Page 60 of Ricochet

It’s deeper than usual, a little shaky, almost wrecked. Full of agony.

Nearly as much as what’s coursing through my whole body.

It feels as though I took a dozen pucks to the head.

I try to open my eyes again, blinking slowly. It takes several seconds to adjust to the light, which is actually pretty dim once I’m not as sensitive to it.

As my vision comes into focus, I realize I have no idea where I am. It looks like a living room, but it’s not the one I was spying into before everything went dark. The light comes from a floor lamp in the corner. There’s a nice navy sectional, a flat screen TV hung on the opposite wall, and a gun lying on the otherwise empty coffee table. I’m sitting in a wooden chair, my hands tied behind my back and more rope wrapped tightly around my ankles that are bound to the front chair legs.

“Give me a fucking reason not to do this.”

Stone’s voice reaches me a little clearer this time, past the haze and the pain. It pulls my attention to the left where he’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his back to me. His knuckles are white where he grips the edge of the countertop. The muscles in his back ripple beneath his shirt with each heaving breath.

He stands straight, picking something up off the counter.

“I’m begging you,” he says as he slowly turns around, the tip of the knife in his hand scraping across the laminate. As he faces me, I see his eyes are rimmed red.

Something clicks into place.

I peer down and notice for the first time that there are plastic sheets laid out over the vinyl flooring all around me.

For the blood.

I swallow hard, and my breaths immediately change from easy and steady to gasping and erratic. My eyes fly back to Stone as he takes a step toward me. It’s instinct to struggle against the binds holding me down, my wildly beating heart pleading with me to find an escape.

Hasn’t it learned by now?

There’s no escaping Stone.

He continues his advance, the plastic crinkling under his feet until he’s standing in front of me. My gaze moves from his reddened eyes to the blade at his side and then back again. I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I can’t speak.

Then he’s moving again, straddling me and sitting on top of my thighs. He brings the knife up, resting the flat of it on my left shoulder.

I swallow again.

“It was you who saw something you weren’t supposed to this time.Please.Give me a reason.”

I open my mouth again. Iwantto give him a reason. Don’t I? So then why are words failing me?

His brows furrow so deep that I want to reach out and smooth the crease between them, but I can’t because my hands are tied behind me. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as it’s his turn to swallow hard. His hand shakes around the handle of the knife. His other comes up, softly carding his fingers through my hair.

Then he’s gripping it, tipping my head back.

I’ve become familiar with the waves of calm that wash over me while I’m staring into his eyes or watching him kill, but I’m not prepared for it this time.

However, it’s a little different now.

It’s not that I’m happy about him killing me. He doesn’t look like he’ll enjoy it either, not like he enjoyed the two I’ve witnessed. Shadows have fallen over the forests in his eyes, the fog turning misty.

I didn’t think I wanted to die, but,now, being faced with it, it doesn’t seem so bad.

It’ll finally be over.

No more nightmares.

No more memories.

Just…nothing.

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