Stockholm Syndrome (Frerard)

2: Keep Running

Media: Zero

"You never told me why you're doing this..." I managed to squeak out after an hour of driving in silence. I had my head leaned against the cold glass window, fogging up a small area just from my breathing. It took a few moments for the man- I don't even know his name- to register that I had spoken, and reply. 

"Ya know what a hitman is?" A lump rose in my throat and I closed my eyes, letting out a breath through my nose. I definitely knew what a hitman was. They get paid to kill people. There must've been someone out there who hated my guts, I couldn't decipher who, though.

"Who hired you?" I thought for a moment. It couldn't have been my dad, no... I'm the only thing keeping him on his feet, surely he wouldn't do that... and he usually keeps me a secret from his clients, there were only a few that knew about me, from the times they would come to our apartment and getting shit-faced and/or tweaked out with my Dad on whatever drug they could get a hold of. I was always the one to make sure they were safe, and gone by morning. I don't know why they'd want me dead, though.

"That information is confidential." He said blandly, his eyes never moving from the road, avoiding my gaze, just as I was avoiding his. I just really wanted to know- it's not like it mattered if I knew or not anyways.

"What's the difference if I'm gonna be dead in an hour?" I shivered at my own words. I don't think it's settled in yet that these were the last moments of my life. The overall shock of what's going on was probably the only thing keeping me sane and calm.

"You've got a point." He admitted, gripping the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles going white for a moment. It was probably a stupid hitman rule that he wasn't allowed to give away the identity of the people who hired him. "McCracken. You know em'?" I thought for a moment. The name was familiar. That was my dad's most recent client, if im correct.

"I think so." I sighed, opening my eyes again and sitting up straight.  He was silent again, and sent me a sideways glance before coughing uncomfortably and readjusting his grip on the wheel.

"You seem a little too comfortable." He observed.

"Well it's not like I can do anything. May as well enjoy my last moments on earth." I replied nonchalantly, though deep down- and not even that deep- I was terrified.

He chewed his bottom lip softly, seemingly in thought, before releasing it from between his teeth and then letting out a heavy breath through his nose. "It doesn't seem like you're scared to die at all." He paused, and swallowed. "do you want to die?" 

The words hit me hard. I just sat still and looked away slightly, fiddling with my thumbs. I didn't even know the answer. I don't exactly  want to die, but I was never really living in the first place. I just stayed silent.

"I see." He said in a low voice, his jaw slack as he continued down the road. The rest of the drive was spent sitting in silence, yet the noise of my mind was deafening. I had no idea where he was even taking me, and why I wasn't dead yet. Don't you usually kill the person and then transport the body? Either way, we'd been driving long enough for the sun to start rising above the horizon. It was already dawn by the time we had stopped. We were parked on the side of the highway next to a forest, and the guy was just sitting still with his hands still on the steering wheel, and he looked like he was thinking.

My anxiety was quickly rising, as what was taking place in the next few moments started finally sinking in. Was it gonna hurt? Was it gonna be slow and painful or was it gonna be quick like he promised? Was he gonna use his knife or does he have a gun somewhere? I was going to die... not even that, but I was about to become a victim of fucking murder. My throat was aching, and I felt tears pricking my eyes but I wasn't going to cry. No, it wouldn't solve anything.