Where is she

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
An unpolished scene from my books first draft. I cut it out for a few reasons. But mostly the character had changed a little in the later versions, but I always liked this scene. Hope you do too.

Submitted: May 27, 2017

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Submitted: May 27, 2017

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I had never considered myself the angry type, I always tried to remain calm and collected even under the most intense pressure. But that was over a year ago today; the world isn't the same as it once was. Even a year can turn the world into a vicious survival test every day. People assumed the world would end due to zombies, the four horsemen of the apocalypse, or a politician pissing off the evil dictator and starting a nuclear war. Nope, No one remembers how we got to this point; we just shoot our guns and hope for the best resolution. Morals, values, and even laws we threw it all to the wayside.  
I used to be the nice guy, the one your parents were happy to meet. You'd have at the dinner table and discuss literature, life goals, what your plans were, bring your daughter home at a decent hour. Now, here I am standing over a man bound to a chair and the barrel of a gun shoved into his mouth.  My finger steady and relaxed. Have I done this before? Yes, but only in the past year. I have never shot a person before, but there was a first time for everything. This year had proven I could do anything for the first time and be at peace with it. The man bound in my cheaply made wooden chair, on the other hand, is afraid because of reputation. The reputation I had to earn by clever manipulation, nothing real, all the body counts I had on my hands were never mine; I had people who indirectly kill for me. I have information, a weapon that proved more dangerous than any pistol could. But, the stories are being told differently. This poor bastard thinks I am going to pull the trigger myself.  I might. The night is young. 
I have his hands and feet bound to the legs and arms of the chair with duct tape. I stood there my pistol jammed in his mouth in my parent's kitchen waiting for him to mumbled something. This kidnapping was all about information. His eyes were almost popping out from their sockets; I just looked down at him with a confident smile. He was roughly mid-thirties, clean shaven thin face; his build fitted his head. I felt like I could snap his arm with a hard enough pull.  'Now I'm going to remove the pistol. I want to ask you three simple questions. I pray you answer them with the utmost honesty.' I said in a calm tone.  He nodded his head rapidly; I was afraid it might fall off his neck. I gingerly removed the pistol from his mouth all the while holding my gentle smile. 'Thank...you....' he trembled.  Slowly letting the gun drop by my side, I still kept my eyes locked into to his. 
'I need to know about a girl named Maddison' I informed him. He nodded. 'I need to know who you sold her to?' I asked my tone remaining even. His eyes looked away from mine; his head would have followed if I hadn't of pressed the gun to his cheek. He stopped. Taking a few deep breaths, he finally looked back up at me.  'I....don..' he began to lie. I pressed the gun harder into his cheek. 'Think about the next words carefully' I barked. My tone breaking, deeper than I wanted. I closed my eyes and let out a small breath. My emotions back in check, I smiled. He nodded 'I sold her to a man named Tony' He said without hesitation. I took pressure off his cheek. 'This man Tony, where does he take the girls you find him?' I asked. I knew full well what Tony's intentions were. But I needed the location of where they were taken for processing, as it were. 'Look, man, they just pay me to deliver the goods.' My hostage just said the worst of words. Without thinking, I took the butt of the pistol and smacked it on his forehead. 'People, not goods, you fucking parasite' I barked. He let out an agonising cry. Blood trickled down past his eyebrow, passed his cheek to his shirt. I admitted to myself that is was satisfying. 'I held the gun close to his chin as I bent down. 'Now I want a straight answer. Where does Tony take them?' I said raising my voice.  'Look all I know is They come collect them and load them into a truck, and pay me.' He confessed, although he now refused to look me in the eye. At this point, I didn't care.  'Where do you meet the truck' I demanded. He bit his lip and tapped his feet. He then looked me in the eye. 'Coner of Mayberry. Near the docks.' He said. I smiled. 'Whens the next meeting?' I asked my tone even again. He 'Monday night, 7 pm, I fire a red flare. Ten minutes later they show up.' He spilt. I stood up gave him a sly smile. 'The guns empty' I said unloading the spindle, revealing to him no bullets were ever in the pistol. I chuckled. His eyes looked up at me wth pure rage; his whole body tensed up. 'You're a sick fuck!' He screamed. I laughed as I walked to the close by the back door. I looked back over my shoulder holding my grin.  'I'mma' fucking kill you' he barked. I whistled loudly as possible. 'Here widgy' I beckoned. My guest had closed his mouth his eyes focused on the pitch black passed my door. For a moment it was only the sound of wind rustling through the trees, suddenly the sound of wet slobbering and growls were heard more so by my hostage than myself. 'What the fuck are you doing?' He said as his eyes looked back to mine. I continued to smile.   'It'll fucking eating me, man, you gotta let me go.' I laughed. 'Well, I've never seen them eat pieces of shit, so, you might be lucky' I teased. 

I stood out the front of my parent's old house listening to the screams and ripping of bone and flesh. I lit a cigar and just listened. I didn't want to see the feeding. But I didn't want to miss out on knowing either. I felt this was a compromise. 


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