Page 30 of Dangerous Beginnings

I reach for the silencer, an unassuming piece of metal that promises to turn the weapon into a tool of quiet efficiency. With practiced ease, I attach it to the barrel, the click of it fitting into place echoing in the otherwise still room. The silencer’s purpose is clear: to ensure that the act remains unnoticed, a spectral removal of a problem without drawing attention. The silence of its installation mirrors the dispassionate resolve I have adopted—no need for spectacle, no need for noise.

My emotions are shut off like a switch, leaving me in a state of clinical detachment. The world outside fades into a backdrop of inky blackness, an indistinct void that matches the emptiness of my focus. This is not about personal satisfaction or revenge; it’s simply a job that needs to be done. Unlike many of my counterparts who revel in the messiness of their work, I prefer to handle such matters with precision and professionalism, leaving the dirt to others while I maintain my clean, calculated facade.

I slide the gloves onto my hands with practiced ease. The gloves are thin yet durable, designed to ensure that no trace of my identity—no fingerprints, no fibers—will be left behind. They fit snugly, each movement rendered with meticulous care to avoid any slip or misstep. The gloves are a final barrier between me and the scene, a crucial element in maintaining thecontrolled environment I demand.

The whimpering sounds of a pleading girl reach my ears as I walk behind her. The noise is almost incongruous against the cold efficiency of the room. Her voice trembles with desperation, a stark contrast to the unfeeling calm with which I proceed. Each whimper, each plea, is a reminder of the gravity of the situation but does little to alter my resolve. I move closer, my footsteps are measured and deliberate, each sound absorbed by the sterile surroundings.

As I approach, the dim light from the basement’s harsh bulbs casts long shadows that dance across the walls, amplifying the sense of dread that hangs thick in the air. The stark contrast between the clean, controlled environment and the raw, human emotion of the girl underscores the finality of what’s to come.

Isabella

I have never known anything more quietly loud than anxiety. The hairs on my neck freeze as I can feel his presence behind me. He is toying with me, circling me like I am a prey. My arms start to slowly feel numb as they hang into the air. After anger and pain comes acceptance. A heavy feeling enters my heart as I hear him take the safety off. The sound lingers in the hollow room. And sometimes, the sadness I feel gets so deep in my heart, that I can’t feel anything else anymore. I have not lived yet. I have not done so many things I wanted to do, things I dreamt of. I have never experienced love, not for anyone else but neither for myself. I have not seen the northern lights. I have not adopted a dog or bought a house of my own. I did not get a chance to make things right with my mother and I did not get a chance to become a mother. I hope my last breath is a sigh of relief.

The oppressive silence of the basement drives me insane. As he approaches me, the sound of the silencer being readied sends a chill through my bones. “I hope you can shoot straight,” Iwhisper, the words escaping my lips as a fragile attempt for mercy—his mercy. I try to sound somewhat brave, but fail miserably when my voice comes out shaky, “A painless death would be a kindness.” I can feel him mock me while I stare at the floor. Asking for kindness in a place like this, designed for anything but kindness.

The way he watches me makes my skin crawl. “You should be grateful,” he says, and I can picture his harsh face. “I could have used a knife, after all. Much messier, much more personal.”

His words somehow twist like a knife at my heart, he is taunting me, making me suffer. He leans in closer, his presence looming over me. And in that moment the only thing that comes to mind is one last pathetic move for some sort of empathy, “I’m sorry.”

His breath is warm against my skin, “Apologies? It seems a bit late for that now, don’t you think, Isabella?” I slowly move my gaze up, looking at him. My lips are trembling from the unbearable cold and his harsh gaze. He arches an eyebrow, a sadistic smile curving his lips. His expression is cold, almost gleeful. But somewhere in his gaze he is reliving something, a moment, his expression turns into a thinking one. “You say that a lot.”

I do, I do say that a lot. Everything always feels like my fault.

It might be me losing my sense of surroundings, but his tone isn’t as smooth as it was before. It wavers slightly. His warmth disappears as he takes a step back, his hands now grip the gun with a tightness that betrays his uncertainty. He looks at me, I look up at him and our eyes meet. Suddenly I see it—the mask of his sadistic persona slips slightly. Yet, he hasn’t lowered the gun.

The realization of my impending fate makes the tears come freely. A soft sob escapes my lips, and I feel hot tears spilling down my cheeks, mingling with the cold of the basement. I struggle against the chains, my voice breaking as I now beg for areprieve. “Please, I’m so sorry,” I say, the words a desperate plea. “I won’t tell a single soul. I don’t even know you. Please, spare me.” The last words are a whisper, not even knowing if he heard them.

My dignity is on the floor, I am begging for my life.

“Please! I know nothing about you, I swear. I will never say anything to anyone. I will never speak of it! I-” My words are choked by sobs and desperation. I search his eyes for any glint of empathy—humanity.

Diable

Load, aim, and fire. A simple action, an action I have carried out countless times. Alexei will not bother me with this issue, and I can move back to Moscow, it’s an easy decision. Her desperate pleas cut through the silence of the basement. And for a moment I am disorientated by her deep aching sadness. It’s a feeling I have never felt before, or at least not in a long time. Her tears spill freely, raw and unfiltered.

A young girl - begging for her life. The sobs that escape her lips are too loud to ignore. Slowly her pleas merge into a single, frantic cry. Her eyes search mine with a plea so earnest it momentarily unsettles me. I feel a flicker of something unfamiliar - a sense of hesitation. I can almost feel the warmth of her breath mixing with the cold, a visceral reminder of the life I am about to extinguish. The gun in my hand feels heavier now. Slowly, almost reluctantly, I lower the gun. The motion is deliberate, as if each fraction of movement is an act of will against the hard, unyielding resolve I am. As I lower the weapon, I watch her. There it is again,hope. The same fucking look in her beautiful eyes. Black slowly fades back to color. She squints her eyes, her lip trembles. And suddenly the monster in me falls silent, for the second time.

She doesn’t know anything about me yet, apart from my face.I can’t keep her, not in secret, not in the eye. My guilt bleeds out until it’s floundering in its blood on the ground. I should have never taken her. I gather a bag, money, phone, and clothes. Tucking the gun back in its holster, I keep my gloves on. Turning towards her, grabbing her chin harshly into my fingers. Her eyes shoot open.

Isabella

My neck hurts from being forced to look up and meet eyes. I sob as his harsh grip tightens. His dark eyes caress my face once more. “You don’t know me, you have never seen me. You escaped, and the entire time you were blindfolded. You don’t know what I look like, you don’t know what happened. You remember nothing. Is that clear?” I stare at him in shock.Is he letting me go?The thought is almost too surreal to grasp.

I nod immediately, tears falling from my eyes, “Yes.”

His eyes narrow, and a cold, sinister smile spreads across his face. “If I find out you’ve so much as whispered a word of this encounter to anyone,” he says, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper, “I will find you. I will hunt you down and make you suffer in ways you can’t even begin to imagine. You think this is a nightmare? I haven’t even begun to show you what true terror is. I’ll make sure you live through the most excruciating agony, every waking moment a reminder of the fear you thought you escaped.”

He leans in closer, his breath hot and acrid against my face. “Your pretty little life is nothing compared to the darkness I can unleash. Remember, your silence isn’t just a request—it’s your only chance at survival. Break it, and I promise you’ll wish you had stayed locked in that room forever.”

I believe him. Every word.

He reaches above me, and the cold, harsh click of the cuffs being released sends a shiver of pain through my wrists. I groan,my breath coming in ragged gasps, lodged so high in my throat that it feels like I might suffocate. He tosses my shoes, the ones I wore for my night shift, onto the floor beside me. I fumble to put them on as I sit there, each movement a struggle against the numbing pain and fear.

Without a word, he gathers a coat and drapes it over my trembling shoulders. The weight of the fabric is both a comfort and a reminder of the situation I’m in. A backpack follows, and he slings it onto my back with a rough efficiency that speaks of his detached cruelty. With a sudden, almost mechanical motion, he lifts me off the ground and zips up my jacket, his fingers brushing against my skin with a chilling finality.

Everything is happening in a blur. My legs, weak and unsteady, struggle to keep pace with his long strides as he drags me up the stairs by my arm. The urgency in his movements is palpable, as if a split second’s delay might cause him to change his mind. We reach the top of the staircase and continue through a dimly lit hallway, my heart pounding in sync with my stumbling steps.

We stop in front of a heavy black wooden door. He unlocks it with a code, the metallic clink of the lock echoing in the silence. As the door creaks open, a gust of cold wind hits me, stinging my face with the bite of fresh, frigid air. The smell of the outside world is almost intoxicating, a sharp contrast to the stale, oppressive atmosphere I’ve been trapped in.

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