Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Music? A mix of folk and metal?
“We’ll be taking the stairs now,” he whispers, and this time I panic for real, because I’ve got no idea where we are or where I could fall if I lose balance. Are there railings on these stairs? Not that I’d be able to grab them.
I try to communicate with a helpless mumble as he guides my leg forward.
“Okay, okay, how about this, hm?” Creep asks, and picks me up without waiting for an answer. I hook my zip-tied hands behind his neck. If we go down, we go down together. “That’s it,” he says, not at all unhappy about my move. “We’re almost there.”
Now I can hear the music loud and clear. Is that… Aerosmith? Surely, after what I’ve told him, he must have brought me to someone with a medical licence…
Wooden steps thump softly under our combined weight, but it seems we’ve reached the very top at last, because Creep exhales, and then, a loud ring cuts through the air,
“Yeah, yeah,” comes a low male voice from somewhere behind a wall.
Creep steps back when we hear someone approach, then a door opens and—
“The hell?”
Creep groans and strides into… wherever we are so abruptly my foot brushes against the man. “I’m sorry, Prophet. I fucked up. I need Parker, but I know I have to clear it with you first. He has a heart issue, might need an IV.”
Is the choking sensation in my chest guilt?
I really didn’t think he would take me this seriously, but now the weight of my lies is crushing, because he sounds so distressed. People don’t usually care for me with such sincerity.
“What the fuck? No. Why is he tied up and gagged? Goddess…” Prophet mumbles as Creep sets me down and maneuvers his head from between my arms. “Take those rags off him!”
My mind screams Yes, please, but there must be a reason why Creep chose to keep me in the dark about where we’re going. What if seeing Prophet’s face means I can never ever leave?
Creep (because it must be him) strokes my hair as if to calm me. “I said I fucked up, okay?” This is the first time I hear him raise his voice. “He saw me do… shit, and I had to take him with me. But he’s got a delicate heart—”
“Okay, okay!” Prophet says and by the sound of steps, he approaches me. “I will take out your gag, but only if you promise not to scream. And to be clear, screaming wouldn’t help you anyway, understood?”
“I’ll do it myself!” Creep… growls?
It should not make me excited.
Prophet groans. “Fine, just do it.”
I tremble when he strokes my damp lips, but then the string keeping the gag in loosens, and Creep pulls the piece of fabric out with gentle fingers.
I want to speak, but when it’s finally possible, nothing comes to mind. I just stand still, alone and deserted in front of a faceless stranger.
“Creep?”
He strokes my hair again. “It’s okay, you can talk to him. He’ll call a doctor for you.”
Prophet sighs deeply. “So, kid, is the heart issue made up?”
Creep’s hand is off me, and there’s some kind of thud. “The fuck are you saying to him?”
I feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff, because each of the roads I can take from here could lead to my end. Creep already trusts me, but if I admit I’ve been lying, he might forever see me as a traitor who used his conscience against him. Prophet on the other hand is an enigma, someone I’m not sure I should trust, but when silence hangs in the air, I hang my head.
“I’m sorry.”
Neither of them will believe me, but it comes straight from the heart.
The silence is so deafening even the music feels like ringing in my ears. I wish for Creep’s hand back on my head so I know I’m safe, but why would he touch me again now that he knows I deceived him?
“Okay,” Prophet says. “I’ll now take off your blindfold, because if you’ve seen Creep and know his nickname, then the anonymity ship has sailed.” The fabric covering my eyes comes off and I meet a pair of intensely green eyes. The man smirks. “I get it, pretty face.”
“It’s not like that!” Creep snarls from the side where I see him slouch. He won’t even look at me.
Prophet is tall. Several amulets glimmer on his naked chest as he’s only wearing jeans. He’s covered in a mix of occult tattoos and I swear I recognize several protection sigils. His dark beard and long braid make him look like a Viking about to grab an axe.
But his place appears deceptively normal. Maybe even cozy, flooded with light coming from many large windows, and all I see outside is forest.