Page 11 of Behind the Shadows
I whipped my head around, and my throat went dry as I watched my friend fade into the shadows. My stare locked onto the pathetic bastard lurking outside the shattered window. The corners of my lips curled like a man possessed, and I cracked my knuckles, ready for the chase. The thrill of terrifying someone was second nature to me. Honestly, I was glad Death had to leave. It was my opportunity to handle someone myself. An opportunity I’d denied myself for way too long.
I eased the heavy door open, searching for his hiding place. “It’s your lucky day, motherfucker. Come out, come out wherever you are,” I said in a singsong voice.
I walked outside, dry leaves and twigs crunching beneath my footsteps. Other than a few scattered trees, the field was open, and my new friend had few places to hide. I also knew the property like the back of my hand, which gave me a substantial advantage.
I reached a massive oak and every muscle tensed while I strained to catch the slightest sound that would betray the guy’s hidden location. A flock of birds erupted from the field, shattering the silence. I released a low, devious chuckle. The dumb ass must be creeping along the ground, clumsily startling the birds. With predatory precision, I moved in the direction from which the birds had taken flight. Vivid, ruthless images of what I intended to do to him surged through my mind, and I fought to suppress a sinister grin.
“There’s no use hiding, you stupid bastard. I’m going to catch you and when I do …”
The tall grass rustled, then he launched himself across the field with desperate speed. It seemed he was hell-bent on reaching the sanctuary of the forest before I could close in. Fueled by adrenaline, I rushed forward, the wind slashing against my cheeks as I accelerated. In mere moments, I snatched the collar of his burgundy shirt and yanked him back with brute force. He crashed into me, and I coiled my arm around his neck with relentless pressure. His fingers clawed at my arm, a futile struggle for breath as he gasped and fought against me.
In a rough whisper, he said, “I didn’t see anything, man. I was coming out here to smoke so my wife wouldn’t catch me.”
“Doesn’t matter. You were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Nighty night, asshole.” I locked in the chokehold, counting the seconds as his limbs twitched and then stilled. His weightsagged against me, deadweight. No resistance. No fight. Telling me he had passed out cold. I grunted as I turned his limp body, then tossed him over my shoulder. I’d carried plenty of bodies before, but this one was still alive. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, my pulse throbbing in my neck as the thrill of what was to come overshadowed any potential consequences.
Upon reaching one of the back rooms, I positioned my victim against a corner wall while I gathered the necessary ropes and tools. I had limited time before he regained consciousness, so I moved swiftly. I secured ropes to two pulleys on opposite sides of the room, then tied them around his wrists and ankles. Confident in my knots, I pulled him to the center of the room. He let out a groan as I turned the handles on the first and then the second pulley, watching as the ropes stretched him in all directions until he was upright. His head lolled to the side, his jeans and T-shirt grungy from the woods. I guessed he was in his late thirties and had lived a full life from the ink that covered his arms—fire, angels, snakes, and skull. My intuition told me he wasn’t someone to let go. He would come back for me.Sorry, motherfucker, not happening.
His eyelids flickered open, and I watched as his features morphed from confusion to terror.
“Welcome back. Did you have a nice nap?”
He tugged on the restraints, frantic as his mind allowed him to fully take in the situation. “What the fuck is wrong with your eyes, man?”
Over the years, I’d thoroughly enjoyed fucking with people when necessary. I was well aware of how messed up my eyes were.
I pinned him with a sharp glare, ignoring his question. “What’s your name?” I walked behind him while I waited for him to talk.
“Fuck you,” he growled.
“Wrong answer.” I stopped and reached into the back pocket of his dirt-covered blue jeans. Removing his wallet, I flipped it open and searched for his driver’s license.
“Michael Ruppert Branson.” My laugh echoed across the room. “Ruppert, huh? Bet you got teased while growing up.”
Michael remained quiet, observing me as I paced the room. Although I could continue this indefinitely, time wasn't on my side. Turning to look at him, I felt the cross’s weight pressing against my chest under my shirt. I reached in, took it out, and gripped it tightly, the sharp stainless-steel edges cutting into my hand. I flipped the blade out, and he recoiled in shock.
“I didn’t see anything. I swear to fucking god!”
“I don’t believe your bullshit story. You were too close to the building. If I were in your … restraints, I would lie too.” I paced the room, pretending to be in deep thought. After another moment of silence, I approached him, my nose only a few inches from his. “If you tell me the truth, I’ll let you go with a warning.”
He stared in surprise, hope flickering to life in his eyes. Hope was a dangerous thing.
“You promise?” His chin trembled with the question.
“I’m a man of my word.” I placed my palm on my chest directly over my heart, stifling the smirk that tried to emerge. In some ways I wasn’t lying. Years ago, I had vowed to protect my best friend, Death, no matter the situation or consequences. That had been my word, and I would continue to honor it.
Michael blinked several times, then blurted, “There were guts and … I saw some fingers. But that was it. I didn’t see who they belonged to, man. I swear. And you and the other dude had those masks on so I couldn’t see anything. I promise. If you hadn’t run after me, I wouldn’t have seen who you were.” He gulped several times, waiting for me to respond.
“But you can identify me. Then, they can track down my friend who was with me, and that shit simply can’t happen.”
“You’re not going to let me go? I won’t tell anyone, I promise … please.” Panic clung to him as sweat beaded across his forehead.
I arched my brow at him. This fucker was gullible as hell to believe I would let him go, and he confessed so damn fast.
“Tell me, Michael, are you familiar with the blood eagle?”
“Never heard of it.” He tugged on the ropes in a vain attempt to get loose.
“There are rumors about it. No one’s sure if the Vikings actually used the form of torture or not. Those sons of bitches were ruthless, so I could see it being one of their favorite pastimes.” I paused. “Basically, the person’s back was slashed in order to allow access to the ribs. They were then broken and twisted upward to resemble wings. Often someone died before the ribs were even broken due to the loss of blood. It’s debated if the ritual was only legend or if it was actually used. Regardless, it’s going to be used today.” I sneered as I watched his piss soak his jeans, then splatter on the concrete floor.
