by Cydney Rax
Blood poured from his left thigh; the pain was excruciating.
The attacker set the chair upright and pointed at it. He motioned for Rashad to sit down. This time Rashad had no other choice. Wincing in agony, he lowered himself onto the seat. It felt uncomfortable as hell. He yelled and moaned and wished he had something other than his hands to contain the blood.
The man stood by Rashad and pressed the steel tip of the barrel against his head.
“You are Rashad Quintell Eason. And one of the women in your life asked me to send a message to you.”
“A woman?” he asked, his voice trembling. He could barely think. “W-hat are you talking about?”
The man had a crazed look in his eyes—piercing black eyes that blinked rapidly.
“She said to ask, ‘Why did you let Satan use you like you did?’”
“I-I don’t know what you’re—”
“She said you should know everything that she’s talking about.”
“But who is she?”
“Shut the fuck up. Right now.”
The man was strong and powerful. He duct-taped Rashad’s hands securely behind his back, and taped him tightly to the chair. Rashad was losing blood. This was his worst nightmare.
He struggled to loosen his hands from the tape, but couldn’t.
“Please,” he begged.
The man ignored him. He reached in the back pocket of Rashad’s jeans and removed his wallet.
Then he wound a wide dark piece of cloth around Rashad’s eyes. It was so tight that he could no longer see. His shirt was soaked with perspiration. Was this some type of joke? Was someone trying to scare him just to make a point?
Rashad inhaled the breath of the little man. It smelled like sour milk. He felt his mouth being pried open with tiny, rigid fingers. A thick sock was stuffed inside his mouth. It took away his saliva; his ability to breathe normally. He wanted to gag. The fibers from the sock sucked all the liquid from his mouth and the dryness made him want to throw up.
He felt so uncomfortable and he couldn’t believe what was happening. Who is this guy? Is he actually going to kill me?
Rashad felt nervous and wished his arms weren’t trembling so much. His brain felt cloudy. He didn’t understand. Then he recalled the man referring to a woman in his life. And he felt sorry, but it didn’t seem to matter.
The pistol was shoved against Rashad’s temple again.
In a flashing moment, he heard the voice of his son Myles inside his head. He recalled his laughter. He saw his smile. He missed Myles already. He wished he could see his daughters Hayley, Emmy, and Jazz. He imagined what would happen if he could never touch his children against. He knew that his cell phone was somewhere around, maybe only inches away. He remembered it fell out of his pocket when he was startled by the man who suddenly burst into the warehouse.
Rashad wished he could get to his phone. Make a call. Get in touch with the people he loved.
But he was secured to the chair. His leg was injured. And he knew he’d never talk to his family again. He thought of his mother, Beeva Reese. She’d be brokenhearted. And so would his wife, Nicole. A weird animal sound escaped from his mouth as he began to sob before he man he could no longer see.
The man only laughed.
Rashad wanted to scream but he was growing weaker and weaker.
He wished he could pray.
Seconds later a loud blast sounded in the hollowness of the room. The pain in Rashad’s head was excruciating. It seemed as if he was going blind it hurt so terribly. Instantly, a fountain of blood flowed from his head and formed a dark red pool on the floor beneath him. He fell over in a heap, still tied to the chair.
As Rashad lay on the floor he wondered about his killer’s words. What woman had he referred to? Who caused this?
Was it Kiara, Alexis, or could it even be his wife Nicole?
Within seconds everything grew eerily dark and quiet.
He took his last breath.
And he nursed one thought before he transitioned into eternity: What caused this?