Alicia bowed her head, frowning while texting someone from work, “Nothing big ever happens to me. Am I being too hard on myself? I know everyone says I am, but I have quite possibly the most boring life,” she chuckled nervously to herself, even though no one was paying attention to her; it was Happy Hour.
Suddenly, a man wearing a black hooded jacket appeared next to her in the pub, put his hand on her shoulder, and looked deeply into her eyes. Clearly in shock, she said nothing to him, but in her mind she was ranting and all of her thoughts became a cacophony of frustration: What a freak why is he touching me I wish he'd get his hand off of my shoulder make him go away who am I kidding that's it I've had it!
She pushed his hand off her shoulder and stood up. She hadn't realized how much height the bar stools gave her until she noticed she could barely reach his shoulder. She also hadn't realized how much she'd had to drink. She fell into him. He stroked her soft, brown hair, but with the face of a mortician preparing a corpse. He looked vaguely familiar, but she didn't know why. Alicia stood, dumbfoundedly staring at him. The back of his middle finger moved along the crease of her lips and onto her cheek. She was confused and terrified and she could tell he sensed it. She shook her head violently.
“Uh...um...excu-excuse me? Could you-- could you please stop?” she stuttered, taking one shaky step backward. She nearly fell as her foot caught a leg of the barstool. He followed her and the only move she could make was to sit in the chair, “Stop! Get away!”
He started laughing and stopped caressing Alicia's face. Then, he lowered his hood and Alicia saw his blue eyes shining brightly under his thick, blond eyebrows. He smiled, showing the brightest natural-looking teeth she'd ever seen; they were so bright you could almost see a cartoonish gleam in them. He leaned calmly against the bar.
“I was checking you out,” he said casually, “but I'm not interested in you. You look like you might have certain-” he paused in thought- “ancestry. You see, I've spent my life looking for people like y--”
“I'm not interested. Leave me alone and crawl back in your hole.”
“You don't look in mirrors a lot, do you? Look at your eyes; look at Cleopatra's! Feel the texture of your hair! You have the lips of a middle eastern queen!” He smelled the air by Alicia's left ear and told the bartender, “she even smells like royalty!”
The bartender rolled his eyes, but Alicia saw him continue to watch as he served the others. She saw him calling someone just as the man looked at him.
“You don't think she could be royalty? That's not very respectful,” he said as he shook his head in mock disgust.
This guy is scaring the hell out of me, but at least something interesting is finally happening in my life! Oh well, might as well go along with it. He can't be too dangerous, can he?
The man looked back at Alicia and said, “Hmm...would you be interested in being a model? I'm here looking for pretty girls like you for a spot in a huge fashion magazine. Bring your own clothes, though. That's a great look! Perfect for your eyes! You might even be able to pass as an actress! You know, that one...er...what's her name again?”
“Liv Tyler? Yeah, I ge'that a lot.” Maybe he's not so bad. He's just the touchy-feely type. Well, if he's a talent agent or something, I don't want to miss this chance! Alicia stood up and drunkenly waved to bartender.
Outside, the man entered his car. He unlocked her door from the inside and pushed it open. He backed out, left the parking lot, and went to the nearest highway.
“Excu-” she said inaudibly. She cleared her throat and started again, “Excuse me; where'jur shtudio, exactically? And who're you?” She saw his combat boots when she looked at him, but assumed he was just one of those eccentric fashion types.
“My name is Igby,” he said, sounding more focused on his driving than on his passenger.
She could tell by the expression on his face that he wasn't going to tell her, even if she begged. Where have I seen him before? That name is so familiar; like someone I went out with or...wanted to go out with...maybe that's it. But if that's what it was, then why didn't I recognize him earlier? And how many Igbys can there be? Why don't I even feel a connection with him? Eh, I'd have remembered if it was anything important. My head's too foggy to think that far back anyway.
Almost a full hour later, they reached a small log cabin located near the summit of a small mountain. The car groaned disapprovingly as Igby turned the key, which at some point had been welded into its slot. Alicia got out of the car before Igby and starting running toward the “studio”, but stopped halfway, since the door was probably locked.
“Get into the house!” Igby commanded her. As if this wasn't enough, he pulled a Walther PPK/S from inside his jacket. She ran to the door and pulled it open. Igby kicked her in the back and she fell to the floor after a quick stumble.
“Stand up!”
When she was on her knees, he kicked her down again. She hit her head on the hearth of the fireplace, which looked big enough to lie down in. Blood rolled down her face.
“I said 'Stand up,'” he yelled through gritted teeth.
She tried to stand again and he kicked her another time. This time, she hit her head on one of the logs. She turned to face him while she was still on the ground. He kicked her in the chest and held his foot there, pushing as hard as he could, cutting off her breathing. She now saw he wore combat boots and--
“You're--” She coughed up a little blood, unable to finish her sentence.
“Yes, I am. You didn't recognize me? You always were slow.”
Now she remembered him! Ignatius “Igby” Kunze. Highest grades, greatest shape, most popular, all he needed was fame and he'd be perfect. Fame and a friendly personality. To think I actually envied him! Everyone in the middle school knew him. How did I forget him? He hated me then, too. Just like now, he'd beat me up and get away with it because no one was there to see it.
The worst time, he'd locked me in a locker and didn't let me out the whole day. He let me out when the school bell rang and forced me into a teachers' restroom; specifically the one no teacher ever used, so the janitors rarely came to clean it.
He threw me into one of the stalls and slammed my head into the toilet. He kicked me until I blacked out. Before I was completely gone, I heard him say “If you tell on me, I'll do this again. My family will go to your house and kill you and your family, y...”
The next day, one of the janitors who'd been forced to clean that bathroom found me in a pool of my own blood. My parents had at least called the police to look for me, but I wouldn't tell them what had happened. I was an idiot! Obviously, I still am or I wouldn't be in this mess right now.
“You remember now, don't you?” his words were poison, so Alicia didn't answer. He continued, “You thought I'd get into trouble if you told them, didn't you? Hmph, you're just as worthless and pathetic as you were then. This'll be easy work for me, then. You have no one to tell and no one will know you're dead; you're just another missing person.” He laughed diabolically.
Alicia weakly attempted to move her legs, but couldn't. When he'd kicked her chest, the pressure on her chest from his foot and the edge of the hearth on her back must have damaged her spine. She knew Igby could sense it. She tried to hide it, but he could see the pain on her face. She leaned forward and bit his leg; if she was going to die anyway, she at least wanted him to feel some pain. Unfortunately, he was wearing combat boots. Why didn't I see that earlier?` He kicked her in the chin with the would-be injured leg, knocking her out cold.
She woke up some time later to immense pain. While she was out, Igby had tied up both of her legs to keep her from running and used a chair to prop her up in front of the fireplace; she could feel the edge pushing sharply into her ribs. She saw him eating something calmly next to her. He looked too calm. Why hasn't he thrown me into the fire, yet? Does he want to hear me scream? She saw him look at her and smirk.
“Would you like some chicken? I'll give you the drumsticks,” he said, chuckling sadistically at his own joke.
He held the plate out again. Alicia gagged on blood she was still coughing up. In excruciating pain, she reached over for the food he offered her. It's not like he'd kill me in a boring way, like poisoning the food. As she neared the plate, he pushed her face away forcefully, almost making her and the chair fall.
“I guess you don't,” he said, “and I wouldn't want to make you eat something you don't want. I'm not that cruel, though I have to admit I have always liked watching your kind suffer. Blame my parents for that one.” he chuckled a little and knelt in front of her. He looked in her eyes and whispered, “I lied earlier. I really hate your kind; you're all subhuman shit.” He kicked the chair out from behind her back and she hit the ground with a loud thud.
She weakly punched him in the chest and held his jacket. He slapped her hard enough to leave an instant red hand print on her face and force her to let go of his jacket.
“It's not nice to hit! If I could get up and fight you, I would! I'd win, too!”
“Hmm...not a smart thing to say.” He reached for his gun, but couldn't find it. He turned to look for it where he'd been sitting.
“Found you!” A man yelled as he burst through the door.
Before Igby could turn fully around to see who was there, Alicia heard a loud noise and saw a fresh wound open spontaneously in Igby's stomach. He stumbled backward from the force of the shotgun, tripping over the hearth into the ravenous flame. A log from the side landed on him as soon as he hit the others. He threw it toward Alicia, but overestimated its weight. It hit the other man hard in the head, knocking him unconscious, then rolled into a wall. Igby tried to get up and out of the flames, but the logs kept breaking under his weight, making them jackknife into his sides, pinning him in.
Alicia saw the other man, who she identified as the bartender, and pulled herself toward him. She used an ax on the wall and used the blade to cut the ropes around her legs, deliberately avoiding swinging it. The door was starting to ignite, which would be much more useful if she could only kick it down, but her legs were too weak to stand on still. She took the bartender's shotgun and shot the lower hinge, which had yet to be burned by the flames. She through the empty shotgun to the side and heard it stop earlier than it should have. She looked to see Igby engulfed in flame standing next to her.
“I've never lost a single person! If I die, you die!” He kicked her hard in the kidney. She grabbed the shotgun and swung it at his knees. He fell to the ground and, with every ounce of adrenaline running through her body, she stood up shakily and repetitively beat his head with the butt of gun. She leaned on the door, which fell easily. She pulled the bartender out and away from the house.
“I kind of liked that. I wonder what he meant when he said he'd never lost a single person...”
She dragged the bartender into the car and drove off. A little ways down the road, she heard him wake up. She saw him look at her and begin to speak.
“I saved you back there. I should be driving,” he said weakly.
“You got hit with a flaming log. Go back to sleep.”
“You know why I saved you, don't you?”
“Because it was the right thing to do. Thanks.”
“No. It was part of my deal with him. It was my turn to kill someone.”
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