Page 111 of Retrograde

This has to be the creepiest fucking place I’ve ever been in.

We stop. The smell of fresh mortar reaches my nose, and my eyes land on a small section of a brick wall that is clearly centuries newer than the rest. A section that is no older than a few days.

My blood runs cold. My vision blurs. And in my mind, two thoughts of a man torn beyond the edge of sanity collide.

Oh my god.

And.

Thank god I didn’t think of that.

No doubt aware of her claustrophobia, that bastard son of a bitch had her walled in. Leaving her to die slowly in a space not much larger than a grave. Trapping her in her worst nightmare.

I want to tear him apart with my bare hands. But my heart stops. My lungs close off. I crash to my knees, my ears full of a demented roar that it takes me a minute to realise is my own. I snap my jaws together, swallowing it up even as more tortured noises try to claw their way up my throat. And that’s when I hear it.

A faint, muffled voice.

Her voice.

Everything fades.

“Here! Riley, I’m here! I’m getting you out!”

I snatch the crowbar from the hands of the man closest to me. I grab him and throw him out of my way like a ragdoll. I join the other two who are already scraping at the wall, working carefully not to push any loose bricks the wrong way.

“Riley, please, hold on.”

I don’t relent even when we create a large enough window for fresh air to get in. Sweat is running down my back, and my hands are red, irritated from the cement dust. A raw ache is carving me from the inside. Worse than panic. Worse than anything.

“I’ve got you, Riley, almost there.”

She goes silent—so silent it scares me more than I have ever been scared in my fucking life. I reach over, and putting all my weight into it, I tear a whole section of the wall down, bricks raining at my feet.

I finally see her.

She’s huddled in the corner of the niche, looking up at me, her pupils blown, tear streaks running down her dust-covered cheeks. Her hands and legs are bound, and her mouth is gagged with a piece of cloth tied around her head. She’s alive. She doesn’t seem hurt. Not physically anyway.

With a broken guttural noise, I reach for her. Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pull her up over the remnant of the wall like she weighs nothing. And then we’re both on the ground, and she’s shaking violently in my lap. She smells like sweat and pee, but I keep her close, breathing her in, savouring the feel of her warm, live body against my own.

“You’re safe now. You’re safe. You’re safe,” I keep repeating, even if I don’t really believe it myself—I won’t feel safe until we’re on the boat and away from this cursed fucking corner of the world, leaving it to burn for all I care.

I take the gag out of her mouth, but she says nothing, gasping for air, eyes darting everywhere without seeing a thing. She’s still in shock. She hasn’t realised yet that I’m with her now, and a hundred bullets wouldn’t stop me from obliterating anyone who’d dare as much as look at her the wrong way.

I untie her hands and legs. I lift her up, carrying her bride style, so small in my arms, so fragile. I see her glazed gaze stray to Volker. And nothing has ever brought me so much joy as the flicker of recognition in her eyes. A flash of hatred, gone as fast as it appeared, but clear enough.

For a moment there, my girl wants revenge. And revenge she shall have.

“You’d better remember my face, Volker,” I tell him, my voice steadier than it’s been for days. “Remember my eyes. They will be the last to look down on you before you die.”

“Don’t push your luck, Krasnik.”

In all other circumstances, I’d lunge at him and let myself be shot just to wipe that smirk off his face. But there’s no way I’ll rise to his provocation now. My thirst for carnage can’t compete with my love for the woman in my arms, with the need to get her the fuck away from here.

I’ll bide my time. But even if Volker doesn’t believe it, his clock is ticking.

I don’t know where, and I don’t know when. I might have to wait for years. But before I leave this earth, I will soak the ground with this man’s blood. I will let the wind carry his screams. I will tear the heart out of his chest for the pleasure of feeling its last beat.

I will turn him into my final masterpiece tableau.