Revenge - Avenger, Criminal

The growl startled him, as he had thought he was alone. Apparently, he had locked himself in the room with an animal of some sort. A feral one, judging from the sounds that swelled and vibrated against the four walls.

Harold lifted an arm to his face, instinct telling him to protect his head. His other arm hung at his side, useless. A lucky shot from one of the boss' henchmen had shattered the long bone above his elbow. He was detached from the pain. Aside from wrapping it tightly with his ruined jacket, he had paid the wound no heed. After all, it was the head that needed protection.

When he had found this room at the end of the alley, he thought he was finally safe. His ear pressed against the solid metal door heard the footsteps of the boss' goons rise and fall into the distance. He also heard shouts and curses, but those slid right off. He had long ago cursed himself to a fate worse than this. A ruined arm and a torn jacket almost felt like a reprieve.

A growl louder than anything he'd ever heard reminded him of his present predicament. He spun around, waving the gun he held in an arc. His left hand. The one he couldn't really aim with. If it weren't his only hope, he would have giggled at the irony of it. Everything.

He heard the scuffling sound of an animal drawing in its haunches. There must only be one shot. He was sure he wasn't strong enough for more than one.

The pounce was silent. Harold saw a shadow accelerate towards his direction. He aimed as well as he could, opened his eyes as wide as he could, and fired.

*****

The flash must have blinded him. For a minute, Harold wondered if his gun was one of those gag ones that shot blanks. He blinked and blinked again. He could see nothing but white. If it weren't for the gnawing pain in his right arm, he would have surmised that he was dead.

"Not blind, just dark."

Those words, spoken from somewhere to his right, startled him enough to make him drop the gun.

"God damn."

His first words bled into the light. He searched for the origin of the voice.

A determined blink coaxed his vision back. Black edged in from the corners. Another blink and the dark swallowed the light, save for a series of pin lights right at the center of his corneas. He felt along the floor with his foot. The gun mustn't have fallen far.

"Always dark, here."

The owner of the voice was also the owner of the growl. Harold was sure. Or as sure as he could be bleeding and nearly-blinded, with one foot extended and tiptoe-ing in an ever-growing circle around him. Where was the goddamn gun?

TBC :D


Copyright 2011 Cristina Cheng