A chance to play God: The Devil's way

Chapter 2: A bloody end

Hector had seen blood before, he had seen it a lot during the war. But none had hurt him as badly as this. He stood rooted to his spot, goosebumps littering his forearms. He pressed the telephone tightly against his face, his heart racing with anxiety. If he gripped it any tighter, it would snap in two.

The desperation in his wife's voice had opened a door he thought would never exist again after the war — trauma. Hector listened to the static noise over the line, praying to hear her voice again. His glazed eyes fell into the pool of blood for the second time and his heart stopped. Whose blood was it?

A distorted voice, clearly enhanced, filled his ears through the phone.

"I'll only say this once. Fifty million dollars. 10 hours, that's all you have before we kill your wife and daughter. The blood in that room, it's a reminder of what you will see—"

"Where are they?" Hector's voice was still, a deep rumble to mask the fear coursing through his veins.

"—10 hours, we will call you when your time is up. If we sense anything funny, you'll find their lifeless bodies." The line distorted and went dead.

Hector slammed the telephone on its cradle. His veins pulsed in anger, his mind started running wild. All his years of covert missions and the time he needed the skillset the most, he was blank!

He fondled the locket, he missed his wife so much. He had waited so long to see them again, it was almost as if he could feel their presence on the way back but now his hopes had been dashed.

10 hours was shorter than it looked, if there was one thing he had picked up from his missions, time ran faster when you had everything to lose.

Hector loved Aaron, but he didn’t see himself dragging sticks upon sticks of cigarettes, mixing them with liquor, while he was buried deep inside another woman, just so he could forget his family.

Hector expelled the air he had been holding, he needed to think clearly. He needed to gather the money as soon as possible. But he didn’t have fifty million reclining in his bank. He had barely over two!

A glistening gold piece of furniture caught the side of his eye. Hector turned and stared at the room he considered his home. It was his wife’s dream house, but home was where she was and she was not here.

Hector dialed the number he had memorized, other than his home line. The person picked up on the second ring.

"Stan, it's Hector," Hector spoke first.

"Hector?" Stanley asked confused. Hector nodded as if Stanley could see him.

"When did you get back?" Stanley asked traces of confusion littered in his tone.

"I need your help, Stan. It's Christine and Emily. They've been kidnapped! I wouldn't call if I had someone else to call," Hector said. That wasn't a complete lie, he could call Aaron, but he didn't want to risk it. “I don't know what time to do…”

"When!? How!?" Stan consoled his client-cum-friend.

"I just came home and they were gone. Scattered furniture and splotches of blood on the floor," Hector's eyes darted once more to the chair.

"Blood!? Do you know if they are okay?" Stanley shrieked over the line.

"I don't know but I just got off the phone with one of them and they are demanding fifty million, Stan. Fifty fucking million in ten hours or they'll kill my family," Hector was holding it together, he couldn't afford a breakdown now.

"Fuck," Stan sighed. There was silence for a while before Stanley spoke again.

"How much do you have?" Stan was solemn.

"Barely two million," Hector scratched his head and turned to the window. He knew what he could do to get the money but it would break his wife's heart.

"I'm selling the house, Stan," Hector blurted his thoughts out. “I'm selling the cars…I'm selling every fucking thing, Stan.”

"What!? That's crazy, Hector, even for you," Stanley chastised him.

"I don't fucking care, Stanley! Even if it means selling my kidneys to ensure I get the money, I will fucking do it. So find me a buyer…please," Hector cooled off at the end of his rant.

Silence.

"I'll call back in an hour. If you believe in God, you better pray to Him," Stanley ended the call.

Hector dropped the phone gentler this time but he never took his eyes off the fountain at the center of the house where the sculpted Cupids spat out water from their mouths.

Hector didn't know how long he stood there but the phone rang again. He snatched it and slammed it to his face, wincing at the impact.

"I've found a buyer," Stanley sounded relieved. Hector glanced at the black watch on his wrist his wife had gotten for him on their third anniversary. It had been thirty minutes since his last call with Stanley.

He hadn't expected Stanley to call him back in an hour, hell, he didn't expect his call in the next three hours! It was… convenient.

But Hector was so desperate that he didn't even spare it a second thought.

***

Hector held the black bag filled with money. He didn't want to think about the fact that he was now homeless, all he wanted was to see his wife and daughter again. He eyed the tiny building where the caller had instructed him to drop the money.

He was brazen, he had nothing more to lose. Everything he lived for was already in their hands. True to his words, Hector went alone. At the center of the small room was a torn sheet with an address and a flip phone pressed on it.

Hector dropped the bag by the corner as instructed, and picked up the phone. It vibrated immediately.

"Go to the address scribbled on the paper, you'll find your wife and kid." The line went dead.

Hector stared at the address, it was just a few blocks from here. Hector dashed out of the room and sprinted down the road.

His heart pounded heavier than the falls of his feet against the concrete. His head darted from house to house, searching for the number that would be his savior: No. 2314.

Hector burst through the doors and it was eerily dark, except for the cracking of fire at the corner. His heart was pounding furiously, his blood racing with anticipation. He rummaged through the wall and found a switch. Hector wished he hadn't turned on the switch.

Laying in a pool of their blood were his wife and daughter, their throats slit open like goats. At the corner? The same bag that contained the ransom money reflected off the puddle of blood, in flames.