Lady Luck

2

       Logical people would run away. They would ignore the crazy masked guy who killed a drug dealer in cold blood, even if he was in obvious pain. No, more than that, they'd probably call the police and an ambulance so he could get treatment and a fair trial. No matter what, though, they would not go near him.

Logic and I apparently do not get along well.

"Well (Name), you're officially insane," I muttered under my breath as I carefully made my way down the hall, the man's voice growing louder with each step. Why was I doing this? Hell if I knew. I don't know why I do half the stuff I do, I just know that I do it. Reaching the final corner, I paused to take a deep breath and collect myself before stepping forward.

The hooded man was now in view, rubble and debris are strewn about his body as he furiously struggled to break free. Up close, I could see that his injuries were even worse than I'd first realized. Splintered fragments of wood protruded all over his body, and the cuts were getting worse and bloodier with all his thrashing. There was even a knife embedded in his leg, making me shudder. Just about the only thing that wasn't turning red was his head, which was good. As soon as he saw me his struggles stopped, his head rolling to the side to stare at me warily.

Glancing around, I noticed a red case with a glass front on the wall nearby. Inside was a hatchet, a plaque with the phrase "IN CASE OF FIRE" inscribed on it hanging below it. Funny, I didn't know they actually have cases with hatchets instead of fire extinguishers. I thought that was a cliche for action movies and stuff, but lucky for me it was real. Approaching the case, I opened it and wrapped my fingers around the plastic handle, carefully adapting my grip to the hatchet's weight as I lifted it.

Hatchet in hand, I turned and the hooded man's thrashing began anew as I started walking towards him. As it stood he was losing even more blood, and with each step I took his struggles grew more and more intense until finally I was right next to him, towering over his form. And then, his struggling just... stopped. He gave one last thrust, one final thrash, but then his body went limp. He just stared at me silently, not even twitching or shaking.

We both understood that he was completely helpless, totally at my mercy. All it took was one swing. One swing, and he'd be dead—and there was nothing he could do, and nothing stopping me from doing it. Just thinking about it made my blood stir, filling me with a strange sense of empowerment as my fingers tightened around the handle.

"Don't move," I told him, raising the hatchet above my head. He winced and clenched his fists, rolling his head to the side as he braced himself.

WHAM!

The wooden beam pinning his chest jolted in place before a small split formed where the blade had struck, and I swung it down once again. Bit by bit, I chopped away at it until finally the beam split with a loud crack. Tossing the hatchet aside, I quickly pushed the smaller part of the beam off his torso, grunting at the effort it took. Dust rose as it landed on the floor with a thump, but I ignored it and grabbed hold of the larger part still on his body.

As I started lifting his head slowly turned back towards me, and even with his mask I could feel his gaze scrutinizing me carefully. "...What are you doing?" His voice was deep and somewhat low—just as I'd imagined it would be—and was laced with distrust and wariness.

"Trying to get this—hah—stupid thing off you," I grunted, trying to focus all my energy into lifting it.

"You don't say," he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. At this point I paused to shoot him an annoyed glance.

"...You know, I could just drop this on you right now and leave," I calmly pointed out. His body immediately tensed, and he quickly shook his head. Smirking, I said, "Thought so," and resumed lifting. Or at least, TRYING to lift. Wooden beams are heavier than they look, or at least this one was; and given it wasn't my life at risk, I didn't exactly have a huge adrenaline rush to help me get it off in one go. The entire time I worked he just stared at me silently. With that mask it was impossible to see his face and tell what he was thinking, but I could guess what was going through his mind.

After a while of working in silence, the man finally spoke again. "Why are you doing this?"

"Lifting half a two-ton beam? Good question, I'm starting to wonder too."

"No, I mean..." He trailed off, trying to think of a way to rephrase the question. "Why are you lifting it off ME?"

"Cause you're pinned and obviously can't move it yourself."

"...Are you having fun with this?"

"Not really," I grunted, and finally heaved the beam to the side. At this point my arms and legs were killing me, sore from all the muscle required to lift the thing. Panting, I sat on the ground and glanced at him. "Think you can get off the rest?" In response he struggled a bit more, but his body quickly relaxed and he shook his head. Well, that figures. "Fine. I'll take care of the rest in five minutes."

With that I scooted a few feet away and just laid down, staring at the ceiling. The hooded man's head followed me the entire time, and even as I stared at the ceiling I could feel him staring at me. Growing irritated with his staring, after about a minute I glanced at him and snapped, "What?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"You already asked that question."

"And you avoided it. You have zero reason to do this. Hell, if I were you, I'd just leave and not look back. So why?" I sighed, turning my gaze back to the ceiling.

"Didn't you hear me earlier? I have no freaking idea. A logical person would have walked out, like you said, but me? I just come and start pulling debris off a blood-covered killer for no freaking reason." He didn't respond right away, just staring at me.

"...So that wasn't sarcasm back then?"

"I don't know," I groaned, closing my eyes. "I don't know why I do half the stuff I do. I just... do it. I guess my brain's messed up or something. That's the only explanation I have, anyway." He didn't respond this time, and silence quickly fell over us, each of us becoming lost in our own thoughts. After several minutes, though, I decided I'd rested long enough and finally got to my feet. Ever wary, his head snapped back to watch me coolly as I approached him and went to work removing the rest of the rubble and debris.

Working in silence for a while, I soon paused as I reached for a large piece of cement pinning one of his arms, shooting him a cautious look. "If I remove this, promise you won't attack me?" He didn't respond right away, but after a moment he gave a nod. Geez, your hesitation is SO reassuring... I ignored it, though, and after a moment lifted the cement. True to his word, he didn't move to attack me, so after a moment I continued on.

Once his other arm was free he sat up slightly and started pushing off debris as well, making the process even faster. We left the knife in his thigh for the moment, not wanting to open the wound further and cause him to bleed even more. Plaster and dust blanketed my arms and the front of my clothes by the time we finished, the sight making me grimace. "You better have money to pay for a motel room and a laundromat," I grumbled, though it was more to myself since I really didn't expect a killer to give me money. "Can you get up?"

Rather than speak, he started to shift to his feet only to wince and stop, quickly crouching and gripping his left ankle. Rolling up the bloody hem of his jeans, he revealed his ankle to be bruised and swollen, a large cut slashed across it and staining his skin red. I heard him curse under his breath as he tried to wipe the blood away with his sleeve, but of course more just spilled from the wound to take its place. Watching as he fumbled to clean his ankle while occasionally wincing in pain, the sight was starting to get kind of... pathetic. It was almost sad to watch him like that, clearly in pain.

After about a minute of watching him, I found myself sighing and crouching next to him. As usual he froze, his head swiveling to watch me warily. "...Come on," I said, extending a hand to him. He cast me a suspicious look before leaning away, making me sigh again. "Look, there is absolutely no way you'll be able to walk with a bad ankle and a freaking knife in your leg. So either you let me help you now, or stay here and die."

As expected, he didn't reply and just stared at me in silence. As the seconds dragged on I was starting to get impatient, and was about to say something when finally he nodded and took my hand without another word. Pulling him to his feet, he winced and quickly leaned on me for support. In this case, he had TWO bad legs rather than just one, so either way he'd be in pain. Resisting another sigh, I just rolled my eyes as we slowly moved towards the stairwell.

This was going to be a long day...