Page 25 of Break You

“This is the reckoning.” The voice sounded electronic, like the person was speaking through some kind of scrambler.

“Reckoning? What for?” What the actual hell?

It wasn’t funny, but something about the comic-book nature of the situation had me swallowing down laughter as I stepped backward, away from the crowd of masked faces.

“For the sins of the company you keep.”

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” In fact, I was sure of it. I had less than zero idea what the craziness was about.

“No mistake. Veritatem fratribus testari.”

“Veritatem fratribus testari. Veritatem fratribus testari. Veritatem fratribus testari. Veritatem fratribus testari. Veritatem fratribus testari.”

I didn’t speak Latin, so couldn’t decipher what they were saying.

The chant rose through the group, and the chorus of electronic voices taunted me as they surrounded me, tightening the circle, getting closer. It was like a nightmare. Worse, in fact.

“Stop it! What are you doing? Leave me alone!” I tried to temper the rising hysteria in my voice. I tried to sound strong, confident, and unafraid, even though I was terrified to my core. Every fiber in my body was tense, as I considered my options—fight, or flight?

I curled my hands reflexively, my body making the decision for me. I’d fight until the last breath left my body. It was the way I was made. But, as I swung my balled fist, I was grabbed by the shoulders and yanked roughly backward.

“Nope.” The electronic boom behind me caused me to startle.

My arms were forced painfully behind me, and despite my struggles, secured at the wrist with a zip tie, tight enough that any attempt at movement had it cutting painfully into my flesh. That didn’t stop me from continuing to twist and turn. Shredded wrists were a small price to pay for my safety and freedom. As I twisted and turned, feeling the plastic tear into my skin, a piece of black velvet was stretched across my eyes, then tied so tightly that my temples throbbed, and my eyes strained painfully against it. The combined sensations left me feeling faint.

I swayed uncertainly, fearing I was about to pass out, but determined not to. I’d never fainted in my life, and I wasn’t about to now when my survival depended on it. Just as my knees began to buckle beneath me, a hand grabbed me roughly at the top of my arm, squeezing hard and pulling me upward.

“Stay on your feet,” barked the electronic voice.

They were the last words I heard before loud choral music came blasting into my ears, ridding me of another sense. The theme song from The Omen. Corny, but effective. I did as I was told, and straightened my legs, trying to focus on staying upright—not so much because they’d told me to, but because I needed to keep my wits about me, and I couldn’t do that if I was passed out cold.

It was disorienting though, being blindfolded with my hearing severely limited, plus having my hands tied behind my back. So, when the person behind me jerked me roughly and walked forward, indicating that I should do the same, I was hesitant, not knowing what was underfoot, or what fate I was being led to. As I shuffled uncertainly along, the person jerked me again; I guessed to make me walk faster. I did my best to speed up without tripping over, until I unexpectedly reached a step, realizing too late that I needed to lift my feet.

I fell forward, and with no free hands to break my fall, braced myself for the pain of my face slamming into the floor. It wouldn’t have been the first time I’d experienced that, but the last time it had happened, I’d hoped it would be the last. It had been very different circumstances, but as I hurtled toward the ground, the strong sense of déjà vu caught me off guard, sending a wave of emotion I’d long-since buried, flowing through my body. Tears pricked at the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

My face didn’t smash to the ground—instead, the hooded figure pulled me harder this time, slamming me into them just as I guessed I was about to hit the deck. My whole body tensed as I felt what was unmistakably an erection press into my butt.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My mind raced with thoughts of things I could do or say to turn the situation around, but as I scrambled to regain my balance, I drew a blank. I contemplated lashing out—trying to kick or even headbutt the masked man, but with him behind me, and with my wrists bound, he had me at a huge disadvantage.

Knowing that I was on the staircase, I started to climb, slowly, trying to maintain my footing. I counted the steps as I went, in case I needed to make my way down again still blindfolded, but without my captor. We shuffled up six flights of steep stairs, each with fifteen steps separated by a small landing. When we arrived at our destination, we were clearly high up, maybe right at the top of the building, and on flat ground again.

He pushed forward, and after a few more steps, I heard a door click open. After a few more steps it closed again with a dull, heavy clunk. I must have been thick and substantial—the loud music had almost been drowned out, faded to a much more bearable volume, and the feel of the air around me had changed. Not good news.

The space we were now in was much colder than the hall, and wind whipped across my skin. I stood still and so did ‘Anonymous.’ I had no idea what he was doing, but I was taking in as much of my surroundings as I could. Feigning some kind of throat irritation, I faked a coughing fit. There was no echo, and the sound of my coughs seemed to disappear on the wind. We were in a semi-open space. Outside, maybe. Upstairs and outside. A balcony, perhaps? Or a room with very large open windows. That couldn’t be good.

We seemed to be alone, just the two of us. I heard no other footsteps or any kind of movement. I started to shuffle my feet experimentally, trying to work out more about my surroundings.

“Keep still!” the electronic voice boomed into my ears. He let go of my arms and stepped back a little. “Don’t fucking move. No, don’t even breathe unless I tell you to. We’re going to play a little game called hangman’s noose.” As he said the words, he placed a rope around my neck and tightened it. A noose. I fought hard not to panic, but it was difficult while I feared for my life. I tried to regulate my breathing—the last thing I needed was to hyperventilate.

“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? Shut up. Listen to the clues, and you might learn something that could save your life.”

What was that supposed to mean?

“What kind of sick and twisted game is this? If you’re trying to scare me, congratulations, you’ve won.”

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