Alvin

I knew I was going to die. I had direct knowledge that this was the case. But I didn’t expect to die this way. Not at all the way I planned. Drip. Drip. Drop. Drip. I wished the drops of water that sporadically landed on my head were colder. Cold equals refreshing. Room temperature water was never refreshing. Occasionally, I would lift my head and let the drops land on my face. Sometimes my mouth. The water tasted like blood, there was a metallic hint on the end of it. But still, no refreshment. None at all.

I have no idea how I got here. I just remember darkness. And light. But isn’t that always the way? We all begin our life in shadow and suddenly, we scream our way into illumination. The drops of water keep hitting my head—is this water-boarding—is this their—whoever it is—desperate attempt at water-boarding? No. I think there has to be a cloth over the face. I think. Not exactly a student of torture. Not yet.

Whoever put me here, didn’t have any rope. Only zip ties. I am tied—-zip tied--to a chair and all I can think about is how tasteless that is. Zip ties? If the plastic wasn’t embedding itself into my wrists, I would be insulted. And yet the pain in my wrists was somewhat countered with the comfort of my ass. The chair had a cushion! Talk about style. The arms of the chair so intricately carved. As if it was pulled from some fancy English drawing room. I am flattered.

There is no fear in me. Not one fiber of my being dreads the large, rusted, metal door looming across the room—opening—revealing my fate. Closing—sealing my fate. No fear at all. Just boredom and impatience. I have shit to do. Things to wrap up.

Click. Click. Click. Footsteps on some kind of pavement. Getting closer. The sound of impending doom, the joyful noise of hope. Either way, it was company. Finally! The metal door opened seamlessly. I expected the door to open with an ominous creak—you know like in the movies. But no. Smooth as silk. It closed just as easily—without the Leatherface slam I was hoping for. As seamless as the metal door closed, did the woman behind it glide into the room.

Her heels were nice. Last season. But nice. She seemed to walk at a timed pace. As if this was a journey she had made before, and repetition had allowed her to choreograph it perfectly. She stopped about a foot from me. Her red hair sparkled against the light. It was shitty dungeon light but it made her a beauty nonetheless. I looked up into her cerulean blue eyes and she looked down into the dingy brown of mine.

“Comfortable?” Her words were like velvet.

“Is that an actual question?”

“Yes. It was delivered with the appropriate upward inflection on the end.”

“Ok.”

“If it were a line of dialogue in a story, there would be a question mark after the word.”

“Right.”

“So.”

“So.”

“Comfortable?”

“The zip ties are a little constrictive.”

“My apologies.” A brief pause filled with expectation.

“Are you not going to loosen my restraints?” I figured the question was valid.

“Was not planning to.”

“But you asked me if I was comfortable.”

“Yes.”

“And I answered you.”

“Yes. You did.”

“I assumed you were going to do something about that.”

“About what?”

“My uncomfortability.”

“You were wrong. I asked the question as a courtesy. There should have been zero expectation of any follow-through.”

“Sorry. I guess. My bad. I guess.”

“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.” Wow. Heels was perceptive.

“You’re quite perceptive. Yeah, I was wondering.”

“You recently acquired—let’s say, a significant financial bounty.”

“I came into some money. Yes.”

“Twenty-thousand dollars to be exact.”

“Yes. Twenty-thousand dollars. To. Be. Exact.”

“And where did you find this twenty thousand dollars?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just curious.”

“I inherited it, if you must know.”

“From who?”

“I don’t remember.”

“You came into twenty thousand dollars and you don’t remember who left it to you?” I have to admit playing dumb was not a skill I did well.

“It was some long lost relative. I don’t know.”

“No. It wasn’t. In fact, you didn’t inherit the money at all. I have on good authority.”

“Whose authority?”

“Marian Holmes.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is?”

“Considering that’s the grave where you actually found the money, I would think you and Marian would be well acquainted.”

“Ok. I found the money in a grave.”

“So you’re a liar.”

“I told the truth. At first.”

“But then you lied. That is a shame.”

“People lie. What of it?” Heels clicked her way behind me. The flames of her hair brushed against the side of my face as she leaned in close, her whispered voice flowing into my ear.

“But the truth is so much sweeter.” The flames receded as she moved to stand back in front of me.

“Where is the money?”

“Direct.”

“Yes. That will my position moving forward.” Heels reached behind her back, removing a small blade. I barely had time to acknowledge it before I felt a sharp pain in my left arm. I looked down to see the drip drip drop of the water above me, mixing with the blood flowing from the fresh wound.

“Direct and to the point.” I guess torture was not without a bit of humor.

“Ow.” It kind of saddened me that she thought this was going to work. Cutting my arm. Old news, Heels. Old News.

“Would you believe me if I told you I gave it away?”

“You gave away twenty-thousand dollars?”

“It’s better to give than it is to receive.”

“That old sentiment.”

“It’s a classic.”

“And who did you give the money to?”

“Why should I tell you?” The blade answered the question. Blood was now dripping from my right arm.

“Sorry. That was a dumb question for me to ask.”

“Yes. It was.”

“I now have to ask another dumb question.” The blade moved from her right hand to her left hand with such ease. This weapon of torture and its owner were clearly very good friends. Like Sweeney Todd and his razors.

“Is this the best you can do?” Good question. The blade landed in her left hand and remained there. Playtime with Heels and her friend was over.

“Interesting. Not a question I was expecting.”

“No one ever does.”

“You do realize that I have cut you twice?”

“Yes.”

“And neither me or my trusty friend are going to get tired anytime soon?” Trusty friend. I knew they were tight.

“Yes. And yes.”

“Why not make this easier on yourself?”

“Two reasons. One. We both know how situations like this go. The moment you walked in the door, clicking your Jimmy Choos, I became a liability. You can’t let me leave here alive, no matter how this triplet between you, your friend, and I shakes out. I. Am. Dead. Plain and simple. You ask me why not make it easier on myself, to which I say to you, why should I?”

“Hmm.” I don’t know if Heels felt like she had met her match but she left her post and moved to a corner of the room, returning with a chair. It looked identical to the one I was tied to. Yes. Definitely from an English drawing room.

“Good point.”

“I know.”

“Very good point.”

“Again. I know.”

“And the second reason?”

“I was planning to kill myself.”

“What?” That definitely knocked her for a loop. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious.”

“Hmm.” The Jimmy Choos, the scarlet hair, the silver knife, the almost angelic face: I had placed them all into a state of confusion.

“I’ll make you a deal.”

“Oh. We’re negotiating now?”

“Not in the least. You can either take the deal or not. It means nothing to me. Nothing.”

“Alright.”

“After I found the money, in the days leading up to my scheduled suicide, I gave one thousand dollars each to twenty people. Twenty. Every single person I gave the money to, I committed their name to memory. I will give you the names.”

“In exchange for what?”

“In exchange for you and your friend continuing to do what you do best.”

“You mean?”

“For each cut you administer, I will give you a name. Until you have them all.”

“That’s a lot of cuts.”

“Eh. Not really. Also, the first two don’t count.”

“Ok. Deal.”

“I thought that would be harder.”

“The money is important.”

“Isn’t is always?” Heels wasted no time. The blade made another cut on my left arm. ONE. Heels and her blade returned to the chair. Heels produced a little black book from her breast, with a small pencil attached.

“How convenient.”

“You never know when you might need to write something down.”

“Truth. ERNIE. MILLIGAN.” The name went into the book. The blade sliced my right arm. TWO.

“JESSICA. REYNOLDS.”

THREE.

“RACHAEL. SAWYER.”

FOUR.

“ETHAN. SORENSON.”

FIVE.

“TYRELL. WALKER.”

As you can imagine, this continued for some time. SIX thru TEN. ELEVEN thru SEVENTEEN. Until…

EIGHTEEN.

“MARILYN. YOUNG.”

NINETEEN

“HARRY NICHOLSON.” So. Much. Blood. But I wasn’t empty. Not yet. Heels and her friend were quite skilled; allowing me to bleed but without cutting me too deep as to hit an artery. Mixed with the pain from the cuts was also a bit of jealousy. The blades I used didn’t hold a candle to hers. I think they could have, though. Had I had a little more conviction when it came to metal connecting to flesh. Ah, well. Heels had been quick up until now. Very quick. But nearing the end she slowed down, almost like she wanted to cherish these final cuts. Her friend was dripping with my blood as they surveyed the damage they had done.

“Last one.”

“Yep.”

“You do understand that once I have the last name, I have to kill you.”

“Of course. Liability. But you get to kill two birds with one stone. Lucky you.”

“What?”

“ALVIN. STONE. That’s me.”

“You’re the last name?”

“Yes. I left my thousand dollars in the corner of my freezer in a plastic tupperware container. The address is 17 Oak Street, Apt. 4A. The door is shit so you should be able to get in with minimal fuss.” I watched as Heels picked up her pencil for the last time, and wrote my name, along with my address into her little black book. Heels stood up, and approached me. The shitty dungeon light continued to reflect off her hair. Even her friend, though covered in blood, managed to shine in the glow. Heels knelt down in front of me.

“Comfortable?”

“The zip ties are still a little constrictive.” For the first time, her friend sliced plastic instead of skin. The zip ties fell into the pools of blood on either side of me. I didn’t move my arms. I was now quite comfortable. I was ready. Sensing my readiness, Heels plunged her friend deep into my left arm and proceeded to carve out a line from wrist to my elbow. The blood flowed like rain. I half-expected some last words between her and I but instead, she wiped down her friend with her bare hands, returning him to the sheath behind her back. The little black book and pencil was nestled back into her breast and as smooth as she had glided into the room, Heels was gone, the looming metal door opening and closing as quiet as before. I didn’t expect to die this way. Not at all the way I planned. But this was better. Drip. Drip. Drop. Drip. Water. Blood. The. End.