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...
