RedSuinit
March 12th, 2012, 02:05 AM
I have started on my second draft for my novel. This is the first few pages of that second draft. I feel like I am struggling, and could use some help. If anyone had any advice, or anything they think I could improve on feel free to speak up
Wednesday, December 3, 2087.
It was morning, and as the sun crested the horizon, light touched Samuel Atkins face, its warmth waking him peacefully. Blinking away the sleepiness that still dulled his mind; he couldn’t help but think of how this was a welcome change to the routine he had gotten used to.
Lying on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, pondering what he was going to do next. Should he stay here, or move on to the next hole he could find. The fact that he could wake peacefully was a good reason to stay put. The need to find someone, anyone to live with, was a good reason to move on. Loneliness can consume a man’s soul when he’s been without company as long as Sam had. It didn’t help that the few people he had come across were either too scared to trust him, or too insane for him to trust. Ever since the Reckoning of Kismet three years ago life became nothing but a strung together series of tragic events, and searing loss. Lots of suffering and death had occurred, and only a small percentage of the population remained on this forsaken planet.
Attempting to use his abs as little as possible, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in his left side as he did. He didn’t want to reopen the wound from two nights ago. Reaching over with his right hand, his fingers ran over the gauze covering the stab wound.
Dry, that’s good; it means I didn’t reopen it during the night.
Battle experience taught him how to survive, to stitch himself up, to clean and stop a bleeding wound, and to tell if someone was going to live or die. Being able to tell if someone was going to live or die was a skill he never wanted, because it only came by experience. How many people had he seen die now? How many eyes had he watched the light dim out of? How many lives had he robbed of that light? More than he ever wanted.
Sam dropped his legs over the side of the bed, and his body twitched the moment his feet touched the cold floor. Gazing down, he couldn’t help but notice how lovely the chestnut wood looked, a dark stain with a hint of red. A glossy finish that had been dulled by time and lack of care, stole away some of the beauty. It amazed him that this mansion had retained most of its dignity, though everything of value had been taken long before he had ever come to live here. He looked around the room, with the pale blue walls, and the large full panel windows with the suns golden rays pouring in it was a safe-haven from the bitter and cruel world waiting outside. A world ruined by the greed of evil men.
He stood, a towering six feet and three inches, and every last inch of his body was fit and toned. He had always been an athlete, but this lifestyle had turned his body into a rippling field of muscle. He was lean, toned, and strong. If you wanted to survive in this new world, you had to be. It was every man for himself, and with no government in place anymore, why wouldn’t it be? There was no law, no consequences for their actions. If you wanted to live, you had to enforce your own law. Protect yourself at any cost, and be willing to eliminate those who sought to do you harm.
Samuel picked the holster off the bedside table. It was designed to be worn under his clothing, which he liked. Having a gun strapped to your side was a great way to make yourself a target these days. He put the holster against the small of his back, with two clamps grabbing the waistline of his jeans. He reached back to the nightstand and grabbed the forty-four caliber, magnum revolver. The cold steel of the pistol brought his numb fingers to the forefront of his mind, cursing at him for putting them to sleep again. He would have to stop sleeping with his hands under his pillow, because it unfailingly put his hands to sleep. He always told himself it was going to end his life one of these days. Even after three years, he still would do it occasionally, and he cursed at himself every time he did. He slid the pistol into the holster, and carried on with his routine.
Hanging on the bedpost was a Kevlar vest. It was VIP style, 3-A class protection; thin, lightweight, and concealable under his clothing. It gave him a fair amount of protection without being a hindrance to his speed and movements, and it already saved his life several times. The tattered shirt slid smoothly over his head, and the red color was closer to a light pink, faded by time. It had holes in both armpits, and several others in random places. An army green, polyester and cotton jacket finished off the ensemble.
After running his belt through the loops of his tattered jeans, a leather knife sheath was on his right hip, and a scabbard on his left. His thick fingers grasped the mahogany stained wood that created the handle for the seven inch blade, and he slid it into the sheath. A full inch and a half at its base, the hunting knife was thick, sturdy, and kept sharp. Samuel had claimed the lives of a dozen men with this knife, and even more with his swords.
Wood grinding against steel rang through the air as Samuel slid his double-edged long sword into its scabbard. Light from the window glistened off the polished steel blade, and reflected it onto the wall in front of him. Sam had picked this sword because it came to a fine point at the end and was perfect for stabbing through most types of armor. It always felt good in his hands, the hilt was the same polished steel as the blade, and the grip was wrapped in brown leather. His short sword was always worn on his back, he had considered wearing on his hip like the samurai used to do, but he found it uncomfortable. With the shield on his back though, each step he took caused the scabbard of the short sword on to collide with it. The shield was round, and made of solid bronze, causing each strike to sound like a muted bell making it impossible to sneak around without removing it first.
With firearms and ammunition being outlawed before the fall of the civilized world, all the ammunition that did exist was used up quickly. As a result, the world fought with swords and knives as in the days of old. After three years, Sam considered himself lucky to still have thirty-six rounds for the forty-four caliber pistol in his possession.
Thanks for the pistol dad; it has saved me more than once.
Samuel had become more than adept at fighting hand to hand, and was able to take care of himself against almost any foe. His footsteps made deep thuds as he walked across the room and stopped to look at himself in the mirror. He let out a deep sigh. At the ripe age of twenty-three, he already had the visage of a man well into his forties, and the life experience to match it. His scruff had grown into a beard and it was always causing him grief. He hadn’t shaved in three weeks, his faced itched terribly, and scratching did little to suppress it. His fingers ran through is short cropped hair, no longer than an inch or two and it matched the coloring of his new beard, dark chocolate with specks of grey and white becoming more and more abundant. His body was scarred from battle, and his face bared witness to that fact. A deep red scar stretched from the bottom of his jaw up to his eyebrow on the right side of his face. That scar caught his eye in the mirror; no surprise really, because it did every time. Running two fingers down the scar, it served as a constant reminder to never underestimate an opponent.
His image faded from the mirror as Samuel walked down the foyer towards the living room. The pain in his left side brought the memories of two nights ago back with a vengeance, and the thought made him cringe. Never before had he confronted such evil. Murdock is what the deranged man had called himself, and those piercing black eyes would be burned in Sam’s memory forever. Those eyes could look straight through a man, push his soul straight out of his body, and leave it to wander the plains of oblivion forever.
Cold. Heartless. Evil. If I ever see that man again, it will be too soon.
The throbbing in his side broke him out of his thoughts, and as he rubbed the area of the wound Sam considered himself lucky to be alive. He had been no match for Murdock in that fight, but how do you fight a man that moves with superhuman speed? Sam had heard that the Reckoning had driven some men mad, while others had developed strange abilities. He didn’t know how much he believed these rumors, but this Murdock fellow certainly seemed to fit both, mad and superhuman. Something wet hit his hand, and he realized he was sweating profusely.
It’s not even hot right now. I can’t believe just thinking about him is causing this type of reaction. I was so afraid. So scared. I can’t believe that I wept like a little girl in front of him, but more important than that is, why? Why did he let me live?
A loud growl signaled the awakening of a hungry stomach, and pushed Sam into the kitchen to consume yesterday’s catch. He opened the door to his refrigerator and grabbed a large slab of fresh venison. The memories of going hunting with his father brought tears to his eyes.
Dad, thanks for everything you taught me, but I wish you were still by my side.
The lessons he had learned on those hunting trips had proven to be invaluable. The laws of nature and the methods for hunting, and skinning were skills that had been extremely useful since the Reckoning.
The meat made a loud plop, and a thrilling sizzle as Sam tossed the steak onto the hot skillet. He considered himself lucky to have found the skillet two months ago in Richards Grove. It made cooking the animals he killed much easier. He was used to using some sort of stone, but this skillet was a wonderful luxury, one he took full advantage of.
The meat continued to brown in the pan, and the smell of the cooked deer filled the room, making him salivate uncontrollably. He only got to eat meat like this on the rare occasion he managed to kill a deer or something similar. Opportunities to hunt meat was thankfully on the rise, and with fewer and fewer hunters killing them for sport the wildlife was flourishing in this new world. It brought warmth to Sam’s soul to know that life could still flourish, even if it wasn’t human.
After flipping it several times Sam checked the toughness of the venison against his palm when he pressed his thumb to his middle finger together.
Medium, just the way I like it.
He liked to have a little bit of blood in his meat, but not too much. He never did understand those people that always ate their meat rare. It was almost like eating the meat raw, and it made Samuel sick to his stomach.
He pulled the meat off of the skillet, placed it on his plate, and set the table. Using plates and utensils was one thing Sam did to feel normal, and feeling normal helped him stay sane in these dark times. He grabbed his fork and knife, and began cutting away at the venison, pushed the cut open, and indeed it was a medium temperature steak. Grease and blood began to pool on the bottom of Samuel’s plate, and he relished every moment of it. He wanted to keep his strength up, and protein rich foods such as this helped him do just that.
Sam was nearing the end of his breakfast when a window shattered in the study down the hall. Instinct and trained skills kicked in immediately, and by the time Samuel stood up, his pistol was in his right hand, and his dagger in his left. Ears perked, and eyes focusing down the hallway in the direction of the study, Sam waited for the intruder to walk into his line of sight.
The shadow began to grow in the frame of the door, and Sam already had the trigger half-way pulled. With no safety, he would have to make a split second judgment call, one that he would not regret either way.
If he has a firearm, pull the trigger, and if he doesn’t holster the gun and draw the short sword. There is enough distance from here to the door I can pull it off.
Focused on his target, he noticed the lack of movement from the study. He let the silence continue for several moments, and the tension started to build. The intruder had stopped just short of the door, and Sam couldn’t tell from the shadow on the floor if the man had a weapon or not.
SMACK!
Sam’s face spun to the right, and the gun went off. He was off balance and caught himself on the wall. Where had that come from? A pair of strong hands grabbed his jacket collar, and flung him across the room. His back slammed against the wall, and he looked up in time to see a boot flying towards his face. He dodged right, and plunged his knife into the calf of the man’s leg. A low uppercut met Sam’s jaw, his head slammed into the wall, and in that moment everything went dark.
________________________________________
A throbbing head greeted Samuel as he came to, and a bright light shone in his face.
Ugh, it hurts. It really hurts. Pain is good though right? I mean, if I feel pain then I’m still alive right?
The light wasn’t bright enough to completely blind him, but he couldn’t see much of anything. He looked down at the floor, the dark chestnut wood told him everything he needed to know.
The bedroom. I’m in the bedroom.
The door was 10 feet behind him, and off to the right. The bed was 6 feet straight ahead. He was sitting in a chair from the main table at the kitchen, and was strapped into it by thick zip-ties. One hand on each arm of the chair, and each foot strapped to a leg. The waves of pain just kept coming; they made him nauseas, and kept his mind clouded.
“So, you finally decided to wake up.” A strangely familiar voice said. If he knew this person, it could explain why he wasn’t dead yet. “You really should mind your manners. It’s not nice to point a gun at someone.”
The shadow moved from the corner of the room behind him. He was off to Sam’s left, and about 6 feet away. The footsteps were heavy, and deep.
Boots. I remember seeing them during the fight. Looked to be military issued. Male, large, and can handle himself. No real way out of this one yet Sam. Just going to have to bide your time, and pray he makes a mistake.
Taking everything in, Sam was making a mental list of everything that he could. If he wanted to stay alive, he would have to remain calm, and know everything about this adversary as he could.
If only I was closer to the bed, I could reach the detonator for the C4 along the front wall and blow this guy to kingdom come. Getting out of here would be a piece of cake. I have to rea-
“I already found the C4.”
Samuel’s eyes went wide.
What?! How is that possible? It was concealed inside the wall! Who is this guy? How am I going to survive this?!
Sam could tell he was starting to lose his nerve. This man, whoever he was, knew how to survive, knew how to fight, and clearly knew how to intimidate.
“I’m not going to kill you; at least not yet.” The man took a few more steps, stopping directly behind Sam’s chair. The man leaned forward, placing his mouth next to Sam’s ear “You have something I need. Something I desperately want. Something you were born with, that I can only have if you give it to me.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. What on earth could I have been born with that you want?” Sam was confused, off kilter. He needed to regain his focus. He needed to get himself back in control.
“If you don’t already know, you’ll find out soon enough.” The man circled the chair, and Samuel could finally see his captors face.
“You.” Sam’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Fear took hold of his mind, and quickly drove him to madness. It was now impossible to stay calm, he was panicking. He had lost it. He had to get away, and it had to be now!
How is this possible?! How did he find me?! Why God?! Why?!
“Hello Samuel, Surprised to see me again?”
“This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening! I made sure no one was following me!”
“But it is happening Sam. I am real. I am here. I am in control, and I will get what I want.” The man’s deep sickening laughter filled the air in the room. A clear and present evil seeped from the core of this man’s being. The temperature in the room began to drop just from his presence. Sam’s skin began to form goose bumps from the cold, and the windows began to frost over.
"Murdock!" Sam let out a scream of terror, desperately struggling against his bonds. Everything began to dim, and then went dark once more.
Wednesday, December 3, 2087.
It was morning, and as the sun crested the horizon, light touched Samuel Atkins face, its warmth waking him peacefully. Blinking away the sleepiness that still dulled his mind; he couldn’t help but think of how this was a welcome change to the routine he had gotten used to.
Lying on the bed, he stared at the ceiling, pondering what he was going to do next. Should he stay here, or move on to the next hole he could find. The fact that he could wake peacefully was a good reason to stay put. The need to find someone, anyone to live with, was a good reason to move on. Loneliness can consume a man’s soul when he’s been without company as long as Sam had. It didn’t help that the few people he had come across were either too scared to trust him, or too insane for him to trust. Ever since the Reckoning of Kismet three years ago life became nothing but a strung together series of tragic events, and searing loss. Lots of suffering and death had occurred, and only a small percentage of the population remained on this forsaken planet.
Attempting to use his abs as little as possible, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, wincing at the pain in his left side as he did. He didn’t want to reopen the wound from two nights ago. Reaching over with his right hand, his fingers ran over the gauze covering the stab wound.
Dry, that’s good; it means I didn’t reopen it during the night.
Battle experience taught him how to survive, to stitch himself up, to clean and stop a bleeding wound, and to tell if someone was going to live or die. Being able to tell if someone was going to live or die was a skill he never wanted, because it only came by experience. How many people had he seen die now? How many eyes had he watched the light dim out of? How many lives had he robbed of that light? More than he ever wanted.
Sam dropped his legs over the side of the bed, and his body twitched the moment his feet touched the cold floor. Gazing down, he couldn’t help but notice how lovely the chestnut wood looked, a dark stain with a hint of red. A glossy finish that had been dulled by time and lack of care, stole away some of the beauty. It amazed him that this mansion had retained most of its dignity, though everything of value had been taken long before he had ever come to live here. He looked around the room, with the pale blue walls, and the large full panel windows with the suns golden rays pouring in it was a safe-haven from the bitter and cruel world waiting outside. A world ruined by the greed of evil men.
He stood, a towering six feet and three inches, and every last inch of his body was fit and toned. He had always been an athlete, but this lifestyle had turned his body into a rippling field of muscle. He was lean, toned, and strong. If you wanted to survive in this new world, you had to be. It was every man for himself, and with no government in place anymore, why wouldn’t it be? There was no law, no consequences for their actions. If you wanted to live, you had to enforce your own law. Protect yourself at any cost, and be willing to eliminate those who sought to do you harm.
Samuel picked the holster off the bedside table. It was designed to be worn under his clothing, which he liked. Having a gun strapped to your side was a great way to make yourself a target these days. He put the holster against the small of his back, with two clamps grabbing the waistline of his jeans. He reached back to the nightstand and grabbed the forty-four caliber, magnum revolver. The cold steel of the pistol brought his numb fingers to the forefront of his mind, cursing at him for putting them to sleep again. He would have to stop sleeping with his hands under his pillow, because it unfailingly put his hands to sleep. He always told himself it was going to end his life one of these days. Even after three years, he still would do it occasionally, and he cursed at himself every time he did. He slid the pistol into the holster, and carried on with his routine.
Hanging on the bedpost was a Kevlar vest. It was VIP style, 3-A class protection; thin, lightweight, and concealable under his clothing. It gave him a fair amount of protection without being a hindrance to his speed and movements, and it already saved his life several times. The tattered shirt slid smoothly over his head, and the red color was closer to a light pink, faded by time. It had holes in both armpits, and several others in random places. An army green, polyester and cotton jacket finished off the ensemble.
After running his belt through the loops of his tattered jeans, a leather knife sheath was on his right hip, and a scabbard on his left. His thick fingers grasped the mahogany stained wood that created the handle for the seven inch blade, and he slid it into the sheath. A full inch and a half at its base, the hunting knife was thick, sturdy, and kept sharp. Samuel had claimed the lives of a dozen men with this knife, and even more with his swords.
Wood grinding against steel rang through the air as Samuel slid his double-edged long sword into its scabbard. Light from the window glistened off the polished steel blade, and reflected it onto the wall in front of him. Sam had picked this sword because it came to a fine point at the end and was perfect for stabbing through most types of armor. It always felt good in his hands, the hilt was the same polished steel as the blade, and the grip was wrapped in brown leather. His short sword was always worn on his back, he had considered wearing on his hip like the samurai used to do, but he found it uncomfortable. With the shield on his back though, each step he took caused the scabbard of the short sword on to collide with it. The shield was round, and made of solid bronze, causing each strike to sound like a muted bell making it impossible to sneak around without removing it first.
With firearms and ammunition being outlawed before the fall of the civilized world, all the ammunition that did exist was used up quickly. As a result, the world fought with swords and knives as in the days of old. After three years, Sam considered himself lucky to still have thirty-six rounds for the forty-four caliber pistol in his possession.
Thanks for the pistol dad; it has saved me more than once.
Samuel had become more than adept at fighting hand to hand, and was able to take care of himself against almost any foe. His footsteps made deep thuds as he walked across the room and stopped to look at himself in the mirror. He let out a deep sigh. At the ripe age of twenty-three, he already had the visage of a man well into his forties, and the life experience to match it. His scruff had grown into a beard and it was always causing him grief. He hadn’t shaved in three weeks, his faced itched terribly, and scratching did little to suppress it. His fingers ran through is short cropped hair, no longer than an inch or two and it matched the coloring of his new beard, dark chocolate with specks of grey and white becoming more and more abundant. His body was scarred from battle, and his face bared witness to that fact. A deep red scar stretched from the bottom of his jaw up to his eyebrow on the right side of his face. That scar caught his eye in the mirror; no surprise really, because it did every time. Running two fingers down the scar, it served as a constant reminder to never underestimate an opponent.
His image faded from the mirror as Samuel walked down the foyer towards the living room. The pain in his left side brought the memories of two nights ago back with a vengeance, and the thought made him cringe. Never before had he confronted such evil. Murdock is what the deranged man had called himself, and those piercing black eyes would be burned in Sam’s memory forever. Those eyes could look straight through a man, push his soul straight out of his body, and leave it to wander the plains of oblivion forever.
Cold. Heartless. Evil. If I ever see that man again, it will be too soon.
The throbbing in his side broke him out of his thoughts, and as he rubbed the area of the wound Sam considered himself lucky to be alive. He had been no match for Murdock in that fight, but how do you fight a man that moves with superhuman speed? Sam had heard that the Reckoning had driven some men mad, while others had developed strange abilities. He didn’t know how much he believed these rumors, but this Murdock fellow certainly seemed to fit both, mad and superhuman. Something wet hit his hand, and he realized he was sweating profusely.
It’s not even hot right now. I can’t believe just thinking about him is causing this type of reaction. I was so afraid. So scared. I can’t believe that I wept like a little girl in front of him, but more important than that is, why? Why did he let me live?
A loud growl signaled the awakening of a hungry stomach, and pushed Sam into the kitchen to consume yesterday’s catch. He opened the door to his refrigerator and grabbed a large slab of fresh venison. The memories of going hunting with his father brought tears to his eyes.
Dad, thanks for everything you taught me, but I wish you were still by my side.
The lessons he had learned on those hunting trips had proven to be invaluable. The laws of nature and the methods for hunting, and skinning were skills that had been extremely useful since the Reckoning.
The meat made a loud plop, and a thrilling sizzle as Sam tossed the steak onto the hot skillet. He considered himself lucky to have found the skillet two months ago in Richards Grove. It made cooking the animals he killed much easier. He was used to using some sort of stone, but this skillet was a wonderful luxury, one he took full advantage of.
The meat continued to brown in the pan, and the smell of the cooked deer filled the room, making him salivate uncontrollably. He only got to eat meat like this on the rare occasion he managed to kill a deer or something similar. Opportunities to hunt meat was thankfully on the rise, and with fewer and fewer hunters killing them for sport the wildlife was flourishing in this new world. It brought warmth to Sam’s soul to know that life could still flourish, even if it wasn’t human.
After flipping it several times Sam checked the toughness of the venison against his palm when he pressed his thumb to his middle finger together.
Medium, just the way I like it.
He liked to have a little bit of blood in his meat, but not too much. He never did understand those people that always ate their meat rare. It was almost like eating the meat raw, and it made Samuel sick to his stomach.
He pulled the meat off of the skillet, placed it on his plate, and set the table. Using plates and utensils was one thing Sam did to feel normal, and feeling normal helped him stay sane in these dark times. He grabbed his fork and knife, and began cutting away at the venison, pushed the cut open, and indeed it was a medium temperature steak. Grease and blood began to pool on the bottom of Samuel’s plate, and he relished every moment of it. He wanted to keep his strength up, and protein rich foods such as this helped him do just that.
Sam was nearing the end of his breakfast when a window shattered in the study down the hall. Instinct and trained skills kicked in immediately, and by the time Samuel stood up, his pistol was in his right hand, and his dagger in his left. Ears perked, and eyes focusing down the hallway in the direction of the study, Sam waited for the intruder to walk into his line of sight.
The shadow began to grow in the frame of the door, and Sam already had the trigger half-way pulled. With no safety, he would have to make a split second judgment call, one that he would not regret either way.
If he has a firearm, pull the trigger, and if he doesn’t holster the gun and draw the short sword. There is enough distance from here to the door I can pull it off.
Focused on his target, he noticed the lack of movement from the study. He let the silence continue for several moments, and the tension started to build. The intruder had stopped just short of the door, and Sam couldn’t tell from the shadow on the floor if the man had a weapon or not.
SMACK!
Sam’s face spun to the right, and the gun went off. He was off balance and caught himself on the wall. Where had that come from? A pair of strong hands grabbed his jacket collar, and flung him across the room. His back slammed against the wall, and he looked up in time to see a boot flying towards his face. He dodged right, and plunged his knife into the calf of the man’s leg. A low uppercut met Sam’s jaw, his head slammed into the wall, and in that moment everything went dark.
________________________________________
A throbbing head greeted Samuel as he came to, and a bright light shone in his face.
Ugh, it hurts. It really hurts. Pain is good though right? I mean, if I feel pain then I’m still alive right?
The light wasn’t bright enough to completely blind him, but he couldn’t see much of anything. He looked down at the floor, the dark chestnut wood told him everything he needed to know.
The bedroom. I’m in the bedroom.
The door was 10 feet behind him, and off to the right. The bed was 6 feet straight ahead. He was sitting in a chair from the main table at the kitchen, and was strapped into it by thick zip-ties. One hand on each arm of the chair, and each foot strapped to a leg. The waves of pain just kept coming; they made him nauseas, and kept his mind clouded.
“So, you finally decided to wake up.” A strangely familiar voice said. If he knew this person, it could explain why he wasn’t dead yet. “You really should mind your manners. It’s not nice to point a gun at someone.”
The shadow moved from the corner of the room behind him. He was off to Sam’s left, and about 6 feet away. The footsteps were heavy, and deep.
Boots. I remember seeing them during the fight. Looked to be military issued. Male, large, and can handle himself. No real way out of this one yet Sam. Just going to have to bide your time, and pray he makes a mistake.
Taking everything in, Sam was making a mental list of everything that he could. If he wanted to stay alive, he would have to remain calm, and know everything about this adversary as he could.
If only I was closer to the bed, I could reach the detonator for the C4 along the front wall and blow this guy to kingdom come. Getting out of here would be a piece of cake. I have to rea-
“I already found the C4.”
Samuel’s eyes went wide.
What?! How is that possible? It was concealed inside the wall! Who is this guy? How am I going to survive this?!
Sam could tell he was starting to lose his nerve. This man, whoever he was, knew how to survive, knew how to fight, and clearly knew how to intimidate.
“I’m not going to kill you; at least not yet.” The man took a few more steps, stopping directly behind Sam’s chair. The man leaned forward, placing his mouth next to Sam’s ear “You have something I need. Something I desperately want. Something you were born with, that I can only have if you give it to me.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about. What on earth could I have been born with that you want?” Sam was confused, off kilter. He needed to regain his focus. He needed to get himself back in control.
“If you don’t already know, you’ll find out soon enough.” The man circled the chair, and Samuel could finally see his captors face.
“You.” Sam’s blood turned to ice in his veins. Fear took hold of his mind, and quickly drove him to madness. It was now impossible to stay calm, he was panicking. He had lost it. He had to get away, and it had to be now!
How is this possible?! How did he find me?! Why God?! Why?!
“Hello Samuel, Surprised to see me again?”
“This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening! I made sure no one was following me!”
“But it is happening Sam. I am real. I am here. I am in control, and I will get what I want.” The man’s deep sickening laughter filled the air in the room. A clear and present evil seeped from the core of this man’s being. The temperature in the room began to drop just from his presence. Sam’s skin began to form goose bumps from the cold, and the windows began to frost over.
"Murdock!" Sam let out a scream of terror, desperately struggling against his bonds. Everything began to dim, and then went dark once more.