I sit up in the couch. The couch makes a squeaky noise. Don looks past his newspaper, giving me a quick glimpse then right back to the newspaper. His paper reads, "We may be nearing the end!"
Sitting up in the couch, made me notice that I really did sweat a lot. The bottom of my ass feels it, so does my back and really every where on my body feels it. My cloths are also drenched from my neck to my stomach. Im also starting to feel a tad bit sticky.
"We came during the ending of the war. We don't really have anything to do here for stopping H*tler."
That is the first thing he says to me once I wake. The question stumps me. The genuine way of talking about it really solidifying my thought that he really thinks we are here for H*tler.
"We didn't come back here for H*itler. We have a Mission to investigate a different experiment. Something that is said to have been in the works but stopped during the war. They also spotted a survivor from the said experiments."
During the conversation he was really pay attention. half way through he even put down the paper placing it beside the, now warm cup of whatever. That he occasionally took a sip from.
"What are you talking about? Our objective was to end his rein a lot sooner. But that wont be happening."
He's serious. Nothing in his voice ever strays from the fact that he os telling the truth.
"Don, who was the one that paid off your bail?"
There was many people that was chosen for the assignment. Many, like Ms. Rose. She was one of the higher up people from what I could tell. Her life style could be comparable too that of crazy, rich people, mostly because she was. She lived growing up knowing numbers and her mother made her grow learning Science, don't know what, but most likely something involved with time. Hence the reason she could just make me come along even with less, time learn compared to Don and Paul.
The person that did take Don out of prison would have high authority of what objective, Don would do. Exactly like Rose, mine is to investigate into another experiment, learn what I can. Now, though I don't understand how I'm going to even tell her. There is one thing that I think will happen if I do find the so called experiment. We can find a way to get back. Back to the present and no longer deal with staying here. In this war ridden, horrible time line.
"Wilder Wright. He was the one the paid my bail. It was a lot of money, originally."
'Originally. What?'
"How much was the price."
That was the least important question ever, yet I still asked it. Why? I don't know but I just had a feeling that, no matter, what I should know.
Picking up his cup from the table he took a sip. One gulp and he placed it back down. Accidentally spilling a very small amount. unsure if he doesn't care or doesn't know but he just leaves it there. The small amount of drink leaving a trail right down the side of it right beside the coffee cup's handle.
He let out a soft burp. Covering his mouth with an open fist to be polite.
"Excuse me…"
There's a pause, don't understand why he needs to be dramatic for it though:
"..It was originally ten million."
"WHAT THE F*CK?"
The amount is insane. No wonder there was a pause, but why. An Asian from prison must be a crazy. Psychopath.
"Yeah, a big amount, huh. I bet your wondering, "Why set the price at such a high amount?", Well, I killed people."
Another pause from Don. He grabs the cup again this time looking at it while he takes a sip, he notices the spill.
He looks around a bit for a napkin, or anything to wipe the spill off of the cup. He finds nothing. He lets out a gasp and untucks his flannel. Unbuttoning just the bottom. He uses the tip of the bottom to wipe the spill. Then putting the cup right back.
Under the flannel is no shirt, no tank top. Just his bulky abdomen, his abs aren't as well shaped but the effort that he goes for strength wise can be seen through the work of his abs.
Buttoning it back up, he stands up and tucks his shirt in again. Then sits back down. I look a tad bewildered. Cupping his hands together.
'Why'd he stand up?'
"It's easier to tuck my shirt in standing."
Seems he saw my face. Thinking that I would ask another dumb question.
"The amount of people I have killed is…"
I could see him mentally counting the people in his mind:
"… about twenty-one people. There was only one reason I'd killed that many people though. They deserved it."
"What did they do to deserve death?"
His cupped hands start to bleed. He's angry, no not just angry but enraged. Like talking about this topic set off a chain reaction in his brain. His face slowly turning red. A vein pops out. His digging his nails deep into his skin. Making himself bleed until. He calm.
His face slowly fades back into the same sand colored skin tone it was. His hands still bleeding but he's not gripping as hard as before. His demeanor changed too. He untucked his shirt and uncapped his hands.
He looks down at gus bleeding hands and wipes them on his shirt. He grabs his cup and downs the whole thing. Letting out a burp this time not even thinking of covering his mouth, after he didn't even excuse himself as well.
"They also dropped the amount need to get me out. Cause they deamed me insane or psychotic…"
Even his voice sounds different. Before it was like a price would talk. With a deep voice that was ready to listen and to tell. Now he sounds like an gangster, that would demand and demand, and still with the same deep voice:
"… all the people I killed were all. Abusers or s*xual predators, along with the p*dos. I killed and I killed and I killed. Honestly, even when they said they were going to put me on death row. I was happy because I thought Atleast people will copy me."
He stops to get a drink.
"How were people suppose to copy you if even I never heard of you? Like I think you are the least known serial killer now."
He slams his hand down on the table still with the glass cup. Shattering it. A glass shard gets stuck in the outside of his hand. Making it bleed.
["Fuck!"
He tries reaching for the glass. Trying to pull it out. It doesn't seem to budge, but I can tell it is by the blood flowing out.
"Goddamn!"
His voice is muttered but they are also clear day. His nose is flared and his head is laid against the headrest of the single seat couch.
He pulls once more as hard as he can. The shard goes flying right past my neck. At first everything seems normal. For a small second. Then after I could barely breathe. My nose was bringing in air but it just wasn't enough.
I grip my hand around my neck. Trying to feel what's wrong. My neck is bleeding a lot. I feel the blood. It's painting my hands a different shade. My light dark skin, now a dark shade of red. I try grab my neck harder, but my brain isn't getting blood and my hand can barely stay put to my neck.
I feel another pair of hands put against my neck. Don, he's standing over me, I never knew I dropped to a laying position on the couch.
His hands holding onto my hands, my hands holding my neck. More like clinging to it with everything I have left. Which… which is slowly going dark. My body feels cold. My tongue feels dry. Don, looks down at me with eyes full of sorrow.
Death.]
My breathe quickens. Sweat, that had once slowly evaporated returned. Running down my forehead to my nose and dropping to my lap. Some sweat even ran from my back to my ass. A feared look appears on my face. The process it starts again.
"Fuck!"
The yelling for Don. After is the tugging. His hand is pulling as hard as he could it seems but the pain from the other hand really overtakes Don ability to process it well is non- existent.
"Goddamn!"
That's it his nose is flared. In a second I finally regained my composure and block my face. The glass scratches my forearm, and goes off flying. Leaving a gash, making blood slowly pour out of it. Using my opposite hand I scoop up the blood hoping it would disappear but it doesn't.
Instead I take off the shirt that I slept in. Since it already has blood I might as well make it redder. Taking off the shirt I exposed my six pack abs that John worked both him and I tirelessly to make.
Now I can feel the wind on my skin. The windows have been left open. Understandably since the time period most house didn't have air cons. I don't think they were made yet. We both can't goggle anything something they took from us was our phone before we got here.
Before I had the build ment to run. Now, I can run and punch hard enough to be scotch free from some danger.
Ripping some fabric from the shirt. I dap my wound into slowly to bleeding stops. Leaving red bloches on my fore arm where my arm was cut.
It would seem to be the same for Don. He also no manger has his shirt on and his bleeding hand now has been wrapped in some fabric.
We are now separated by couches right across from each other. With a low wooden table between us, while we are shirtless.
"They hid it. Because majority of the people that did the crime were higher ups. People that had so much money, were on my list and they didn't want them out. Some others were just run of the mill bastards."
His voice holds the anger again but this time he won't be breaking anything nor will he be hurting himself. The reason I believe that is because I think the regular Don is back.
I don't know what it is but I can feel his tone of voice back to the commanding yet understanding way. Along with his body language now leaning more to a nice etiquette style. It's like when he gets angry his demeanor changes. I'm not very sure.
"Then why kill that guy right in front of me? Nearly shooting me?"
Our eyes are locked together, I don't think we will be break eye contact until someone moves and submits. I'm not doing that.
I want answers to the questions that he will answer. Nearly killing me and for what.
Soon he breaks off. First looking at the ground. A minute goes by and still no sound out of him. He brings his face to look at me. Slowly falling back into his chair.
"The fact he held a child hostage should be more than enough as a reason?"
"And you knew you weren't going to hit me?"
He rolls his eyes. Clearly annoyed.
"Oh my god. Not thi—."
I'm clearly seeing he doesn't want to answer. Or else we'll fight again and this time probably kill one another.
"Nevermind… What happened to Paul?"
A drop of drink from the broken cup spills over the side of the coffee table to the ground. The curtain, white colored, flaps against the wind coming through the open window.
"I killed him."
Times seems to have slowed and words feel like they aren't being processed good. A fly is buzzing around me. Yet somehow the fly is the last thing a noticed even with the obnoxious buzzing.
"I didn't seem to hear that, correctly."
"No. You heard it perfectly right. Paul is Dead. Killed by my hands."
Those words. Stuck a needle in my brain and started to swirl around. Leaving me with insane slow time. Those words are like glue stuck in my mind.
"That smile though. Why, why smile. That man did nothing."
"Nothing better than killing a r*pist. And before you say anything anyone that doesn't do something about someone being hurt. Is just as bad as the one doing it."
'Hot damn. He's right though. That man he's the one that made an indecent mockery of what happened to the girl.'
Soon the door opens. The family of the girl I saved enters. Well actually just the boy. He stares for a little before finally closing the door. I grab my shirt, stand and walk over to him.
Standing over the young child, who is just about the same age as the other girl. I look down at him. My face is angry, and confused. Confused anger, is bad anger cause there is nothing to direct it toward.
"Where is the shower?"
I ask in a voice that I unknowingly makes me sound like that of a killer. Like my anger is directed toward the small child.
It seems he does think that it is directed towards him. But he still point me to it. Never does he speak though. He just point up the stairs, that's right beside us.
Leaving the boy standing there I look around the upstairs area. It's not that big but it does have a shower room. Along with three more room in each corner of the floor. A room in the left and right corner. A storage area that I pass because on the right corner of it the shower room is right there.
Inside the layout is simple. Sink along with mirror as soon as you enter. Toilet right next to it. And the shower at the end of the room taking up the rest of the space. Starting the shower to get the cold water out. I look at myself in the mirror.
'What happened in that dream? It felt so real.'
My face is covered in sweat. That couch will be dirty. My heart skips a beat.
'I hope that when or if I get back Thia is still just waiting for me in that place where her mother lives.'
Thinking back to that dream. What happened. My vision flashes back to how I look back when I looked into the flame.
My body covered in burns. Burns so severe that it would have killed me if I felt it again. My face looking like it's peeling off. My eyes about to melting leaving my face looking like a horid pudding. Quickly turning on the sink water I wash my face. I look back at myself in the mirror the vision gone I'm back to my regular face.
'Paul's gone what the hell. Don has no reason to lie why would he. That would put a damper in the ability to get back. But I feel like I wanted him dead. He said that he was going to hurt Thia. So I kicked him and kicked him. It felt good. He deserved his death.'
The water has already been on for a while. Turning off the sink I head into the shower. Feet first. Feeling the water works it way up my body. Relaxing in the water gently running on my skin. I take it in.