Duo's Revenge

Chapter 7: The Henchman

Welcome to Windows 8!
Starting up...
1%...2%...3%...4%...5%...

I let out a groan and rolled my eyes, rubbing my temples in a circular motion. I had always loathed having such a slow computer, but today–the day I most definitely needed it more than ever before–its sluggishness truly vexed me, for today, I was planning my escape. Although 'escape' isn't exactly the precise word to describe what I'm doing.
I was planning to go off in search of my sister. I hadn't a clue where she could possibly be, though, so when my computer finally completed its start-up, I would likely end up clicking on Google Chrome and try to think of where she was as the blinking search box taunted me and my cluelessness, making a mockery of me, as if it knew any more than I did.
The loading symbol went around and around and around, and I watched it for what felt like hours but must have been 20 or so minutes. My computer was–at last!–at 87%. It wouldn't be long before I could begin my journey to find my sister and save her from the wretched hands of the disgusting being who had taken her from me–and taken the lives of my parents and friends.

Just when my computer was about to reach 99%, I heard a knock at the door.

I froze, growing pale. I held my breath, fearing–somewhat ridiculously, may I add–that the person standing in front of the aforementioned door would hear me breathing. "Hello?" the voice called. It sounded like it belonged to a young male about my age, 16 or 17. "Is anyone in there? I'm selling raffle tickets for my school, and I'd like to know if you would be so kind as to purchase some. Your charitable donation will help improve our extracurricular activities, which help students discover their passions and talents! They're a mere $5 each, and though $5 doesn't seem like much, every dollar counts!"
He waited for a minute, silent, and I the same. I very slowly began to rise from my spot on the floor, un-crisscrossing my legs and pushing myself up, my hands making contact with the cold hardwood floor. As I finished standing up, I heard the front door slam open. I felt like screaming. I forgot to lock it! I was a fool.

I looked left and right, trying to find somewhere to hide. With very little time to think, I came to the conclusion that my bedroom closet was my best option, and darted  into my room and into the closet, quietly closing the door. Surrounded by coat hangers holding every clothing item imaginable (and beyond), from a stunning red floor-length dress that I was far too shy to wear to a 1970s disco costume to a t-shirt gifted to me by my aunt that said Somebody in Annapolis Loves You!, I made sure to take slow, nearly inaudible breaths, and listened to the commotion occurring outside my bedroom.
"Alright," the boy said, "this must be the house. No one is here." I heard him let out a small laugh. "Except you two, of course. But you're only here physically. He's taken care of you." I felt sick to my stomach. He must have been talking about my parents, standing in the kitchen and looking up at their bodies. I could feel the smug look on his face, the pride in his voice. How my parents' murder was a source of pride for him, I did not know.

He paused. I waited for him to say something, picturing him inspecting the bloody scene in the kitchen, smiling to himself, even though I had no idea what he looked like.
"It truly is said," he said, "what happened to you two. I pity both of you. Really. I understand that it may be difficult for you to believe me–not only because you are both deceased, but also because I work for the creature who took both of your lives. How could I possibly feel bad for you? In fact, how could someone as disgusting as I even feel at all? Well, if you believe I'm disgusting and devoid of all emotions, you are incorrect. I do have emotions, although they are few and hard to come by. If you wish to talk about a cold, unfeeling being...well, your murderer is both of those things. Even I fear him. And I work for him. He is terrifying. If I spoke to him while he was in a bad mood...it is very likely that he would kill me then and there."