Dear?| James Patrick March

Chapter Four.

I woke up and saw that I was tied to a chair. I had a gag around my mouth and felt eyes on me.

"You're finally awake," James said in the corner. i groaned in response. He came over to me and removed the thing covering my mouth.

"Please let me go. I won't tell anyone and I won't write my essay, please," I said crying.

"Begging doesn't work with me dear," he said and leaned in closer. He bent down to reach my height.

"What does work on you?" I asked.

"You'll have to figure it out," he said with a smile.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, fear taking over my voice.

"Of course not," he said.

"Well then what am I doing here?" I asked.

"It's so fun to play with people. I figured I would keep you for awhile, make you realize that you're not much different than me," he said.

"I'm NOTHING like you," I growled.

"You have anger," he said.

My voice got caught in my throat. "You don't know anything about me," I said.

"Oh I know everything about you," he said.

"Prove it," I spat.

"Your full name is Breanna Elizabeth Brock and you live in Los Angeles for college. You had a mother, a father, and two older brothers. You had two childhood dogs. One died of cancer and the other was killed in a hit and run. You had a boyfriend, but he cheated on you the day after you moved in together. You love to write, and you love reading. Which is why you go to college for English. Should I continue on to how you lost your family?" He asked in a teasing tone.

"No. I think you've proved enough." I said, my voice shaking. 

"Are you scared, darling?" He asked, leaning even closer.

"A little bit," I said.

"I'm not going to hurt you, I'm just going to ruin your purity," he said and got up.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I have always believed that murdering is good," he responded.

"How so?" I questioned.

"I will explain later. Now, why don't you tell me the fascinating story of how your family passed?" He asked.

I felt my eyes tingle with tears. "Do I have to?" I asked.

He sat down in a chair. "Go on," he demanded.

"I was in tenth grade, and winter break had just begun. That boyfriend that you were talking about earlier told me to sneak out of the house and go to a party he was having. I didn't want him to think that I was lame, so I went and I didn't come home until three in the morning. I snuck back in through my window and went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I found my entire family dead. There was blood everywhere. And uh-" I began before breaking down. I cried for a good ten seconds and then I pulled myself together. "The guy who killed them came in through my open window."

"How tragic," James said, handing me a tissue. I nodded and looked away from him.

"And the guy who did it didn't even know my family. He said he did it for fun. And not only that, he escaped two weeks after they threw in the mental hospital," I said angrily.

"That's the beauty of murdering," James began and got up.

"Murdering my family?" I asked.

"No. Murdering in general. It's a great way to get anger out," he said. He walked to a closet and opened it. A man fell out.

"And to get revenge," James said.