Tell No One

Chapter 2

When Kiera came to, the first thing she noticed was how cold she was. Shivering on her side, she drew in a long breath through a throat that felt like sand paper. running her tongue around her mouth, there was the overt metallic taste of blood. Groggily opening her eyes, she took in the room from her ungraceful heap on the floor. From her angle, she could make out voices drifting from an open doorway of what seemed like a kitchen. The memories came flooding back, and rocketed her pulse tenfold. Shaking herself out of her woozy state, Kiera stilled on the floor. Escape. The word bounced in her head, propelled by pure animalistic instinct. Darting her eyes around the room, the only other doors she could see was one next to the kitchen and another off to the side. She appeared to be in a house. Looking around it was clear she was in one of the poorer areas. The carpet was threadbare, thin to the point there were holes in some places. One sunken couch and a heavily scratched table were the only furnishings. The floor was littered with trash- old newspapers, cans, empty takeout containers. Amidst her fear, Kiera felt a stir of pity.

Taking a deep breath, Kiera tuned into the voices. A low scratchy timbre reached her ears;

"-we can't leave her. She saw us. The bitch can identify us, I'm not-"
"But we're not murderers man. I can't- we can't do it."
Kiera stiffened at the word murderer.

A moment of silence stretched out between the two men.

"I'll do it."
"You can't! They'll find us, and that's murder! Robbery is one thing, but killing her?! Where will we-"
"It doesn't matter. She can identify us. We can't be caught."
Kiera realised she'd left it too late. She struggled to sit upright, but a blazing pain through her right side left her gasping. Where the bigger man had kicked her, he must have badly damaged something inside. She writhed in agony, and unwittingly cried out. Swallowing another yelp, she watched the doorway as both of the men came out. Both had removed their masks.

"We really shouldn't do this. This- this is some serious shit."
"Man, you better shut up."

The bigger man came to rest no more than a few meters from her. He regarded her with pity, an empathetic frown on his face. His eyes were sorrowful, downcast, but held a frightening determination.
Kiera looked up at him with wide, tearful eyes. His hair was a tousled brown, his eyes an icy blue, and he easily towered over her with a frame of well over 6 foot. His nose jutted out like a blade, splitting his face in half. So this man would be the end of her. He reached behind him. His mousy counterpart, who looked no older than about 20, stood behind him and placed a knife in his outstretched hand.

Kiera began shaking. "Are you- are you going to k-k-kill me?" her words came out garbled, tripping over each other, raspy from her still sore throat. Her stutter sounded pathetic even to her ears. The man nodded solemnly.

"Wrong place, wrong time, lady. Don't move." Kiera Felt a slogging hatred run through her veins as she regarded, if for the last time, the man who would bring about her death.

Striking out, Kiera watched as the man reached his spare hand out behind her neck and pulled her towards him. The knife flashed, and was pulled roughly across her throat. She felt the searing burn, the torrent of blood as the man snatched his hand away.

"Jesus Fred, that's a lot of blood."

Curiously, Kiera remained conscious, if unmoving. The bigger guy- Fred- pulled himself to his feet.

"Yeah. Stop standing around and grab something to clean it." Kiera watched as the smaller man darted into the kitchen and started rummaging around. Her vision was tilted, splayed, in line with the floor. She could see the feet of Fred, big booted feet, as he stood over her body. She tried to move but found herself unable. Was this death? If so it was remarkably.... anti-climatic. Suddenly, everything around her froze. The clattering in the kitchen stopped, Fred's breathing stilled, and the blood that was leaking onto the carpet, staining the carpet, seeping into the fibres, stopped its rapid claim of the floor. Kiera found all the pain had left her body, a soft sigh escaping her as she sat up. She no longer felt cold, or scared. Looking down, she registered then a very broken version of herself laid on the floor. Rather than being surprised, however, all Kiera felt was disgust. Disgust that this was how she went. Collapsed on the floor, clothes sutured in mud, face a gross mess of blood, water and rain. She could make out the streaks of skin where she had cried, and her eyes, now lifeless and empty. What would become of her? The nagging thought that her body would never be found worried her. Surely someone would notice her absence? She wondered who would file a missing persons report. If anyone would. With her last known relative being her mum now deceased, no family would miss her. And no friends would realise for a long time, having taken a time off to see to the funeral arrangements. No, as it was now, no-one cared about her. Her landlord might realise she's missing when this month's rent doesn't come through, but he would be missing her money, not her. What had she even done with her life? Standing up, she then stood directly in front of Fred, her killer. Head tilted up, She felt pure, unbridled hatred through her veins. His fault, she thought. His fault she was dead, his fault she never achieved anything, his fault no-one cares, his fault his fault. She stared into his face, those soulless pits of eyes, that smirk that adorned his lips. In his hands he held the knife, cleaning it with the edge of his shirt.