Almost Forgotten

Chapter 11: Touch of Darkness

I keep forgetting I should let you go, but when you look at me, the only memory is us kissing in the moonlight.

First lesson we learn about them is how charismatic and likable they are. Whether it is about their extremely misleading attractiveness or the sense of well spoken words that they use to meet their victims, serial killers are masters at manipulation.

Landon is a master at manipulation.

Or so they all used to claim it. It makes you wonder how?

How could a master at manipulation allow himself to be tricked.

How could a master at manipulation fall into our trap?

How could a master at manipulation be manipulated?

"It was love." Meredith told me after the courtroom on the last day of trial when their sentences were shared across the room. "He actually loved you."

She laughed at that, but it wasn't her usual irony and dismissiveness of my existence. It sounded more like disbelief.

I felt nothing then.

Then maybe something as she said. "But don't take it too close to the heart, because it's temporary. As soon as his stupid brain forgets you, he will treat you the same way as his other enemies."

His other enemies.

Other enemies.

It implies I am his enemy.

There was a time that I couldn't wake up in the morning without a headache of self hatred for feeling gentle comfort in his arms. I don't even know if anyone could explain the transition between that and feeling emptiness of the word enemy.

Not any enemy. A killer. A criminal. Leader of a gangster family. Landon Thorne.

A man who is deciding the life of my daughter.

A life which I put in danger now.

He agreed to the terms, he promised he wouldn't touch her if I could and I gave him another broken promise. I know if I were in his shoes, it would get really tiring.

When I wake up, the comfort of the room is gone and only darkness which doesn't belong to my closed eyelids is there.

No matter how much I try to blink the nothingless away, the lack of light is not allowing me to get used to dark space. I could not even see the finger right over my eye, just felt the torso and hands being bound behind the wooden chair along with ropes around my legs.

I knew it was wooden from the second time I clattered its legs on the floor and heard the sound. I also remember training lessons and the clear words 'chairs are weaker than rope.'

Just dropping back will not work, not even jumping somewhat through the air. Sighing out, closing my eyes and the chair began pushing back and forth.

First time the tip of my shoes was enough so that I could flip myself with the chair, it flew to the side shen floor hit both of us. My head thankfully met the now broken wood other than very obvious concrete.

Groaning out from scratching already almost healed wounds on my arm, along with wherever other bruises were found.

The back rest was broken when I wiggled my way out of higher rope, while moving out from the mess. I leaned back on some sort of pillar when I pushed my legs out bondage.

"Fucking hell." I mutter, standing up with extended hands to find my own path.

I don't reach any distance when I hear hands clasping one over another, making my whole insides freeze. The mocking applause is heard somewhere on the left side behind me, but it sounds distant as if the room is a thousand square feet.