Dark Paradise

Prologue

Hands trembling, I keep them clutched on tightly to my arm in an attempt to try and stop the bleeding. My ragged short breaths only manage to skim the surface of the thick air in an attempt to fill my lungs. My heart beats fast inside my ribcage, like it wants to escape. Truly, that’s what I want too. Placing one foot in front of the other, I stumble past many empty streets as I try to find somewhere to crash and rest for a while before continuing. Gravel crunches underfoot as my steps become sloppier and smaller. My eyes skim the area that I have wounded up in, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Oh god,” I huff out as my arm turns completely numb. Crouching down on the ground, I drop my chin down to my chest to think. What was I thinking doing something this dangerous? My life is not worth any of the money that they offered. It was stupid. And now I’m here with a bullet wound. After cursing at myself in my mind for a while, I lift up and see a door in the distance. “Please be open,” I mutter to myself in hope. The night sky does no justice and there is no light around me. Dragging myself closer, I reach out my uninjured arm and twist the door handle.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips as the door opens with a creak. Bringing my arm up to the wall, my fingertips skim the brick outline in search of a light switch. The rock is cold under my touch and the venue feels unwelcoming. But then again, what kind of old door in an alleyway would feel welcoming? Calming myself down, I walk further into the room until my fingers fidget with something that could be a light switch. Flicking the knob up, a dim light above my head illuminates the room. The sudden light takes some getting used to. The room appears to be an old cellar; empty wooden wine racks line the walls and there are red stains on the floor. Hopefully it’s not from blood.

Lowering myself down, I allow my back to slump up against the wall as my hair falls to one shoulder. My arm is still bleeding and the rag that I wrapped it up is soaking, but I do not have the energy to go to the doctor. God, I don’t even know where I am. Luckily the bullet did not go in my skin, it just skimmed the surface. The blood is the only warm thing; everything else has gone cold and lost life.

My breath finally catches up to me and I am no longer huffing. I reach for the phone in my pocket but my heart drops in devastation when I can’t feel the outlines of it. Shit. I left it at home in case someone would call me while I was handing over the photos and so that they couldn’t track my phone and figure out my location.

Whatever luck I possibly had has officially run out. I make an executive decision to rest my head for a couple of hours to muster up energy and then admit myself to hospital. “It’s going to be okay,” I keep telling myself. I want to believe my own words, but somehow I can’t.