Man in the Wall (Who is he?)

Chapter 11 - Leave me the hell alone

I need a break.

"Where are you taking me to? Steven, answer me dammit!" I yell frantically while pulling my body in the opposite direction to slow down this forsaken walk.

"Frank warned you about pissing me off!" He says hatefully. As he drags me through the passages, we make our way through one of the doors and my memory immediately sparks. In the distance, I see the stairs that lead to the dreary concrete basement.

"You don't need to show me your place of birth, you concrete slab. I have better things to do." I'm not lying. I really do have better things to do than to be dragged to a downstairs basement. Like taking a shower, eating, sleeping, avoiding Steven, the list could go on.

Steven doesn't reply. Instead, he picks up speed and yanks my arm closer to him causing me to stumble forward. Luckily, I don't fall this time. We soon reach the stairs and begin to descend them. Steven turns to the left door closest to the stairs and reaches for the door handle. Stop fooling around you idiot! He's going to kill you!  Guess who decides to pay a visit.

Welcome back from your vacation Jess. It's been a while don't you think? Just then, through all the pain this body of mine is enduring, I burst out with laughter at the realization that I asked my conscience to think and find it way too amusing. 

"What's so funny!?" Steven yells in my face.

Rude much.

"Nothing," I say, stopping my laughter. "I just had a moment. But you ruined it, so it doesn't matter."

Steven seems livid with my answer. He growls at me with his tomato red face before turning to open the door and proceeds to push me inside a dark room, him following suit. The door slams shut and the light in the middle of the room flickers on. 

What the- my mind begins.

"Where are we?" I ask nervously as my eyes latch onto the table in the middle of the room containing three rather odd items. A key, a washrag, and a freaking dog bowl. 

These people are weird.  

Steven walks over to me staying completely silent as he drags a chair across the cement floor. He places it in front of the table and glares over to me with a demanding expression as if to say sit down. Before I can protest I find my feet shuffling across the floor, dragging the rest of my body with them. Betrayer, the both of you! I yell internally as I sit and stare down at my feet. Steven walks around to the other side of the table. His body posture changes to that of a soldier.

"Pick one."

"Why?" I question, trying to buy some time so that I can figure out what each object represents.

"You put yourself in this position," he says ever so nonchalantly. Shoulders broad, feet apart, hands on his hips, he's rather confident with his response.

"No," I reply prolonging the 'o' sound, "I'm pretty sure that you did. Yesterday morning to be exact." I can't allow him to believe his own delusions, it's not healthy.

"Pick. One." 

Is he not even going to fight me? This isn't fair. I need to buy more time. I have yet to know which is meant for what. "And if I don't?" I question. Now he has to fight back. He never could resist being snide before. I doubt he'll be able to now.

Without saying a word, in one swift motion, he reaches his right hand behind his pants and pulls out a gun. My eyes widen with shock and I suddenly forget how to breathe.