Beggin'

Chapter 8

Clara

I woke up cold, a strange feeling tugged at my heart as I remembered the gun and the boy. And the boys.

I jump up with a start and am greeted with unusual surroundings.

The walls are covered in a simple flower print, the lamp in the corner of the room was a hideous shade of brown with dark splotches all over it and was slanted at an angle. The light that poured through creating strange shadows and casting a hazy look over the room.

I sat up to see that I was laying on a couch set in the middle of the room, the wood floors a pretty light shade of brown until I see a mark near the lamp, it looked like someone had tried to scrub something off.

I get up and catiously walk towards the bizzare scene, curiosity pulling me closer and closer as I crouch down to inspect the floor more closely. I brush my fingers across the wood gently and lift it up to my nose, smelling copper and salt. I pull away with a gasp as I back away from the bloodstained floor and lamp just as I hear a quiet sob come from someplace in the room.

I freeze, knowing that whoever was in here most likely saw me.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" I ask softly, pausing, "I won't hurt you."

I put my hands up in a non-threatening manner as the sobs pause for a moment before being followed up with obnoxious sniffling and quiet mumbling.

I walk around the couch and head towards what looks to be a closet door before knocking against it.

"Hello, are you alright in there? I can help you, please," my voice broke as I thought of how terrified I'd been, how terrified this person might feel.

"let me out," a scratchy voice croaked, "please, don't leave me in here."

I was quick to comply and grabbed for the door handle, swinging the door open just as a body dropped to the floor beside me.

Groaning and shivering they pushed themselves up against the closet door as I kneeled next to them, my eyes widening in surprise when I see their face. Bloodied up and dirty, their right eye is swollen, and their hands and feet are tied in tight ropes, turning their fingers into a a light purple kind of color.

I begin to work on the ropes tying his hands, the complicated knots nothing against the motivation I have for freeing the poor man besides me.

"What happened to you? Where are we? Why were you in a closet?" the questions are quick to bubble up my throat as his dark swampy eyes look only to my pristine fingers against his ripped and scratched ones. The grim set of his mouth and the eerie lighting cause me to work quicker, fear sliding into my pulse and beating heart as a familiar haunting rhythm.

"You shouldn't be here," he trembled, "I promised them, I swore to it. No one else, no one except for me."

"What did you promise? Who's 'them'? Answer me! Goddamnit!" I swore as I lost grip of the knot and a sort of pin came lose, cutting the back of my hand.

The man said nothing, he just shook and kept silent as I furiously worked to free him. My need for answers took a back seat as I felt the invisible clock ticking away in my head, counting down the seconds to my death. I was not ready to die. And I was not going to die here in this piece of shit room.

"The lamp," I panted quietly, my heart beating fast, palms sweating, "what happened with the lamp? Did someone hurt you? Were you taken?"

The man finally breaks his cold streak to cry, loud slobbering sobs that were no help whatsoever.

"This was my house, this was my wife's house. They've taken away her picture from me, they took my wife away from me," he couldn't stop the tears streaming down his face and the bad feeling in my stomach began to sour.

"Your wife? Tell me about her," I asked, desperate to keep him focused and talking instead of loudly crying.

"She died only last year but man, oh man. She was beautiful right to the end, " he sniffed a little before continuing, "we met at a museum in New York when we were in college, she was wearing the cutest outfit with her hair put up in this fancy hairdo. And her eyes just sparkled when they met yours and you always had the urge to smile when she smiled. A giant ball of sunshine, she was."

"I miss her, I miss her a ton," his voice shook and I could tell he was about to cry again.

"What was your wife's name?"

"Marley, Marley Lane Freeman. Her daddy never did approve of our marriage but damn that bastard to hell, she chose me. Nobody has ever chosen me before Marley, she was the only one. She was my one and only," he sighed softly in relief as the rope raveled away from his hands.

But just as I began on his feet, the door opened and I heard footsteps enter the room. One, two, three...four. I knew in my heart who was behind me, who had caused this man's pain.

Villainous, Evil, Monstrous, the list was endless as my breath stuttered in my throat.

The man turned an awful shade of pale and began to cower behind me.

"Take her instead, please, I'm not ready, please no!" he shouted in tears as he pushed me backwards causing me to land laying down and looking up at the boys and Mr. Riddle.

Mr. Riddle looks to the man and to me, before pulling out what looks to be a stick, a very polished stick. What the hell?

He smiles and walks towards the man,

"Don't worry, this will hurt a lot, maybe enough to get you out of hell when you die," he pointed the stick at him, "Crucio!"

The man began to scream horrible shrieks as he shook violently, his back bowing off the floor in pain.

Mattheo grabs my collar and picks me up easily, setting me on my feet. Terror frozen on my face the exact opposite of the emotionless mask they wore.

"Stop it, stop it!" I screamed as I flung myself at Mr. Riddle. Beating him with my fists, wishing I was tall enough to get better aim at his face. His hand wound around my waist as he snatched my flying wrists with the other, leaving me pinned against him as I tried to squirm away, stepping on his perfectly shiny shoes.

"He deserved it," he murmured softly in my ear, looking me in my eyes with his dark brown eyes.

"No one deserves to be tortured!" I hissed, breaking free from his grasp and running for the man when the boy with light brown hair and an italian accent stops me.

"He's not worth your time, Bella, he's dirty and rotten. Whatever lies he's told you aren't true," his tone is mocking as he calls me beautiful but as far as I can tell the rest of his words ring true. Not that I'd ever trust him, not that I'd ever trust any of them.

"I don't believe you," I blurted but just as I began to step around him, the man shudders and then stops moving all together. His eyes staring glassily towards the ceiling, unblinking. Foam falling from his lips and dripping down his chin. Dead.

He's dead.