By any chance, do you know who he is?”
“A sick bastard, that's...”
“Well... yes, even he would agree to that. But, no, that's not what I meant.” The Captain sighed, his eyes focusing far away from his office. “I guess nobody out of... certain circles actually knows about him. I... can't really tell you, I'm not risking him... figuring out and paying me a visit.” He looked at Mr. Petrov. “But I'll tell you this. I don't know of anybody that's actually met him, that wouldn't rather die than betray him. ... And I'll be honest, I'm in that boat too. So... Sorry. No, I can't help you, Mister.”
“I'll have your goddamned head on a spike, Captain. Mark my words.”
The Captain sighed as Mr. Petrov left with an angry door slam. Empty threats. Every single time the same. Shit. He hated doing this. Looking the other way had never been in the job description. But alas, it was better than the alternative.
Once he was sure he was alone, he locked the door to his office and unbuttoned his uniform. His shirt. He looked down at his chest. His eyes locked on an old scar in the shape of an X. The mark. He gently traced it with his fingers as he muttered to himself. “You son of a bitch. I swear I'd have your head if I could.”
Hell (6) - The Shack
Not two hours after I delivered the second letter, I heard a knock on the door. I quickly looked into the surveillance screen. The old fool had brought a cop with him. Idiots. Getting more people involved tends to mean more people end up getting hurt. Oh, well. Let's get on with this and see how things play out.
I checked my jacket's inner pocket. Yes, the gun was there. Good. One can never know what to expect when a young, fool cop gets himself involved. You see, I was fairly sure that nobody knew he was there. Or at the very least, his Captain didn't. Those guys know better than to try to stop me. They had already lost too much trying and failing. Some idiot young officers, on the other hand...
I opened the door. The young cop tried to draw his gun, but seemingly had forgotten to undo the clasp holding it safely in place. I stared at him in amusement as he fumbled with it for a good ten seconds. “Boy, don't bother. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be already dead.” I slightly opened my jacket, discreetly letting him see the inner pocket's contents. “Now, hand me that before someone gets hurt, will you?” I stretched out my hand, but he was too much of an idiot to get it.
He finally drew his gun, and pointed it at my head. “Freeze!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.
I burst into laughter. “Son. Give me that before you get hurt.”
“Hands where I can see them!” He nearly blew my eardrums this time.
“Son, I'm not deaf yet for you to yell like that, you know. Though a couple more screams and I may as well be. Also,–“ I pointed at my hands. My left was tended towards him, my right visibly open, a good foot away from my pants' pocket. “–are you sure you don't need to get your eyes checked?”
“Shut up, I'm the one giving orders here! Get on your knees, now!” This time his yell was just annoyingly high, not deafening.
I have never had the patience for banter, no matter how witty. In a split second, I tore the gun from his hand. Long before he even realized I had moved. I pointed it at him, took a step forward, and let the barrel rest against his temple. My other hand grabbed his shirt. “Okay. Maybe you'll listen now, won't you, boy?”
He froze. Just stared at me, but by his look, he couldn't even see me.
The old man took a step backwards and drew his own gun. “I thought you bastard wanted to talk, not this.”
I sighed loudly. “Mr. Petrov, I get you don't really know who you're talking to. But please. Your son is already in a rough spot – don't make it worse, will you? I actually wanted to talk. Just not in front of an idiot of a cop that's trying to arrest me, thinking it will somehow help. Now, be nice and give me that, will you?”
“Give me a damned reason to not kill you right now.” He took another step backwards. He was gripping it so tight, his knuckles turned white.
“Well... for a start, you don't even know where your son is. Only I do. You'll never find him if you kill me, you'll be letting him starve to death. Is that a good enough reason for you?” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Give me.”
He threw the gun at my face, not wanting to give up, but knowing he had no choice.
I caught it on the fly. Signaled them both to follow me inside. The door locked behind them with a soft buzz. I offered them both chairs, and turned on the big TV screen. On it appeared Mr. Petrov's son, curled against a corner as a scared cat who can't find a place to hide. There were quite a few blood stains, both on him and on the concrete walls.
The two men on this side of the screen froze when they saw it. Mr. Petrov took a couple long steps towards me, getting almost too close. “You bastard, I swear you'll regret this. If you do anything...”
He went quiet as I handed him a check, completely ignoring his polite threats. “Okay. Then just sign this, and I'll tell you where he is, give you the key and everything, so you can have him back.”
His voice was ice cold when he finally replied. “Look, you bastard. I don't even have that much. But I'm willing to negotiate. I'll give you ten million.”
I gave him a smile. “Look, I know what you do and don't have.” I let him think about it for a second. “Okay, so, maybe a check is not the way to do this.” I dug though the papers on the table – I had left it there. “I know... sigh. Where on earth did I put it, now? ...Oh, here it is.” I handed the paper to him. “Here. Sign this and we're done.”
Mr. Petrov tore it from my hands and started pacing around while reading it. Long story short, it said he gave me everything he had. I teased him. “I've been doing numbers, it makes for roughly a hundred million. I won't mind if it's only ninety, you know. I know the stock options' value can vary quite a lot by the day.”
He went white, his eyes now locked to the ground, his mask faltering for a split second. “You goddamned bastard can't do this. I... no. You can't.”
“Oh, well, as a matter of fact, I can. I have a lawyer friend who's written it. He says it's binding if you sign it. Or... well, I can unlock the door, and you keep going on with your life. Your son, though – well, I'm afraid I can't really free him. You know. Else, how the hell am I going to send you more pieces? Huh?”
The young cop pat Mr. Petrov's shoulder. “Let's go, man. We got him, we've seen him. I'm sure we'll think of something soon enough.”
I looked at him. “Son. I thought you had already realized that your superiors aren't going to do shit about this.”
His eyes darted away from me, obviously trying to hide a lie. “The Captain wanted to be sure, that's the only reason...”
“Son, I'll be blunt with you. He won't give up his life for this. Nor his family. Understand what I'm saying? Nobody's going to do anything about it. They all know they have too much to lose if they do.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “You're lying, you scoundrel. I'm going now. I'll prove you wrong, you'll see.”
I laughed at him. “Son, you're not going anywhere unless I unlock that door. Now, sit, be a good boy, and let the adults do the talk, okay?”
Mr. Petrov was still pacing around. He stopped as I finished my words. Looked at me, still trying to put up a mask, but not really managing it. “Will you open the door for me, at least? ... You said we could go, didn't you?”
I grinned at him. “Of course you can go. Just don't forget, you have until noon to pay. Else, you know what I'm doing.” I unlocked the door for him.
The young cop got ready to follow Mr. Petrov. I stopped him, signed the old man to go on without him. The young man sat in the chair, his eyes starting to well up, his look apparently on the floor, actually nowhere in particular. I took his chin, made him look into my eyes. “Calm down, son. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Wha-what do you... do you want from... me...”
“What's your name, son.”
He took a deep breath. This was apparently not as bad as he had thought. “Everybody calls me Kenya, sir.”
I grinned at him. “Well. What the hell are you doing here, Kenya.”
“I won't–” He clenched his jaw, his eyes glaring into mine, fear gone for a second. “I won't turn a blind eye while you scoundrels tear this city apart.”
I got closer to him, just a few inches away. “Would you rather die?”
And he broke again. “N-no, sir.”
“Good. See, I don't really have anything against you. But, try to arrest me again, dare to point a gun at me again, and I swear you'll regret it. Understand?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Now, get the hell out of here, son.”
I checked my jacket's inner pocket. Yes, the gun was there. Good. One can never know what to expect when a young, fool cop gets himself involved. You see, I was fairly sure that nobody knew he was there. Or at the very least, his Captain didn't. Those guys know better than to try to stop me. They had already lost too much trying and failing. Some idiot young officers, on the other hand...
I opened the door. The young cop tried to draw his gun, but seemingly had forgotten to undo the clasp holding it safely in place. I stared at him in amusement as he fumbled with it for a good ten seconds. “Boy, don't bother. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be already dead.” I slightly opened my jacket, discreetly letting him see the inner pocket's contents. “Now, hand me that before someone gets hurt, will you?” I stretched out my hand, but he was too much of an idiot to get it.
He finally drew his gun, and pointed it at my head. “Freeze!” He yelled at the top of his lungs.
I burst into laughter. “Son. Give me that before you get hurt.”
“Hands where I can see them!” He nearly blew my eardrums this time.
“Son, I'm not deaf yet for you to yell like that, you know. Though a couple more screams and I may as well be. Also,–“ I pointed at my hands. My left was tended towards him, my right visibly open, a good foot away from my pants' pocket. “–are you sure you don't need to get your eyes checked?”
“Shut up, I'm the one giving orders here! Get on your knees, now!” This time his yell was just annoyingly high, not deafening.
I have never had the patience for banter, no matter how witty. In a split second, I tore the gun from his hand. Long before he even realized I had moved. I pointed it at him, took a step forward, and let the barrel rest against his temple. My other hand grabbed his shirt. “Okay. Maybe you'll listen now, won't you, boy?”
He froze. Just stared at me, but by his look, he couldn't even see me.
The old man took a step backwards and drew his own gun. “I thought you bastard wanted to talk, not this.”
I sighed loudly. “Mr. Petrov, I get you don't really know who you're talking to. But please. Your son is already in a rough spot – don't make it worse, will you? I actually wanted to talk. Just not in front of an idiot of a cop that's trying to arrest me, thinking it will somehow help. Now, be nice and give me that, will you?”
“Give me a damned reason to not kill you right now.” He took another step backwards. He was gripping it so tight, his knuckles turned white.
“Well... for a start, you don't even know where your son is. Only I do. You'll never find him if you kill me, you'll be letting him starve to death. Is that a good enough reason for you?” I offered him my hand. “Come on. Give me.”
He threw the gun at my face, not wanting to give up, but knowing he had no choice.
I caught it on the fly. Signaled them both to follow me inside. The door locked behind them with a soft buzz. I offered them both chairs, and turned on the big TV screen. On it appeared Mr. Petrov's son, curled against a corner as a scared cat who can't find a place to hide. There were quite a few blood stains, both on him and on the concrete walls.
The two men on this side of the screen froze when they saw it. Mr. Petrov took a couple long steps towards me, getting almost too close. “You bastard, I swear you'll regret this. If you do anything...”
He went quiet as I handed him a check, completely ignoring his polite threats. “Okay. Then just sign this, and I'll tell you where he is, give you the key and everything, so you can have him back.”
His voice was ice cold when he finally replied. “Look, you bastard. I don't even have that much. But I'm willing to negotiate. I'll give you ten million.”
I gave him a smile. “Look, I know what you do and don't have.” I let him think about it for a second. “Okay, so, maybe a check is not the way to do this.” I dug though the papers on the table – I had left it there. “I know... sigh. Where on earth did I put it, now? ...Oh, here it is.” I handed the paper to him. “Here. Sign this and we're done.”
Mr. Petrov tore it from my hands and started pacing around while reading it. Long story short, it said he gave me everything he had. I teased him. “I've been doing numbers, it makes for roughly a hundred million. I won't mind if it's only ninety, you know. I know the stock options' value can vary quite a lot by the day.”
He went white, his eyes now locked to the ground, his mask faltering for a split second. “You goddamned bastard can't do this. I... no. You can't.”
“Oh, well, as a matter of fact, I can. I have a lawyer friend who's written it. He says it's binding if you sign it. Or... well, I can unlock the door, and you keep going on with your life. Your son, though – well, I'm afraid I can't really free him. You know. Else, how the hell am I going to send you more pieces? Huh?”
The young cop pat Mr. Petrov's shoulder. “Let's go, man. We got him, we've seen him. I'm sure we'll think of something soon enough.”
I looked at him. “Son. I thought you had already realized that your superiors aren't going to do shit about this.”
His eyes darted away from me, obviously trying to hide a lie. “The Captain wanted to be sure, that's the only reason...”
“Son, I'll be blunt with you. He won't give up his life for this. Nor his family. Understand what I'm saying? Nobody's going to do anything about it. They all know they have too much to lose if they do.”
His eyes widened in disbelief. “You're lying, you scoundrel. I'm going now. I'll prove you wrong, you'll see.”
I laughed at him. “Son, you're not going anywhere unless I unlock that door. Now, sit, be a good boy, and let the adults do the talk, okay?”
Mr. Petrov was still pacing around. He stopped as I finished my words. Looked at me, still trying to put up a mask, but not really managing it. “Will you open the door for me, at least? ... You said we could go, didn't you?”
I grinned at him. “Of course you can go. Just don't forget, you have until noon to pay. Else, you know what I'm doing.” I unlocked the door for him.
The young cop got ready to follow Mr. Petrov. I stopped him, signed the old man to go on without him. The young man sat in the chair, his eyes starting to well up, his look apparently on the floor, actually nowhere in particular. I took his chin, made him look into my eyes. “Calm down, son. I just wanted to talk to you.”
“Wha-what do you... do you want from... me...”
“What's your name, son.”
He took a deep breath. This was apparently not as bad as he had thought. “Everybody calls me Kenya, sir.”
I grinned at him. “Well. What the hell are you doing here, Kenya.”
“I won't–” He clenched his jaw, his eyes glaring into mine, fear gone for a second. “I won't turn a blind eye while you scoundrels tear this city apart.”
I got closer to him, just a few inches away. “Would you rather die?”
And he broke again. “N-no, sir.”
“Good. See, I don't really have anything against you. But, try to arrest me again, dare to point a gun at me again, and I swear you'll regret it. Understand?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Now, get the hell out of here, son.”
Hell (5) - Ransom
Mr. Petrov was pacing around his room when he heard the doorbell. His heart skipped a beat when he opened the main door and saw another envelope at his feet. He took it, and went to sit on his couch before opening it. He froze when he saw another bloody freezer bag, another fingertip in it. He read the note.
Goddammit. The Captain was indeed hiding something. He couldn't be trusted. That young officer –Kenya, was it?– on the other hand, seemed friendly and willing to help. Mr. Petrov did not have the money, but he was willing to make a deal. Half of it seemed somehow reasonable.
He rushed to the police station. Kenya was again at the main desk. He sprung up as soon as he saw Mr. Petrov. Both of them sprinted outside and got into the old man's car.
“Did he say anything else?”
Mr. Petrov silently handed him the envelope.
Kenya went white as he read the note. “Shit. I... I knew something was off here. But this... That scoundrel openly admitting it, that's too much. I mean, I thought we were here to protect the citizens, not to look the other way when... things get ugly.”
Mr. Petrov looked at him. “What the hell do you mean, things get ugly?”
“Well, yesterday I was still in shock, and didn't really want to believe it, but... the Captain told me to not get involved in this like, a handful of times. He... seemed to know who... who was behind it, he even... let out a couple veiled threats.”
“Dammit.” Mr. Petrov took a deep breath. “Boy. I'm going to that place. Will you come with me?”
Kenya nodded.
Here's another souvenir for you, since you seem to be ignoring my requests. I stand by my word. A day, a finger. Meet me at the shack in 18 Bulatnikovskaya street, right past the gate, so we can arrange the exchange.
You may be tempted to contact the cops, but I suspect you already realized they won't be of much help.
Goddammit. The Captain was indeed hiding something. He couldn't be trusted. That young officer –Kenya, was it?– on the other hand, seemed friendly and willing to help. Mr. Petrov did not have the money, but he was willing to make a deal. Half of it seemed somehow reasonable.
He rushed to the police station. Kenya was again at the main desk. He sprung up as soon as he saw Mr. Petrov. Both of them sprinted outside and got into the old man's car.
“Did he say anything else?”
Mr. Petrov silently handed him the envelope.
Kenya went white as he read the note. “Shit. I... I knew something was off here. But this... That scoundrel openly admitting it, that's too much. I mean, I thought we were here to protect the citizens, not to look the other way when... things get ugly.”
Mr. Petrov looked at him. “What the hell do you mean, things get ugly?”
“Well, yesterday I was still in shock, and didn't really want to believe it, but... the Captain told me to not get involved in this like, a handful of times. He... seemed to know who... who was behind it, he even... let out a couple veiled threats.”
“Dammit.” Mr. Petrov took a deep breath. “Boy. I'm going to that place. Will you come with me?”
Kenya nodded.
Author's note: Any reference to real world places is purely fictional.
Hell (4) - How many more
The light had gone out not five minutes after Andrei left. There was an eerie silence left in the room, just broken by the young man's sobs. He touched his fingers. The stumps left. A question flashed in the back of his mind. How many more? Then, sounds started joining his sobs. First some kind of machinery, a low, uninterrupted hum. He kept imagining it was a meat grinder. Then a dripping liquid. The young man soon fell silent, trying hard to make sure it wasn't his own blood. But the rag was still not fully soaked. Then started the screeches. As if someone was running their fingernails through a blackboard. Then muted screams, from too far to actually understand the words. The young man could only imagine what was happening. Someone else. The madman was doing the same to someone else.
But he couldn't bring himself to care. He was sure the door was locked, so there was nothing he could do about it, he told himself. Plus, even if it wasn't, trying to help would mean seeing him again. Fuck, no. He couldn't possibly do that. It would mean... How many more.
His arm ached, like a bad toothache, muted pain ever present in the back of his mind. Andrei had bent the elbow well past its normal range. But his mind was focused on his hand, all the time, ever since the question had appeared for the first time. How many more. He kept touching the stumps, fully realizing his fingertips were not there anymore. Two already. Fuck. How many more. He couldn't think of anything else. How many more. The burn from the first day kept stinging. Probably starting to get infected. And he could feel the blood from today's wound soaking through the dirty rag. Fuck. How many more. Would he get out of here? … He didn't care anymore. Better that than more of this. And once he ran out of fingers? Fuck. No. No, his father...
His father hadn't managed to locate him in time. His all-powerful father. Was he even trying? He used to tell him how he didn't deserve all he had. Of course, he had deserved that lecture. But maybe he actually meant it? Fuck. He was going to rot in here for who knows how long. … How many more. He soon started mumbling to himself, unaware of the hidden IR camera recording everything. “Fuck, no. Please. Please, end this. I'll do anything...”
But he couldn't bring himself to care. He was sure the door was locked, so there was nothing he could do about it, he told himself. Plus, even if it wasn't, trying to help would mean seeing him again. Fuck, no. He couldn't possibly do that. It would mean... How many more.
His arm ached, like a bad toothache, muted pain ever present in the back of his mind. Andrei had bent the elbow well past its normal range. But his mind was focused on his hand, all the time, ever since the question had appeared for the first time. How many more. He kept touching the stumps, fully realizing his fingertips were not there anymore. Two already. Fuck. How many more. He couldn't think of anything else. How many more. The burn from the first day kept stinging. Probably starting to get infected. And he could feel the blood from today's wound soaking through the dirty rag. Fuck. How many more. Would he get out of here? … He didn't care anymore. Better that than more of this. And once he ran out of fingers? Fuck. No. No, his father...
His father hadn't managed to locate him in time. His all-powerful father. Was he even trying? He used to tell him how he didn't deserve all he had. Of course, he had deserved that lecture. But maybe he actually meant it? Fuck. He was going to rot in here for who knows how long. … How many more. He soon started mumbling to himself, unaware of the hidden IR camera recording everything. “Fuck, no. Please. Please, end this. I'll do anything...”
Hell (3) - Nobody
Next morning I was back with Mr. Petrov's son. The full night's rest had done some good to his mood, because he was back to being an arrogant jerk. I took a note to self to push somewhat harder that evening.
He started ranting from his corner as soon as he saw me. “You'll pay for this, you know. I told you, my father doesn't have that much, so you're wasting your time. And more importantly, MY time.”
But I could see he was just acting tough. Scratch the surface, and you'd see the broken mess inside. I smiled at him. “Didn't I told you, it doesn't work that way? Boy, you're a nobody, accept it. Nobody gives a shit about what happens to you. Seems like not even your daddy. He hasn't contacted me yet.”
“Wh-what?”
“Well, maybe it has something to do with me purposefully forgetting to give him a number to call to, if I'm being honest. But, a promise is a promise, and a day has gone without him paying... so it seems like I'll need to send him another gift. Oh, and also a way to contact me, I guess.”
He sprung to his feet, knuckles white from clenching his fists too hard. “You idiot, you think I'm giving up without a fight?” But his voice betrayed him. It was too obvious that he was as scared as a wounded deer in front of a wolf.
I grinned at him. “Boy, you're not fooling anyone. Also, if you think you can beat me, you're deeply mistaken.”
He lunged at me, fists first. Only to crash head first against the locked door as I easily dodged him. It was amusingly obvious that he'd never so much as been in a fight before. I drew the knife and knelt beside him, one of my knees immobilizing his back, somewhat restricting his breath. I grabbed his hair and turned his head to the side so he could see something else than the concrete floor. I slowly took the knife to his chin, making sure he saw it coming.
His breath turned shallow and fast, his face whiter than before, if that was possible. He started mumbling once more. “Fuck, no, please, no, no...”
“Now... you know what I'm going to do. You can stay still and cooperate, or I can make it worse. Deal?”
I grabbed his hand, bent his elbow a little too far backwards. That was his first scream. Then I hacked off the next of his fingertips. He screamed like the little boy he was. I couldn't help to smile as I got on my feet and, for the second time, bagged the finger chunk, signed the note, and shoved both into the envelope. I then threw a rag to him. “Better stop that blood, or you'll bleed out. You don't want that to happen, do you?”
And so, I left him again with his thoughts.
He started ranting from his corner as soon as he saw me. “You'll pay for this, you know. I told you, my father doesn't have that much, so you're wasting your time. And more importantly, MY time.”
But I could see he was just acting tough. Scratch the surface, and you'd see the broken mess inside. I smiled at him. “Didn't I told you, it doesn't work that way? Boy, you're a nobody, accept it. Nobody gives a shit about what happens to you. Seems like not even your daddy. He hasn't contacted me yet.”
“Wh-what?”
“Well, maybe it has something to do with me purposefully forgetting to give him a number to call to, if I'm being honest. But, a promise is a promise, and a day has gone without him paying... so it seems like I'll need to send him another gift. Oh, and also a way to contact me, I guess.”
He sprung to his feet, knuckles white from clenching his fists too hard. “You idiot, you think I'm giving up without a fight?” But his voice betrayed him. It was too obvious that he was as scared as a wounded deer in front of a wolf.
I grinned at him. “Boy, you're not fooling anyone. Also, if you think you can beat me, you're deeply mistaken.”
He lunged at me, fists first. Only to crash head first against the locked door as I easily dodged him. It was amusingly obvious that he'd never so much as been in a fight before. I drew the knife and knelt beside him, one of my knees immobilizing his back, somewhat restricting his breath. I grabbed his hair and turned his head to the side so he could see something else than the concrete floor. I slowly took the knife to his chin, making sure he saw it coming.
His breath turned shallow and fast, his face whiter than before, if that was possible. He started mumbling once more. “Fuck, no, please, no, no...”
“Now... you know what I'm going to do. You can stay still and cooperate, or I can make it worse. Deal?”
I grabbed his hand, bent his elbow a little too far backwards. That was his first scream. Then I hacked off the next of his fingertips. He screamed like the little boy he was. I couldn't help to smile as I got on my feet and, for the second time, bagged the finger chunk, signed the note, and shoved both into the envelope. I then threw a rag to him. “Better stop that blood, or you'll bleed out. You don't want that to happen, do you?”
And so, I left him again with his thoughts.
Hell (2) - Missing
It was early evening when the old man arrived to the police station. He went straight to the main desk, ignoring the short line of people waiting to be attended, which greeted him with angry looks and mild protests. He ignored them as he proceeded to open the blank envelope he was carrying. Everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence as they saw the contents: a plastic freezer bag, with a bloody fingertip inside.
“Officer, my son's been missing since at least this morning. I thought he may have been out, partying or whatever, until I received this.” The man drew a note from the envelope, and read it aloud. “He's with me. If you want to see him again, I want a hundred million. Every day you don't contact me, I'll send you another souvenir.” His voice was cracking by the time he finished.
He left the note on the desk and took a couple deep breaths, a way of steadying himself before addressing the young man again. “Officer, I'd gladly pay if I had the money. But... even if I managed to gather it in time... there's no contact information – at all.”
The young officer was stunned as to what to do. He had just been promoted from a traffic guard to being a real cop, and goddammit if he was ready for this. The rest of policemen either hadn't heard enough, or they acted as if they indeed hadn't.
The officer took the note and quickly read it. There was something else the old man hadn't pointed out. An X, drawn in blood, as an ominous signature. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. Somewhere deep in his mind, it rang a bell, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. “I... If you let me, I'll show all this to my boss. He may know what it all means. But honestly, it doesn't make sense.”
“Call him, then. Or let me follow you to his office. I'd rather not lose sight of that note, I'm sure you can understand that.”
“Okay, I'll call him, sir.” He tried to be polite, but his mind was racing, thinking about that macabre signature.
About ten minutes later, the Captain came. “What's it that you couldn't come to my–” He saw the note, the bloody freezer bag, and changed his mind in regards to the lowly officer. There was a clear hint of resignation in his voice. “Oh, hell, no.” He took the note, scanned it for a second, and left it again on the desk. “Mr. Petrov, excuse us for a second, will you? I need to talk to my officer.” He signed the young man to follow him to the stairwell.
The young officer's eyes kept darting to the main desk. To the old man. “Captain, I...”
The Captain grabbed the officer's arms and cornered him against the wall. “Kenya. Listen to me. I know what this is about, I know who did it. And, fair warning, you DO NOT want to get involved in this.”
“Who...?” Kenya spurted, too confused to realize both what he was saying, and to whom.
“Boy, dammit, this is well above your pay grade. Don't get involved in it, okay?” The Captain sighed. “I know you want to help and make the world a better place, but there are people you just don't mess with. Understand?”
“What? So, we're not...? That man just...”
The Captain's voice turned icy-cold. “You are going to follow orders. Don't get involved in this. I won't be able to help you if you do.” He relaxed the tone somewhat. “This... this is seriously not in your job description, boy.”
Kenya exploded. Politely. “Look, Captain. I'm not going to look the other way while this man receives finger after finger.”
The Captain sighed loudly. “No. No, we're going to wait and see how this plays out. Right now, we don't have any lead to follow. Do we?”
“Captain, you said...”
“No. We don't. Kenya, for all that's holy, stop it already. Call it a day and go home, have a nice dinner with your sister or your parents or whoever the hell you care about. But forget about this, dammit!” He turned around and left before the nosy kid had a chance to protest.
Kenya was stunned by the Captain's reaction. He'd said he knew who it was? Wasn't he an honest man? He decided to wait outside. The old man, Mr. Petrov, had to walk out sooner or later.
Meanwhile, the Captain went to the main desk, where Mr. Petrov was still waiting for him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov, I really had to comfort him, I think this is the first time he's... dealt with something like this.”
Mr. Petrov sighed, trying to hide his annoyance. He wasn't used to have to wait. “Alright, Captain. Now, what can I do? There's no contact info of any kind. And, well, I'll be honest, I'd gladly pay – if I had that kind of money.”
The Captain looked at him, questioning his words. He was a rich man. And surely... whoever did this... knew better than to ask for more than Mr. Petrov could pay. Right? He sighed. Shit. “Honestly, only thing we can do is wait for whoever sent this to realize you can't really contact him.”
“Captain, but it says they'll send...” Mr. Petrov's voice broke.
“Yeah, well. I'm at a loss as to what to do.” The Captain drew a contact card from his pocket. “But if you do have any idea, please, tell me. Now, if you excuse me, I have a few things to check. Namely, if we've dealt with something like this before.” And he left.
Mr. Petrov was visibly shaken when he left the station. He nearly jumped in place when the young officer called him from a car. He rushed inside.
“Mr. Petrov, is it? Look, I want to help you. I have this feeling, that the Captain is hiding something. That... somehow... he doesn't want to... help you.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling too, boy.”
“Officer, my son's been missing since at least this morning. I thought he may have been out, partying or whatever, until I received this.” The man drew a note from the envelope, and read it aloud. “He's with me. If you want to see him again, I want a hundred million. Every day you don't contact me, I'll send you another souvenir.” His voice was cracking by the time he finished.
He left the note on the desk and took a couple deep breaths, a way of steadying himself before addressing the young man again. “Officer, I'd gladly pay if I had the money. But... even if I managed to gather it in time... there's no contact information – at all.”
The young officer was stunned as to what to do. He had just been promoted from a traffic guard to being a real cop, and goddammit if he was ready for this. The rest of policemen either hadn't heard enough, or they acted as if they indeed hadn't.
The officer took the note and quickly read it. There was something else the old man hadn't pointed out. An X, drawn in blood, as an ominous signature. He couldn't tear his eyes away from it. Somewhere deep in his mind, it rang a bell, but he couldn't seem to put his finger on it. “I... If you let me, I'll show all this to my boss. He may know what it all means. But honestly, it doesn't make sense.”
“Call him, then. Or let me follow you to his office. I'd rather not lose sight of that note, I'm sure you can understand that.”
“Okay, I'll call him, sir.” He tried to be polite, but his mind was racing, thinking about that macabre signature.
About ten minutes later, the Captain came. “What's it that you couldn't come to my–” He saw the note, the bloody freezer bag, and changed his mind in regards to the lowly officer. There was a clear hint of resignation in his voice. “Oh, hell, no.” He took the note, scanned it for a second, and left it again on the desk. “Mr. Petrov, excuse us for a second, will you? I need to talk to my officer.” He signed the young man to follow him to the stairwell.
The young officer's eyes kept darting to the main desk. To the old man. “Captain, I...”
The Captain grabbed the officer's arms and cornered him against the wall. “Kenya. Listen to me. I know what this is about, I know who did it. And, fair warning, you DO NOT want to get involved in this.”
“Who...?” Kenya spurted, too confused to realize both what he was saying, and to whom.
“Boy, dammit, this is well above your pay grade. Don't get involved in it, okay?” The Captain sighed. “I know you want to help and make the world a better place, but there are people you just don't mess with. Understand?”
“What? So, we're not...? That man just...”
The Captain's voice turned icy-cold. “You are going to follow orders. Don't get involved in this. I won't be able to help you if you do.” He relaxed the tone somewhat. “This... this is seriously not in your job description, boy.”
Kenya exploded. Politely. “Look, Captain. I'm not going to look the other way while this man receives finger after finger.”
The Captain sighed loudly. “No. No, we're going to wait and see how this plays out. Right now, we don't have any lead to follow. Do we?”
“Captain, you said...”
“No. We don't. Kenya, for all that's holy, stop it already. Call it a day and go home, have a nice dinner with your sister or your parents or whoever the hell you care about. But forget about this, dammit!” He turned around and left before the nosy kid had a chance to protest.
Kenya was stunned by the Captain's reaction. He'd said he knew who it was? Wasn't he an honest man? He decided to wait outside. The old man, Mr. Petrov, had to walk out sooner or later.
Meanwhile, the Captain went to the main desk, where Mr. Petrov was still waiting for him. “I'm sorry, Mr. Petrov, I really had to comfort him, I think this is the first time he's... dealt with something like this.”
Mr. Petrov sighed, trying to hide his annoyance. He wasn't used to have to wait. “Alright, Captain. Now, what can I do? There's no contact info of any kind. And, well, I'll be honest, I'd gladly pay – if I had that kind of money.”
The Captain looked at him, questioning his words. He was a rich man. And surely... whoever did this... knew better than to ask for more than Mr. Petrov could pay. Right? He sighed. Shit. “Honestly, only thing we can do is wait for whoever sent this to realize you can't really contact him.”
“Captain, but it says they'll send...” Mr. Petrov's voice broke.
“Yeah, well. I'm at a loss as to what to do.” The Captain drew a contact card from his pocket. “But if you do have any idea, please, tell me. Now, if you excuse me, I have a few things to check. Namely, if we've dealt with something like this before.” And he left.
Mr. Petrov was visibly shaken when he left the station. He nearly jumped in place when the young officer called him from a car. He rushed inside.
“Mr. Petrov, is it? Look, I want to help you. I have this feeling, that the Captain is hiding something. That... somehow... he doesn't want to... help you.”
“Yeah, I got that feeling too, boy.”
Hell (1) - Darkness
His eyes were cold and lifeless as he stared at me. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”His voice was so full of hatred. And this hadn't even started. Simply awakening in a dim gray cell tied to a chair is not what I'd call a proper start, anyway. The whole situation seemed taken straight out of a bad joke.
I let out a good laugh at it. “Why do you think you're here, boy?” I let him think about it for a moment. “Well, I'm sure your father will give anything to get you back.”
“Fuck.” He mumbled under his breath, before raising his voice. “No, you idiot, he will DO anything. He'll call the authorities. You're mistaken if you think you can get away with this.”
This time it took all my self-control to not laugh again, but I didn't want to spoil the surprise. The young man was a nobody. The son of one of the city's big fortunes. Neither of them was ready for this. For meeting me.
Still, I couldn't hide a smirk. “That's if they find us before it is too late, don't you think?”
Nobody would look for him. His father would of course try to pull some strings, but he would just hit closed doors. I had made sure of that.
“Listen, you idiot. You do anything to me, and I'll make sure you regret it.”
I got in front of him. My face mere inches away from his. The jerk kept staring coldly at me. It was almost cute. I gently grabbed his chin, staring deep into his soul. “So, what are you going to do, exactly? Tell them what I did?” I grinned.
“I'll ruin that thing you call a life, I swear.”
Again I had to drown the laughter. Idiot. No, you won't. You don't have that kind of power. I drew a knife. Started fidgeting with it right in front of his eyes. “How, exactly?”
Something changed in him. Something inside him seemed to realize this was serious. That his empty threats wouldn't do anything for him. Yet you can't really erase thirty years of having everything in a single second. “My father will take proper care of you, you'll see.”
I brought the knife to his throat. “And... how, exactly?” I smiled at him. “Now, tell me. How much is a life worth? How much is yours worth to him? Do you think I can get away with asking for a hundred million?”
I had done my homework. That was about everything he had. Of course, he had many friends, willing to lend him whatever he needed - for a price. You don't get to ask a favor from... certain people and not come to regret it.
The young man swallowed. “You won't get away with this. The authorities will find you long before you get to even ask for the money.” His voice was still coldly sharp, but now was starting to falter.
“So... let me ask again. How will you keep your word, if daddy loses everything? Because... you know, that's exactly what's going to happen. But wait, I totally forgot. I need to send a note, don't I? ... How else will daddy know what I want?”
“You're wasting everybody's time if you think... if you think we have that much.”
I let the blade crawl over his arm, reach his hand, while I circled around him, until I was right behind him. I let the knife rest exactly over his pinkie's first joint, gently enough that he could barely feel it. “Boy, you think I don't know what I'm doing? … Counting everything, that's about all he has. But, enough chit-chat. He won't realize how bad this is unless I send him your regards, don't you think?” With a flick of my wrist, I hacked off the tip of his pinkie.
He let out a pathetic scream. As if that was the worst thing that could ever happen.
I got in front of him and showed him the chunk of his own flesh. The blood staining my hands and dripping all over him. His face turned white, his eyes tightly closed, in vain trying to deny what was before him. He started mumbling. “Fuck, no, no, please... Don't do this, please....”
I ignored him and went to put the fingertip in a plastic bag, ready to be neatly packed and sent. Then I came back to face him. “Now, now. Did that hurt?” I took the bloody knife to his chin. Forced him to look up at me.
Silence. Tears.
I couldn't help grinning. “Well, I'm... sorry-not-sorry to tell you this, but I don't want you bleeding out, so...” I dug into my pockets for a couple seconds, until I found the lighter. Flicked it open and alight like a street magician performing a cheap trick. “So I have to stop it, boy.”
He kept sobbing and mumbling, until I took the flame to the stump. Then it was all screams and the stench of burnt meat. It took a couple minutes for the soft flame to fully cauterize the whole wound. Well, I guess it was nearly done in about thirty seconds, but, better safe than sorry. It's not like I was trying to play nice.
Once done, I got back to the side table. “So, a hundred million, then? And... say, another chunk for every day he doesn't pay?” I grinned at him as I packed the note and the plastic bag into a padded envelope. No return address, nothing. The old man wouldn't have any way to contact me. For now.
The idiot was still sobbing like a kid when I cut the ties that kept him in place. Then I left, locking the door behind me. That parcel wasn't going to deliver itself.
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