writing_shadows

Pain blossomed from a multitude of small wounds; drawing cuts and shallow punctures in such profusion that every move stretched and worried at least a handful of them. He felt lightheaded, presumably from the blood loss, and he was fairly certain that he had passed out at least once.

He was certainly awake when his assailant snapped the handcuff on his wrist.

He waited until the footsteps receded and then reached across. The average hit man was lazy and bought his cuffs online or from sex shops, which meant that most cuffs had a safety catch, just in case your partner had a heart attack or something.

This set did not. In fact, they didn’t seem to have a keyhole.

“I m-made them myself, and j-just for you.”

A splash of liquid snapped him back to consciousness, followed by a shock of cold that made him gasp.

“They’re n-not made to unlock; not ever.”

His attacker dropped the petrol can on the floor and walked away again. He was dressed in black and a soft haze like summer heat shimmered in the air around him. With an obvious effort he lifted the full length mirror from the wall and carried it over, propping it up against a chair before crouching down in front of his victim.

“Who are you?”

The attacker lifted a finger to his lips. “You never told her who you were.”

“Who?”

The attacker’s head tipped to one side, nodding ever so slightly towards the mirror. Turning, he saw his own reflection – cut, bloodied, drenched in petrol and handcuffed to the bar – and crouching in front of him…

“No!”

“Yes.”

He stared in horror at the image of the girl, long, dark hair half-concealing her face.

“But she’s…”

“Yes?”

“She’s dead. We killed her.”

“To send a message to her mother.”

He swallowed hard, tried to focus; tried not to think about the mirror. “Then you… You’re from Maggie Kemp.”

The attacked shook his head. “No. I’m here on my own account, and hers.

“I want you to know something about her, before the end. I want you to know that when you attacked her, she hoped that you would kill her; she knew what the alternative would be. Later, she actually began to hope that you’d leave and someone might come and save her. I m-might almost have been willing to forgive you if not for that, but you let her hang on s-so long…

“You let her think she m-might be okay.”

The attacker squeezed his eyes shut against tears of rage and pain and grief.

“At the end, she just wanted you to go. Do you know wh-why?”

He shook his head.

“Because her last thought was that if y-you left, at l-least you’d not b-be there when I g-got home. D-dying in agony, her l-last thought was for m-me.”

His eyes widen in astonishment. “You’re the teacher?” he croaked.

Solomon’s smile was bitter. “Once upon a t-time.

“Of course, she didn’t know I was already d-dead.”

Terror began to creep across the killer’s face. The dawning fear that Solomon knew only too well as the first inklings of the uncanny impressed themselves upon a once-simple mind.

Solomon dropped a meat cleaver by the man’s hand. “I suspect you know how this works. You can’t cut through the cuffs. Even if you could, the sparks would light the petrol fumes, which in turn would light the gas. On the other h-hand the timer will c-cut in the pilot light in f-five minutes.” Solomon took a seat, watching.

“But you’ll…”

“I told you; I’m dead already. Killing me again… Well, it’s not impossible, but it’s tricky, and fire really isn’t the way.”

“Please… I’ll never…”

“Never what? K-kill her again?” Solomon leaned forward, his eyes bleak and hollow. “Don’t beg me for mercy; I have none to give. Mercy is born of the hope of redemption, and I don’t have anything but despair.”

The killer grabbed desperately for the cleaver and swung, cutting deep into his own arm. The third swing, weak with pain and shock, finally severed the cracked bone, but the pain made him black out. He came to, tried for the knife again, but shock held him paralysed.

Dimly, he heard Solomon’s voice. “Time’s up.”

He rolled onto his back as the flames swept through the house. Solomon stood over him, looking down, and the flames never touched him.