Paint it Black

Chapter 1: A Left Turn Through Fate

“We're this close to the money and you're screwing it up! We don't need this distraction. Not now. I say we just shoot him in the head and dump the body and get on with this.”

Shawn tensed, feeling the blood that wasn't escaping from his shoulder begin to pool in his feet. He licked his lips and clenched his fingers.

“Uhh... g-guys, if I could interject, briefly here, and this is me, speaking from my own experience here... that feels a little rash.... You're both under a great deal of stress and I don't think now is the time to make important life decisions and I'll tell you what works for me and maybe...” he winced as the ongoing thread of pain in his shoulder spiked at the shrug he couldn't help.

He was losing his audience, he could feel that. Scratching through the muddle in his skull for anything that would keep him alive, he blurted what was on his mind – a warm bath. Soaking in one would be bliss regardless of how much crap he gave his dad about it. He'd even welcome the mango scented suds if he could just sink into that comfort. He shivered as he babbled about taking turns – realizing how it sounded though it was obviously too late to take it back.

“You got a smart mouth!” And obviously Bad Guy number two didn't like the way it sounded either because suddenly his gun was out and aiming towards vulnerable flesh and there wasn't a single decent corner to back into to escape the hard metal shoving into his throat and threatening to clip a vital hunk of his jugular.

“Hey look, I got it under control...” Garth, Mr. Baddie Uno with the porn star moniker, actually seemed to be helping out. Until he continued speaking. “You want me to shoot him right now myself, I will!”

Shawn glared – unable to stifle himself when so much of his energy was focused on pain management. “Not to be a stickler but you did... you did shoot me once already...”

Baddie Two raised his gun a second time, an intimidation tactic that Shawn found highly effective as it dried up his responses the moment the weapon settled into the hollow beneath his jaw. “Shut up.” Turning to his partner, the greasy haired man jerked his head. “I don't need you screwing up again – there's too much at stake. You just stay here. I'll take care of this myself.”

“Wait! Woah, woah, wo-UKK!” Shawn's head snapped back as the handle of the gun whipped against his jaw. The dark he'd so recently escaped crowded in again and spiraled across his eyes. He wasn't completely out because he could still feel things happening. There was the sound of ripping accompanied with the sensation of tipping forward.

His vision teased at returning as odd blinks of light fluttered against his lids. Opening his eyes made the ache in his brain spectacularly worse, but this wasn't the time to indulge the injury. He was lying on his side – only a few inches from the concrete. What he was lying on was shortly answered when he heard and felt the wheels beneath him squeal and start to rattle over the garage floor. He was being pushed on a flat dolly towards the far end of the building. He tried to kick himself off but found that his ankles were now taped as well as his wrists. His shoulder was a mass of ache – throbbing hot with every bump over the rough surface.

“Look, I told you, I can take care of it!” The dolly stopped with another jolt. Garth was still arguing. Was he wanting to make it right this time? But then why had he bothered with the whole kidnap thing in the first place when a second gunshot would have ended his problem? Because he wasn't a killer...