The Kidnapper

In The Beggining

        "Son, you're switching schools again. We're leaving Texas."

        "But daddy! Ugh, you do this every time I start to make friends! Why do you want to ruin my life!"

        "Don't you back talk me! Not when I'm so close..." I muttered, my eyes wandering to his useless, mangled arm. I would have had it removed, but I don't have the money. No matter what, I will make this right

        ~~~

Six years earlier

        It was a Friday afternoon, and I got off of work late. At around nine-thirty I arrived home. It was hard to see, being as it was a typical Janurary day, so it was pitch black outside. Although, I was able to notice a mysterious black Chevy in front of my house, one I didn't recognise. When I got out to investigate, the window curtains shifted to the side a little, and I saw an eye looking right at me. I pulled out my keys (they were the only thing in my current possesion I had that could easily injure someone with). I walked to the door, and opened it.

        Five men ran out of my house in a rush, and I was shoved aside and tossed to the ground. When I looked up, the site to greet me was horrific. My wife, Cynthia, lay there on the carpet, blood covered and not moving. Next to her was my two year old son, Asher. He just kept crying, "Mommy! Mommy!" I ran up to Asher and scooped him up and placed him down on Cynthia's lap, then leaned her up against the wall. "Honey, baby, please. Please don't be," I gulped, "C'mon Cynthia! Please! PLEASE!" It was barely a whisper now, "Please." 

        "M-mark?" I had to strain to hear her voice, it was so weak, barely audible.

        "Yes baby, I'm here," was all I could get out. My voice was so distorted from my tears and I could barely think.

        "I want... Please... T-take care..."

        "No no no no no! Stay with me!"

        "... of Asher," was all I heard from her as her body went limp. I put my head down on her chest and sobbed. And sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. "I swear to God," hate and rage filled my voice now, as the images of the five men filled my mind,"if it's the last thing I do, I will find your killer, and I will," tears started to bubble up in my eyes," I will," it was louder this time," I, I," I started crying again. I wanted to know how she died, so I moved Asher and looked at her blood-spattered body. My eyes were drawn to her mid-section, where most of the blood was. She had been shot three times, and it looks like she was also sliced pretty much everywhere.

        "Daddy, daddy!" Asher was pulling on my sleeve, "It hurts!" I was so worried for Cynthia that I had not even considered Asher to be hurt.

        "What is is? What hurts?!"

        "My arm. Look." Asher winced and showed me his arm, and it looked horrible. The men had cut him severely and it looked like it was beaten. It was jutting out at odd angles and in horrific positions, like they had taken baseball bats and beat the crap out of his arm. I immediatly took my shirt off and wrapped it tightly around his arm at the bleeding points. "Ow ow ow! Daddy, it hurts!"

        "It will be okay soon Ash. I promise."

        "What about mommy? Will she be okay?"

        "Daddy is going to call the police, okay? Just hold on," and with that, I was off to the phone. The rest of that night was a blur, and I don't remember much. I do remember the promise I made to my wife and myself that night: I will find her killer, and make them pay. Severely.