The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(37) I'm Bull.

Pamela awoke slowly, and the first thing she noticed was the mutilating pains in her body. Her joints felt wrenched from their sockets, her head felt fuzzy and clouded and her mouth tasted brackish. She sat up and winced as her joints popped in protest. Her bottoms felt numb from sitting on the hard floor and when she looked around, she saw she was in a small room with only one window through which bright sunlight was filtering in.

Where was she? The last thing she remembered was being grabbed and drugged when she was in the car with Peter who had been shot. She placed both hands on her mouth to push back the sob that rose in her, and to deny the answers to the questions that she couldn't help but ask,

Was Peter dead? Did the people who grabbed her finish him off?

This was nothing short of a nightmare. She regretted coming to this place that had no name, regretted having anything to do with all of this. She stood in a bid to walk towards the cell window to see if she would see the outskirts of where she was but was pulled back. She landed hard on the cemented floor and groaned. Her legs had been chained.

She wanted to cry, wanted to howl at the moon and weep, but her strength felt like it had been sapped from her, so all she did was sit and wait for her doom. It was Bull's men who captured her. It was definitely them. She just wished he would stop being a coward and show her his face.

It seemed her wishes were granted because she heard unlocking motions behind the huge iron door of the cell and the doorknob was twisted. She looked up expectantly as the door was pushed open, its rusty hinges giving squeaky sounds that reminded her of rats. The door finally opened and a tall figure stood at the door but was silhouetted by the sun so she couldn't see the person's face. The person walked further into the cell without closing the door and stood right in front of her.

She gasped in shock when she could see the figure's face.

"Marcel?"

He knelt before her, his face expressionless. "Hello, Pamela."

Pamela's lips trembled. "Oh my God."

"How have you been?" he asked with quirky humor.

"How do you sleep at night?" She asked defiantly.

"I heard you got married." he continued as though he hadn't heard her defiant reply. He nodded at her wedding ring. "I guess congratulations are in order."

She took in an audible breath through her mouth and exhaled in the same manner and volume. "Despite the countless evidence I had that you were Bull, even though my mother was killed right after you left the hospital, there was this -" she paused briefly. " - a tiny part of my heart that hoped it was not true, that you were not the evil person that has been wreaking havoc in my life."

"I can explain," he whispered, his blue eyes sad. He removed his knees from the floor and sat instead.

"Explain what?" she asked quietly, tears rolling down her cheeks. Marcel reached up to gently wipe it with his thumb. She should push him away and been revolted that he was touching her but she was weak and tired of everything so she just stayed still. Besides, his touch didn't feel evil. It felt, on the contrary, soft and accommodating.

"Explain what?" she said again. "Explain how you ambushed my house the day my dad died and stole his corpse? Or perhaps how you planted a bomb in Devlin's safe house to kill his men? Or better still how you put a pillow against my mom's sweet and innocent face and suffocated her to death? Tell me what you want to explain, Bull."

Marcel winced and his hand fell to his side. "I am not Bull."

"And the sky is not blue."

"It actually isn't blue, the sky is transparent air. We see blue because of the scattering of blue light by gas molecules in the atmosphere because it has shorter wavelength than the other colors in the spectrum."