If Things Were Different

Chapter Six

“Then you die.”

Jack’s words echo throughout your mind, each syllable sending dread throughout your body. Your heart freezes and you suddenly feel sick to your stomach. You regret eating. You regret opening that damn door. You can hardly register the words the two men were exchanging, unsure if they were talking to one another or to you.

I need to leave. I need to escape. But how was the question. In all practicality, you can’t. You’re injured, starved, dehydrated. You hardly have any energy left. Hell, eating a sandwich and chips took most of the little energy you had left. You’re in an unknown location and you have killers watching your every move, no matter how small it was.

A hunting knife is suddenly lodged into the table, catching you off guard. You jump, a yelp escaping your lips as you snap back to reality. Toby’s hand grips the handle tightly while he stares at you. His aura radiates anger and hatred, all directed in your direction.

“F-Fucking listen!” he barks. You nod quickly, your eyes wide. He leans back into his chair. The knife remains lodged in the table. However, you can tell by a glance that it’s too deep for you to pull out.

Well fuck.

“As we were saying, you’ll be accompanying us to the shack. You are to help us look for traces of Matthews, and if you try to hide anything, Toby here will be taking great joy in cutting you limb from limb. If you run, well, I think we both know that you’re aware of what will happen,” Jack chuckles. You nod, swallowing a lump in your throat. You know exactly what would happen. “Now, are we ready to go?”

“I have t-to talk to M-Mask-Masky,” Toby mutters. Jack puts a finger to his mask, seemingly in thought.

“How long will it take?” he asks the twitchy killer. Toby shrugs, crossing his arms.

“Five minutes.” Jack nods, turning his attention to you.

“While Toby talks to his, erm, collegue, I’ll be checking your injuries and we will be preparing to leave. If you need to use the restroom, let me know and I’ll help you there. Other than that, don’t do anything stupid. You’re more useful to us alive.”

“Okay,” you whisper. It’s silent for a moment before Toby stands. He says nothing as he leaves, but you notice that at the door, he turns back and watches both you and the blue masked killer for a moment before walking away.

Jack is silent as he searches for the first aid kit - to the right of the windowsill and next to the icebox, you tell him - seemingly lost in thought. You can practically see the gears in his mind turning as he pulls out small green and white packets and gauze. He wordlessly checks your dressings, gently probing at them with his finger and ignoring you when you flinch under his touch.

“Do you know where this shack is?” Jack finally speaks up. You glance at his mask before watching his hands. They were confident as they unraveled the old, bloodied gauze and cleaned the gunshot wounds with saline.

“No, not really,” you answer. Jack nods slightly, his full focus returning to the task at hand. “I know it’s a distance from my house, but I’m not sure from where we are.”

Jack chuckles. “Good. The less you know, the less information you have against us.” He’s right, in his own way. You figured that if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want your toy to know where they are.