Tyrone paced back and forward in his faintly lit living room, the pressure within the air thick sufficient to cut. The expensive, mahogany coffee table was secured with maps, scratch pad, and folded papers with quickly written notes—remnants of an unhinged, restless three days. His mind dashed with conceivable outcomes, each one darker than the final. Three days had passed since his spouse had been captured, and each hour felt like a lifetime. Matthew sat over from him on the couch, his eyes checking over a list of contacts on his phone. Matthew, the more explanatory of the two, was the one who kept Tyrone in check. But indeed Matthew was starting to feel the weight of the circumstance squeezing down on him. "We're running out of time," Tyrone murmured, his voice rough from fatigue. "We got to do something, Matt. We can't just sit here waiting for a supernatural occurrence." Matthew looked up, his usually calm blue eyes clouded with concern. "I know, Ty. But we need to be savvy abou
Tyrone looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight. His wife was still kidnapped by obscure men a number of days back. He had called her phone a few times, but every time it went straight to voicemail. But the unease wouldn’t leave him. He picked up his phone once more and dialed her number. This time, it didn’t actually rang. It went straight to voicemail. “Babe, it’s me,” he said, attempting to keep his voice calm. “Just give me a call once you get this, okay? I’m beginning to get stressed. Love you.” He hung up and threw the phone onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. He walked over to the window and looked out at the city underneath. The roads were calm, and the lights from the buildings twinkled within the night. Ordinarily, the sight calmed him, but this evening, it as if, it made him feel more confined. Just as he was about to call her best friend to see if she knew where she was, his phone buzzed on the couch. He took it rapidly, trusting it was his w
The city was washed within the passing on light of the late evening, casting long shadows that appeared to increase with the pressure brewing between Tyrone and Matthew. The two men stood on the edge of a rough driveway, their voices rising over the far off murmur of activity. It had been hours since Damon had sent the message, and with each passing second, the stakes felt higher. "You can't truly be thinking about going alone, Ty!" Matthew’s voice was a mix of dissatisfaction and fear, his eyes wide with disbelief as he paced within the contract driveway. The smell of gasoline and decaying waste filled the air, making the discussion all the more choking. "This is precisely what he needs. Damon knows you're frantic. That’s why he’s doing this, why he sent you that message. He’s trying to corner you." Tyrone’s expression was one of strained resolve. His hands were tightened into clench hands. He gazed at the broken asphalt, avoiding Matthew’s look, knowing deep down that his friend w
Tyrone came out of his car, the rock crunching beneath his feet as he balanced the collar of his coat. His senses were on alert, each strand of his hair mindful of the peril that hidden within the obscurity. The wind yelled through the broken windows, carrying with it a cold metallic fragrance that made his stomach turn. It had been weeks since his wife had been taken, and every day since had been a living bad dream. Tyrone had gone through countless evenings following down leads, finding information out of lowlifes who scarcely knew their own names. But this evening was different. Tonight, he was aiming to confront the man responsible for all his torment, his rival, Damon. As he drew nearer the entrance, the recollections of his previous experience with Damon overflowed his mind. They had been rivals for a long time, ever since Tyrone had left to begin a new life with his spouse. Damon had taken it personal, and ever since, there had been bad blood between them. But this—kidnapping
Tyrone's breath came in shallow as he tried to keep his vision in a faintly lit passage. The cold, stone dividers squeezed in on him, and the harsh haziness appeared to swallow him entire. His heart beat in his chest like a war drum, resounding within the hush. He had misplaced it all—he seemed to feel it.He had gone through the last 48 hours in a state of edginess, after investing days looking for her after she was kidnapped in the dead of night. The police were never in question,due to the dangers laid down by Damon before. But Tyrone had refused to give up, and his persistent interest had at last brought him here, to this deserted warehouse at the outskirts of the city. As he looked as his spouse who was sleeping with her face battered and her dress torn with her body looking rough handled. He seemed to listen to low voices from inside, one of them unmistakably Damon’s. He sounded brutal, firm and voice full of dread. Tyrone tightened his clench hands, anger surging through him l
The cramped room was cold, the air overwhelming with the fragrance of anxiety and fear. The dim light from a single bulb glinted overhead, casting faint shadows on the broken concrete dividers. Tyrone couldn’t really see his spouse, but he could listen to her laboured breathing from over the room. He strained against the ropes that bound his wrists to the chair, his muscles throbbing from hours of battle. His eyes looked around the room, looking for any sign of an escape. "Matthew, what the hell is going on?" Tyrone's voice was blunt, filled with outrage and perplexity. Matthew ventured forward, his face in part lit up. He had a bizarre, nearly fulfilled see in his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t get it, do you, Tyrone? You never did.” She blended in her chair, lifting her head somewhat. “Why are you doing this?” she inquired, her voice trembling. Matthew walked closer, his look settled on her. “Because, I've continuously loved you always and forever.
The night discuss was thick and chilly, its coolness doing little to soothe the choking pressure that held Tyrone and his spouse. Their breaths came in shallow, frozen wheezes, the cold moist of fear clinging to their skin like a moment layer. The rough earth street extended unendingly ahead, gulped by the darkness on both sides, the only source of light coming from the dim shine of the moon that looked through holes within the clouds. They had been running for what felt like hours, the adrenaline in their veins was their fuel. Behind them, the unmissable, but unmistakable yells of Matthew and Damon echoed through the forest, a consistent reminder that the dangers were still exceptionally much in sight. "Keep moving," Tyrone encouraged, his voice low but firm, looking over his shoulder each few steps. His grasp on her hand was tight, nearly agonizing, as if he letting go would mean losing her to the void behind them. “I’m trying,” she wheezed, her breath coming out in worn out sequ
Tyrone's breath came in sharp, irregular bursts as he sprinted through the back road, his wife's hand held firmly in his. His heart beat against his ribs like a drumbeat of fear. Each step on the ground felt like a little victory—a reminder that they were still alive. The old woman’s house, their brief sanctuary, was presently blurring behind them, and each step forward was another step away from the peril that had haunted them for days. "Quicker, Tyrone!" his wife encouraged her voice with a sharp whisper of freeze. The dim street lights cast long, spooky shadows that moved before them, and the muggy night air clung to their skin like a cover. Tyrone held her hand more tightly. "I'm trying, babe," he answered, his voice a blend of assurance and fear. "We ought to get to the police station. We can’t let them capture us once more." Her face was pale, her shining eyes presently shadowed with depletion and stress. She gestured, gulping her fear. "Do you think the police will listen to