Wrong Place, Wrong Time (The Criminal Connections Book 1)

Chapter 3

Magdalena

I'm shaking uncontrollably. I don't know if it's the cold or the weight of the situation that's hitting me hard. I'm left alone in a new room. Weasel and his gun-holder left a while ago without uttering a single word. I'm seated on the cold concrete floor where they left me, and I'm debating about whether I should get up and explore, since they didn't tie me to anything. The room is dimly lit by a single lightbulb in the middle of the room above a metal table. I gather a bit of courage, fueled by my morbid curiosity, to get up on my feet and step closer to the table. What I spot on the table makes me suck in a breath. It's filled with tools – pliers, knives, tweezers and scissors. The tools are dirty and some of them have spots of a dark brown, almost black looking substance on them.

I force myself to take some deep breaths and stay calm. Though this situation is getting worse by the minute, I've only ever seen stuff like this in movies, there is no way this is actually fucking happening right now. They probably just escorted me to this room, so they could hash out their problems with the four men in the other room, without my prying ears, and then they'll let me go. Yeah, that sounds good to me. I'll be out of here in no time.

I step away from the table to continue my exploration. There's a big sink filled to the brim with water in the corner of the room. The faucet is still on, making the water overflow, so I turn it off. I spot a dirty towel on a broken stool next to the sink and place it on the floor to soak up some of the water, since I can't seem to spot a drain anywhere, though it sounds like the water is running down a drain somewhere in this room. I let my eyes follow the small stream of water on the floor, and it seems to be running back towards the metal table.

My eyes get caught on something lying by one of the legs of the table. There is something behind the table, but the lighting definitely isn't doing me any favors now. I carefully step towards the mystery object. I almost feel scared to make any noise. I creep closer and closer until I'm finally able to tell what it is. It's a foot belonging to a man's body. There's a head with no eyes. No eyes, as in, no eyeballs. He has no eyeballs and no fingers left, and I'm pretty sure his entire blood volume is on the floor.

The panic coursing through my body is unlike any I have ever felt before and I scream. I scream and I scream. I scream until I'm spewing vomit on the floor and collapsing in it. The door slams open and the sound of heavy hurried steps approach me. I try to scurry back, but there is really nowhere to go.

"Shut the fuck up!" Weasel is standing above me, almost frothing at the mouth as he shouts at me. I'm so out of it that I can't stop myself from continuing to scream. He grabs my hair and pulls me towards the sink. He fists my hair as he roughly shoves my head into the water-filled sink, while I'm still screaming, resulting in me swallowing water as I try to catch my breath. He pulls me up for a second just to push me back in. He holds me under the water for so long I feel like my head is going to explode. He pulls me up and throws me to the ground. I think I would have passed out if he didn't continue to scream at me like a lunatic.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, huh!?" He spits in my face and grabs my chin forcefully. "Is this supposed to be some sort of distraction? Is this a part of their fucking plan?!" I can barely keep my eyes open as I cough and try to catch my breath, feeling like vomiting all over again.

"What is the grand plan? I've got them exactly where I want them, so who the fuck are you to them?!". Tears continue to well up in my eyes as I try to pry his hands off me.

"Fucking tell me!" He roars in my face.

"Ple- nej, nej, nej." I try to plead with him, but I'm so frantic that I don't even know what I'm spewing. He scrunches his face in disgust.

"What the fuck are you saying?" He finally lets go of my face and gets up. He calls for a guy called Gunner.

"Clean this shit up, and hose the bitch down while you're at it." Weasel stomps out of the room in a rage and Gunner attaches a hose to the sink. He sprays me down with way too much pressure, not caring that he hits me in the ears, eyes and nose. I'm left a sputtering mess when he deems me clean enough and hoists me up my arm. He hauls me into a long dark hallway until we reach a door to a room, which he roughly kicks open and throws me into. I stumble a few feet and topple over, landing roughly on the concrete ground, scraping both my forearms. I hear the door slam shut behind me and let out the breath I was holding. I place my forehead on the ground while taking multiple breaths to calm my erratic heartbeat. I notice fairly quickly, that my forehead is not touching concrete but rather something smooth. I freeze, too scared to look up after what has just occurred. Please don't be another body. I can't take any more unpleasant surprises at the moment. I gather enough courage to raise my head to take a peek. A shoe, a leather dress shoe to be more specific, pants, legs, and a face. Another body, but this time a live one. I was leaning my head on Small chair's shoe, yikes. I quickly scurry backwards towards the wall furthest away from him, scraping both my legs up as well.

"Woah there, love, take it easy for a second. Take a breath." Pole guy is looking at me, dare I say, with a hint of concern. I didn't think I'd feel relieved being back in the same room as the big four, but here I am, almost feeling as if I'm breathing in fresh air. My eyes are darting around frantically to each of them, making sure they're still tied up, so they won't get into my vicinity. My eyes get stuck on Mr. Ceiling, he is staring straight back at me. Jesus, he gives me the creeps. He looks like the devil, but like, more unhinged. It makes me shrink back even further, if that's even possible, hoping I'll disappear into thin air. This seems to please him, as he smirks a little. I think he likes that he frightens me.

"Love, look at me. Don't look at that grumpy fucker," Pole guy gestures to Mr. Ceiling with a shrug. "His mother didn't hug him enough as a child." My upper lip trembles a bit, if I was any other place right now, that comment would have made me laugh. Also, if I laugh at that, Mr. Ceiling will probably kill me when he gets out of the chains.

"At least I have a mother, dickhead." Mr. Ceiling quickly spits back at him, sounding way calmer than he looks.

"Touché." Are they really comparing mommy issues right now? I almost surprise myself by letting out a laugh in pure disbelief, even though I don't find it funny at all. My emotions are all over the place after what I've just witnessed, and the harsh treatment Weasel and Gunner offered me. Maybe if I just focus on the wall for a while and pretend I'm anywhere else but here, everything will be fine, right? I chuckle a little to myself. Yeah, I'll definitely be fine, I reassure myself. At least I'm not the dead guy with no fingers or eyeballs. That's not the most empathetic thought, but I have to hold on to something to keep the breakdown at bay.