:Kidnapped: And all he say's is 'Sorry'?

Kidnapped Part 2

Hayley's POV

Waking up, I found I was sore. There's a pounding in my head. The light is spinning behind my eyelids, forcing my brain to squirm in pain as it makes sense of the situation. I tried to sit up and a wave of pain crashed over me again as the room span.

What the...? Oh. It all came rushing back. The black car, the gun...he shot Scott! Oh my god, that prick shot Scott.

I could feel the sobs forming, the ache that burned the back of my throat and eyes as I pictured Scott’s crumpled body on the ground. This was not how it was supposed to happen. I don’t even know what happened.

Everything pulled, my muscles revealing an ache that meant I hadn’t moved in quite a while, it turned out that moving anything was going to be impossible. My arms and legs were tied to the bed posts. I groaned inwardly, struggling fruitlessly against the ropes. Tying me up? Really? How stuck in a movie are these people?

For the first time, I looked around the room, well if you could even call it that – it was more of like a cement block. There were no windows, no sources of natural light, just the bed and a chair in the far corner. Wait, a chair, with someone in it.

I sighed again and heard the figure in the corner chuckle humorlessly. It sounded hollow, it sounded empty and sad. Shouldn't it sound evil? Rationalizing the situation, I tried to tilt my head up as best as I could and face the man in the corner, attempting to give him a glare that scared the bejeezus out of him and failing. Instead, his eyes stared back at me through the mask, a sad slant to the corners of his eyes confirmed that his laugh held no happiness at all.

It was so quiet, for some time I just sat, feeling the weight of the silence on the room, allowing it to fill in the spaces of time.  His face occasionally would tilt downwards, his shoulders hunching as if preparing himself for a task he didn’t really want to do.

Maybe I could appeal to his kinder side. The man behind that mask seems so hollow and empty. Surely he can't be wanting to do this? Maybe I imagined him saying "Forgive me" right before I blacked out, but I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that this man was not a happy camper.

"My name's Hayley, by the way." I started with what I knew, trying to get him talking, I've seen Criminal Minds, isn't this what you're supposed to do? His head suddenly flipped up to face me, eyes doing the same questioning as before. 

"I know." The voice in the corner was the same as the man who kidnapped me, I was sure it was the same man. It had to be. His voice rippled, like ribbon in the breeze, it was just so soft and easy to listen to. Not what you’d expect from a thug, quiet and unassuming, I longed to listen to his voice again. 

"Of course you do." I said sarcastically. Then I stopped and remembered I was trying to be nice. "You did bring me here after all. Do you have a name?"

"Not anymore." Was the puzzling answer I got back. His head once again dropped to stare at his hands. Were two words all his voice could manage? It left me wanting more. Stupid kidnapper.

"What do you mean, not anymore? Everyone has a name, even if it's forgotten." I whispered, feeling the energy in the room tense as my words finished, I could feel that I was getting closer, because his next answer was longer.

"Some things should be forgotten. Are you comfortable?" He switched the subject, the sneaky bugger. And what a stupid question, how am I comfortable spread in a star on the bed tied up? He obviously didn't want to talk about it. But I did.

"Is that all you could think of to change the subject with?" I laughed bitterly, "Of course I'm not comfortable." There was a long pause, the air was static but it felt sad, like there were so many emotions ridding on whatever happened next.

"Can I ask you why you kidnapped me? Why you shot Scott?" I ventured, "Or that man, who was just trying to help? I just want to know why. Was it really necessary?" I whispered that last part.

"They all want to know why." He laughed bitterly, sadly.

 All? Of course I wasn't the first he was too precise. But the sadness there made me want to see his face, if it was the last thing I saw. And the more I thought about it, the more I needed it.

"And I didn't kill them, I wouldn't..." he stopped. He regained his voice, "I shot that stupid man in the leg, just above the knee but below the major artery and," he looked at the white dress and veil, "And your husband to be, all he'll have is a broken rib and some blood loss, nothing major. I couldn't kill someone for trying to..." He broke off again, thinking the better of himself.

"You know, I can tell you're a good person. You're too sad, too broken up about everything to have enjoyed it. You're body language, everything. The way you didn't shoot those people in cold blood. Something's not right here. Why, if you're so hung up about it, did you do it? Why did you tie me up, kidnap me on my wedding day? I can tell there's some good in you, why aren't you doing anything about it-" I cut off abruptly he got out of the chair and marched over, it was then I saw the knife in his hand.

"Stop. Just stop it!" he begged. "You know nothing, don't pretend. You think I enjoy this? Huh? Who could? A life of hate!" He yelled.

"Then why are you doing this, please let me go." I pleaded, an involuntary tear coming down my cheek, I was glad the veil was covering my face, I was angry at being so weak.

I watched as the wild light flashed in his eyes and he drew closer, gently rubbing my shoulders like he genuinely cared. Maybe he did. But as he leaned in and he lifted the veil covering my face, he stopped. Stopped cold and stared. Maybe he felt remorse, I couldn't tell. The only thing I could see were his eyes because of a mask. His beautiful eyes. That misty slate grey that only comes with good looks and charming personalities. But he just kept staring, so I stared back. He seemed lost, confused about what he was doing.

I sensed doubt in his eyes and took this as my cue. So I nodded towards where my right wrist was tied, and in a barely a whisper, I said one word, "Please".

His eyes clouded over and I knew that I'd taken it too far. The knife flashed and there was a sharp slash, and I cringed waiting for the hot slice and trickle of blood on my skin.

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Alright so what'd you think?

It's short but i promise the next part won't be.

I’d love to hear what you think about it! And please vote!

EDIT: This chapter has been edited and contains some changes, read the end comment of chapter one to see why.

Fleur xx