Chapter 12

His hair was a buzz cut style. A piece of cloth around his mouth, arms tied behind the back of a wooden chair. His legs tied down to the front legs of the chair. His head was down, but when opened the garage door, he pulled his head up to look. The other thugs had plastic bags over there heads, tied down to chairs similar to his. I dropped the backpack besides me and unsheathed the knife from my belt and sat in the chair opposing him. I picked my nails with them, and at the top of my sight, I saw his eyes widen in fear. I drew close to him and sliced the cloth off. There was a sponge between his teeth, and he tried, hopelessly, to spit it out.

"You know why I am here, do you?" I asked. He nodded.

"And you know who I am, correct?" He looked confused, so I pulled the sponge from his mouth.

"You're the one they call Ghost," He said. His voice was rough, as if he hadn't had water in a lot of time.

"To tell you the truth, I don't know whether or not they have fed you guys or given you anything to drink. Do they feed you?" Use the sympathy card.

"No," I reached down into the backpack and and brought out a bottle of water and a bag of chips. His stomach growled. I popped off the cap and took a swig from it. He growled.

"Now, now, non of that. I'll untie your hands to let you eat and drin, but I want you to answer some of my questions. I have someone who can tell whether or not you're telling the truth, and you certainly don't want your legs blown off from your legs, now, do you?" I reached inside the backpack once more, and assembled a small shotgun, at illegal length. I casually aimed it at his face. "Or I might aim a bit too high and blow off that pretty face of yours, and possibly hit your friends as well."

"They aren't my friends," he stated. He really isn't, Katie thought to me. He hates them, but Camus had threatened him into joining him.

"Well, I believe you," I said and in one, fluid motion, I swept my hand down and cut off his bonds. I threw him the bottle of water and small bag of chips. "You will answer my questions," I repeated, "And I want the truth. If you get lucky, I might even hire you some how," Are you crazy Emmanuel? He hates you! Ha, not after I finish with him. He tore open the bag and greedily scarfed down that junk. Pretty soon, there wouldn't be any more junk food in the entire world, if that's the only thing kids in this generation know how to eat.

"So. what were you guys thinking, shooting at us?" Interrogation mode. Sympathy, a long lost memory.

"He hates you," His mouth full, with Doritos. Damn, he was already scraping the crumbs out. I'm  talking to Collin about hostage feeding and prisoner abuse.

"Who, Camus?"

"No,"

"Who then?" I pressed. Answers, answers.

"The Master, the one Camus serves," Is he lying? No, he terrified of this Master figure. Apparently, he really doesn't know much about this Master. He thinks Master takes control of Camus, because Camus is occasionally out of character. Thanks, Katie. No problem.

"Alright, kiddo," I joked. "What's your name?"

"They call me Miles, but my the name my mom gave me is Bridger," he replied. He was guzzling down that water. The other, I guess gang members, do call him Miles, but he isn't quite sure who gave him the name Bridger. He loved him mother more, because his father beat him up, so that's why he says his mother calls him Bridger.

"Well then, Bridger, what do you know about Camus?" Uncomfortable shifting.

"He's older than I am. He's in eighth grade, and he's got a younger brother. I never knew he could turn into a dragon," He lied. Which one? It seems that Miles knew that Camus could turn into a dragon, at around the time after seventh grade, same with me, and I guess you too. Oh, come one, stop reading me. Fine, alright. I picked out my favorite gun silencer and raised the gun at his leg. He raised his hands , eyes wide open. He leaned back in his chair.

"I swear, I didn't know!"

"I dare you, I double dog dare you to say that again!" I switched the safety off.

"Please, oh please, oh God, don't shoot me, he trusted me, oh and I trusted m**********r too, and oh, he threatened to burn my hands off, and oh, just please, oh, God, don't shoot that motherfucking shotgun at me!"

"What about this Master? What is this Master?" He's in pure panic mode, he's only thinking about that shotgun, you know. Good. That's what I'm aiming for. I could almost hear her eyebrows raise.

"I don't know! I really don't know!" I stood up from my chair. I swept my knife at his face, and he fell backwards. He scrambled to untie his legs, and I fired the shotgun into the air. I purposefully made sure it was unloaded . Matthew came running in from the door that connects the garage to the house, machine gun propped up on the ground. Collin came running in, body radiating frost. The ice spread through the entire garage, and Bridge slipped on his a*s. Out of my back pack I drew my Beretta and fired two shots into both shoulders.

"You know, Bridge, I liked you up until now. I thinking I'm keeping you here until you go insane." Blood trickled from his back on to the floor, crimson staining th concrete floor. He gave no sign that he was alive. I checked for his pulse, but found nothing. I picked him up and opened the garage door. 

"Make sure those two don't run away," I said to Matthew and Collin. I dragged Bridge's corpse to the backyard and threw him into the ditch I had dug. The hole was too big for him, but I threw him in anyways and filled it back up.  A piece of plywood was lying around, so I stuck that into the ground where he was. I stuck a finger forward, and a small burst of electricity shot at the board, like a branding iron on a calf's thigh. I walked away from the patch of dirt. Collin would later add something to that grave, that grave with a wooden place-marker, with words engraved with electricity, saying:

"Whosoever lies here must have been through another's wrath."