James groaned, his wrists straining against the coarse rope that bound him to the rickety wooden chair. The dim light of the single hanging bulb above cast deep shadows across the room, its sway painting fleeting illusions of faces on the cracked walls. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid stench of mildew, creating an atmosphere that made James' skin crawl.
He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision. His breathing hitched when he caught sight of the figure standing in the corner, shrouded in shadows. The masked man—a silent wraith who had dragged him into this nightmare—stepped forward. The mask was grotesque, a mixture of flesh-toned porcelain and grotesquely exaggerated features, its eyes dark voids that swallowed the light.
"Finally awake," the masked man said, his voice a low rasp that carried an edge of malice.
James' throat was dry, his words cracking as he stammered, "W-what do you want?"
The man didn't answer. Instead, he knelt by a leather duffel bag at his feet, unzipping it with deliberate slowness. James' heart pounded as the man's gloved hand emerged, gripping a hammer with a head that gleamed in the dim light. The sight of it sent a cold wave of terror crashing over him.
"Please," James croaked, struggling harder against his bonds. "Whatever this is, I-I can fix it! Just tell me what you want!"
The masked man chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of humor. He took a step closer, the hammer dangling loosely in his grip. "Fix it?" he repeated, his tone dripping with disdain. "Funny choice of words coming from you."
James shook his head, desperate to make sense of the madness unfolding before him. "I don't understand! Who are you? What did I do to you?"
The man tilted his head, a silent predator sizing up his prey. "It's not about me," he murmured, the words as sharp as a blade. "It's about her."
James froze. His mind raced through fragmented memories, trying to latch onto anything that could explain the reference. "Her?" he echoed.
The masked man's grip on the hammer tightened, his knuckles turning white beneath the gloves. "Emmy," he said, his voice a venomous whisper. "Does that name ring a bell?"
James' stomach dropped. "Emmy?" he repeated, his voice barely audible. He remembered her vividly—the girl who had given him everything, who had loved him with a ferocity that scared him. And how had he repaid her? With betrayal, deceit, and abandonment. Guilt clawed at the edges of his consciousness, but he pushed it aside. "That was years ago," he said defensively. "I-I made mistakes, but that's in the past."
The masked man's laugh was harsh and guttural. "The past?" he hissed. "You think time erases what you did? You shattered her, James. You broke her heart, took her trust, and crushed it underfoot. And when she was drowning, begging for air, where were you?"
James shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. "I didn't know! I didn't mean for any of that to happen!"
"Didn't mean?" the man snarled. His voice rose, the rage barely contained. "She loved you, James. She believed in you. And when she had nothing left to give, you left her to rot in her despair. Do you even know what that feels like?"
The hammer swung without warning. Pain exploded in James' right knee, a sickening crack echoing in the room. His scream ripped through the air, raw and guttural. The masked man leaned closer, his head tilting as if studying his handiwork.
"She cried for you, James," he said softly, almost tenderly. "She called your name until her voice broke. And when the silence finally swallowed her, it was because you made her believe she wasn't worth saving."
Another swing. The left knee this time. James' vision blurred as agony consumed him. He sobbed, choking on his own cries.
"Please," he whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
The masked man crouched down, the mask mere inches from James' face. "Sorry doesn't bring her back," he said, his voice hollow. "But it's a start."
The man stood, his gloved hands moving to the mask's edges. Slowly, deliberately, he lifted it off, revealing his face. James' breath caught in his throat, his body going rigid as recognition dawned. The face staring back at him was one he had trusted."Y-You?" James stammered, disbelief and betrayal mingling in his voice.
The eyes burned with fury, tears brimming as he spoke. "You're not even worth the air you breathe," he said, his voice breaking. "Don't act so surprised, James. You were going to pay for your consequences eventually."
James shook his head weakly, tears streaming down his face. "Listen to me, please. I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't…"
The man's expression hardened. He raised a knife, its blade gleaming. "You don't deserve her forgiveness, you never did and you still don't. And you won't have mine. But, before I kill you, I should let you know, it isn't me you should apologize to....."
The blade sliced across James' throat in one swift motion. Blood poured from the wound as James' gurgled cries filled the room. His vision dimmed, the betrayal in the masked man's face the last image burned into his mind. As darkness claimed him, James felt the weight of his sins pulling him into the abyss.
He rose, the hammer hanging at his side, streaked with blood and the blade on his other side.
James' cries filled the room as the masked man turned away, leaving him broken, both in body and spirit. The door creaked open, spilling cold air into the suffocating space. Before stepping out, the man paused.
"Emmy may be gone," he said, his voice echoing in the emptiness, "but her pain lives on. And now, so does yours."
The door slammed shut, plunging the room back into suffocating darkness.
Tears brimmed James eyes as he took in his last breath, realization hitting him harder than the hammer did to his bashed knees.
He was choking on his own blood, no one would save him.
His mind replayed the image of the masked man countless times. He never would have expected that.
Who would have anyway, WHO KNEW.
His body slumped on the chair, finally embracing the darkness that was his final comfort and only escape.