What Remains

Chapter 3

Kenny Mitchell
The same chains that bind you
Bind another

I awake to a loud creak beside me. I push myself up with a tired grunt, brushing my fingers through my tangled blonde hair. The room now has a dark night glow, the one window on the left wall being the only source of light. I blink away the blur in my eyes, and meet the sight of Kenny next to me on a stool.
"Hello." It comes out as an awkwardly apprehensive whisper. How am I supposed to talk to him anyway?
Kenny pulls on a switch under the lamp, illuminating the room in a dim light. I sigh at the warm luminescence.. It reflects off of Kenny's mask, highlighting the stickers and blood that sticks to him. His curious eyes scan my condition.
"Kenny?" I start, hinting at my obvious discomfort.
His gaze snaps back towards me. He stares into my eyes for a second, taking a deeper breath. I stare back, waiting, wondering.
He simply stays silent. My expression falters annoyedly.
"Umm.. how long have you been living here?" I resume, an awkward tinge clouding my tone.
"I want to know why you lot came here." Kenny commands firmly.
I bite the inside of my cheek. He wouldn't believe me if I told him, would he? "A dare." I admit with a sheepish head dip. "I don't like abandoned places— they're just, y'know, creepy." I guess this place wasn't abandoned after all. Just my luck.
Kenny seems to find this amusing and delivers a curt nose breath, or in other words, a sad excuse for a laugh. "You wouldn't be the first." That amusement even permeates his tone, yet when I look up into his eyes I see no hint of joy. Just... nothing.
"Oh?" I raise a brow, prompting him to go on.
He seethes."...23 years, 11 months, and 3 days." He answers in his unfittingly educated voice, running his fingers through his hair.
What? What is that supposed to mean?
Oh, haha. My question.
I nod reluctantly after too long of a pause. "You've been counting like.. each day?" I acknowledge. I mean it more as a genuine statement, but the sentence comes out more as a question.
"Every day." Kenny finishes my words.
"How do you know my name?" I voice my curiosity as I readjust my posture.
"I watched your group since the moment you stepped into my home. May, Danny, Danielle, Justin, and you, Quinn... Valentine." Kenny lists the names bitterly, almost chewing his words in spite.
"Oh. Right." I reply absently, fidgeting with my fingers in my lap, "Are you going to let me go?" I ask. What a shot in the dark that question is.
"No." Kenny simply answers. I expected about that much.
I glance at the bind wrapped firmly around my wrist, "...Can you at least untie me?" I request.
"I know that the second I do you'll try to run. No." Kenny dismisses me immediately. I figure it would be best not to push, so I let him off with a disappointed sigh.
Kenny seems to be a bit impatient with the silence, as he takes a shallow breath to speak, "Do you like your friends?" His voice is intrusive and shallow, prodding my mind to answer. Answer. Answer. But at the same time, it's calm and reserved. Maybe he is pent up.
A not-so-hidden scowl grows on my face. "They're 'friends' for a reason." Not that I'd expect him to understand. It's a miracle he even knows the meaning of 'friend'!
There's a long pause before he speaks up, "Last I heard, friends don't leave each other behind. Perhaps my 'wisdom' isn't as good as I thought." He seemed to pick up on my sarcasm a little too well.. What an ass.
I shoot him a glare. "They had no choice, thanks to you and that weapon of yours." I raise my voice a level subconsciously, a bad habit I've taken off my mother. "If I see that thing again..." My words have yet to be discovered, both by him and by myself.
Kenny nods, fidgeting with his fingers. "Do you want revenge?"
"What?"
"Do you want revenge?" Kenny asks once more, his eyes relentlessly burning into mine. I search them, trying to make any sense of his outright foul question. Oh, why am I trying? He means murder. I'm not killing anyone, absolutely not. I will not become the monster before me.
"You're no saint— Don't act like you care." I snicker silently to myself. Spite permeates the room, and I bet he can sense it like the animal he is.
Kenny's eyes show no sign of him faltering in the slightest. "You must be angry at them. They left you to die." He remarks bluntly, leaning towards me from his stool. Him and the venom in his tone. How familiar that small thing is.
"I mean... Yeah, of course I'm pissed." I answer apprehensively. Bile rises at the back of my throat.
Kenny nods curtly. "Do you want to be violent?" I shiver at his question.
The image of a corpse flashes in my mind— I don't know if it's my own, or someone else's. It looks so plain, really, the only way to describe it is dead. Dead and gone. "Kenny..." I start as gently as I can muster, searching his eyes for humanity, "I don't think I—"
"I can show you how. You know you can trust me. If I wanted to kill you I'd have done it by now." Kenny puts a hand on the bed beside my leg. His breathing becomes heavy— his chest heaves laboured, up and down, up and down. The rhythm is uneven, as if it takes effort to take the air into his lungs. He swallows dryly, his Adam's apple bobs with the deep movement.
"Why? Why would I need to be violent?" I demand anxiously as I back up against the wall behind me.
"Because they betrayed you! You can't just let them off as they are." Kenny snaps.
My breath hitched in my throat at his raised tone, "Don't shout like that." I mutter, gripping the sheets on either side of me. My lip quivers and I can feel my face scrunch in a small grimace.
"Well if I were you, I wouldn't let them go like that." His eyes dart downward for a long pause. "No.. it's not fair."
I keep staring at him, waiting for his thoughts to be in order.
"...All I want is to help. Would you let me do that for you?" Kenny's gaze finally sweeps up as he replies. I hear the floor creak as he inches closer.
We stare at each other for a moment; a stalemate. An impasse.
Option 1. Let Kenny help me and live.
Option 2. Disagree and die, or worse.
It's not like things'll get any better anyways, even if I do manage to fight him off and escape.
Shit.
I nod awkwardly, relaxing my muscles.
Kenny pauses for a moment, thinking again.
He seems to do a lot of that.
His eyes scrunch up as he grasps my left hand firmly with both of his, "Right. You won't regret this, Valentine."
As quickly as everything happened, Kenny lets go of my hand, then walks off and leaves me alone with my thoughts.
The door shuts and the lock clicks.
What have I done?
I spared myself.
From what? The mercy of death? No! I just fucked myself ten times over.
He means, oddly enough, well.
To me, or to the lives of my friends?— Or even to either?
They aren't my friends anymore. They left me behind.
That's what Kenny told me.
And it's probably true.
I reach over to the lamp, shutting it off. Darkness fills my eyes. I sink into my bed, allowing my eyes to shut.
What would I have to go back to anyway? Struggling to pay bills? Jumping from job to job to support a drunk mom who's got no intentions of getting better? Having to pay for meds I can't afford for an illness that won't get better?
If Kenny means well, and I'm saying this in the most IF sense, then maybe he can help me with those things. Maybe he'll realize he damn near killed me and he will give me some of the wealth he very clearly has to keep silent.
I know I would take that chance if I could.
What if being here could be a good thing?
No. It won't. One of us is dying here, I'm sure of it.
I hope to god, if there is one, that it's not me.