Miss Hawkridge

eight

She cracked open her eyes, her head heavy, as she hoisted herself up, panting, as she rested herself against the damp wall. She fingered around for her things, which lay beside her, ripping it open, rummaged for her phone, but alas.  Liv sighed, before she looked around.

The room was almost dark, with glints of light escaping in through the cracks overhead, as dust swirled in them. The walls seemed to be made of bricks, cold, she felt them, and floor, even more. Ugly thoughts ran through her head. From images she's seen on the news, and accounts she's read about in the papers, the grotesque facsimiles gushed through her mind, visions of screaming and fighting, little girls crying, all of it, she too couldn't stop her tears.

A chill ran down her spine.

"I shouldn't walked so close to the lion's den," she sobbed, "I should've listened to Mom and gone to school and focused on my studies. I shouldn't have thought myself invincible. Oh God, is this what Omaira went through too? Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Please God, save me, I beg you, please. Save me. Save me. Save me." She rubbed her hands together, kneeling, tears gushing down her cheeks.

She didn't know what the time was and her stomach gurgled aloud. She had stopped. Lying against the walls made her back ache, and she wished she had packed some food, or even water, in her backpack. A soft tune entranced her mind, as she began humming. Her hums echoed, a sweet, eerie-ness hung about, and Liv continued to hum.

Suddenly, metal cogs slowly whirred, as a bright, white light flashed her eyes, Liv covered them with her arms, peaking every other moment.

She heard a footstep, as a tall, dark figure stepped in. When her eyes adjusted, she could see the man, with short, gruff hair, and silver earrings, clad in a black trench coat and thick, heavy, black boots. The man revealed his yellowing teeth, as Liv staggered back against the wall, her lips quivering, the hair on her body standing up. The man leaned in, and Liv grimaced when he opened his mouth. The man tousled her hair, before laughing slightly and walking away.

Just then, another man, also clad in mostly black, both with his blue jeans hanging below his hips, brought a chair and placed it right in the middle of the room, where the man in trench coat sat, before switching on a dangling, dusty bulb and dragging the metal door shut behind him before he exited.

"Hello, Olivia," The man smiled, "how was your nap?" He asked her. She could see his face better as he sat under the dim bulb. A scar encroached his face, but even without it, Liv thought, he would have looked menacing with his tartarian features. Her eyes widened.

"Who are you," She mustered through trembling lips. The man laughed.

"Quite brave, aren't you. Asking me who I am, clearly knowing that I'm not the at advantage here. Darling," he leaned forward, "remember, you don't get to ask questions, I do."

"So," the man stood up, as Liv went further into the wall, and the man walked around his chair, "tell me, Olivia, do you enjoy a good mystery?" He flashed her a smile, "I certainly do. You see," he sat down again, "Olivia, I too grew up in a cop family, my father was detective like yours, and he was such a respectable man, everywhere he went, everyone he knew, all praised him, he treated them well," the man chortled, "but they didn't know," the man began lowering his voice, "that every night when he returned home, he would beat his wife and child black and blue," he said, as if he delivering a shower of ice. "So, do you know what I did?" The man leaned in, whispering, "I murdered him in cold blood." He hooted.