Page 3 of Encounter

“Pl-please...” I finally said, my throat parched and tight, my voice mixing with the loud ringing in my ears—the music was gone now.

This time, the smack was harder, leaving a burning sensation that spilled over my cheek. Bowing my head and desperately trying not to completely break down into a crying, begging mess, I bit my bottom lip and bent as close to my knees as my restraints allowed.

I’m going to be sick. I’m going to implode if this doesn’t stop!

“I didn’t... I don’t know what I—”

“Let’s see ‘bout that.” He sounded like he was enjoying it—so joyful and theatrical. Like this was just a regular afternoon for him. “You’re Galen De Clare. Right?” he asked, resting his dirty boot on the corner of the chair.

I held my breath, confused for a moment, and watched my trembling legs—warped and blurred by the tears—until somehow... it clicked. The knowledge of why it was all happening filled me with more terror and desperation than I thought possible. Letting out a long whimper, I lowered my head even more, the zip ties cutting deep into my wrists.

This isn’t some random kidnapping. No, it’s much, much worse.

“Son of... Richard De Clare, aren’t you?” The kidnapper continued, and when I didn’t respond, he grabbed my chin, forcing my head up. His eyes weresocold. Inhuman, almost. I wanted to look away but couldn’t. The sour smell of his breath made me queasy. “Or am I wrong?!” He pressed the sharp edge of the blade against my throat.

All the air was pulled out of my lungs. “N-No, no!”

Even though my brain fought to focus on survival and pay attention to the danger around me, all I could do was think about the questions and the madness they brought.

How is this happening? Why? Who is this? Are they going to kill me? Is anyone looking for me? Will I ever see the outside again?

“Please, whatever you wa—”

“Oh, we’ll get what we want.” His voice sounded more like a hiss. Staring at him, I knew fighting back would make it worse.I’m useless, weak. Never brave, no. Far from it.

There was no hope. No light. This was going to end up horribly.

Iknewit.

Swaying from one extreme to another, I was grasped by an overwhelming sense of denial. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe this didn’t even need to happen. “This... has to be a mistake,” I whispered. Deep inside, I knew how stupid it was.People like this don’t make mistakes.

“Tch. You wish,” he said, and even though his tone was threatening, he decided to pull the knife away. Resting it back in the sheath wrapped around his waist, he watched as I let out a sigh of relief. “Your pops screwed up. Fucked over Mr. Ramirez.”

Who the hell is Ramirez?Dad never talked business with me—he didn’t talk to me about anything at all. Besides school. I had no idea he could get involved in something so shady, making me realize how little I actually knew.

Waiting for me to lock eyes with him, the man snapped out of the relaxed position to punch me in the stomach. The chair swayed, held up only thanks to how light I was. My groans echoed throughout the room and for a second, I almost felt like I was going to pass out. I never thought being punched could hurt this much.

The man’s chuckle was almost like another strike that hit deeper—told me whatever the reason for all this was, I was dealing with some seriously messed up people.

With my head spinning and vision going slightly out of focus, I finally managed to catch my breath again. I forced myself to speak. This time, I let out the whiny, pathetic sobs in between my words. “My dad will— He’ll give you money.”

I didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not yet...

“You better hope he will. For your own good. He’s got three days.” The man smiled in such malicious, wicked way it made me realize he was in no way opposed to the possibility of me failing. He would’ve enjoyed doing whatever twisted, sadistic activity he had in mind.

Staring at him, now with face painted with pure terror, my lungs refused to function again.

Three days. Seventy-two hours. Three days of my life, lost to this nightmare?

I didn’t need three days. Three seconds were enough for that terrifying question to emerge. The question that weighed on me, tortured me more than anything, simply because I had to ask it, and I couldn’t soothe myself with an answer that should have been crystal clear.

Is Dad going to pay this ransom?

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