The First Appearance Deceives Many
Chapter 7
The First Appearance Deceives Many
Isabella
The sentence leaves his mouth like a death sentence, and my body goes into survival mode before my brain can even catch up. Multiple men start moving toward me, their footsteps heavy and determined. Panic takes over, and my mind races— what do I do? Where do I go? There’s no escape, not from this place. I’m trapped in a maximum-security prison with no chance of fleeing. My only option is to hide; to pray they can’t find me.
I don’t think, I just run. Barefoot, I sprint down the hall, my feet slapping against the cold, hard floors. The sound of their boots pounding behind me echoes, growing louder with each step. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the adrenaline pushing me forward even as my legs beg me to stop. The distance between us narrows, and I know I don’t have much time.
I reach the end of the hall, breathless and dizzy. The physical exhaustion hits me like a punch to the gut—my lack of fitness, the years I’ve spent behind a desk, it all catches up to me now. I’m slow. I’m weak. A target.
But I can’t stop. They’re still behind me. There’s no time to slow down, no time to think, just to keep running. I make a sharp turn, another, and then another until I’m in front of an office room. I slam the door shut behind me, my heart pounding so loudly I can barely hear anything else. I lock it, quickly and desperately, then shove the nearest piece of furniture I can move against the door, hoping it will hold.
I collapse to the floor, my body shaking as I try to catch my breath. The tears come, hot and fast, spilling down my cheeks. My arms are scratched, my feet bruised and bleeding, my body cold from the rush of fear. I’m barely dressed for this, exposed in nothing more than a thin shirt and pants. The sobs wrack through me, but I try to keep quiet. I can’t let them hear me.
Images flash in my mind—the blood, Lea’s face, the death I just witnessed. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? I’m not the bad guy here. I’ve never hurt anyone, never broken the law. So why is this happening to me?
I slap myself mentally. Did I provoke him?
Questions spiral in my mind, but there are no answers. I feel like I’m begging a god I don’t believe in, praying for a way out. And yet, the only one listening is the man outside the door. I wipe my tears with the back of my hand, my face burning with the shame of it all. But then I notice the window, small and narrow, just enough for me to peek through. I stand on my tiptoes, trying to steady myself as I press my face to the cold glass. What I see makes my stomach turn.
They’re moving women, just like they’re cattle. They shove them into trucks, one by one, like animals being herded into pens. I watch in disbelief, my blood boiling with fury. Where the hell is security? Where are the emergency services? This can’t just happen, it shouldn’t happen.
Before I can process any of this, I hear voices in the hall. My breath catches. Where do I go?
I dart toward the only place left—an old closet, the smell of dust and stale air. I crouch down low, trying to bury myself under a pile of discarded police uniforms. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.
My hands shake as I cover my mouth, trying to silence my breathing. Footsteps grow louder, the thud of heavy boots making my heart race. The door bursts open, and I hear them enter, moving swiftly, efficiently. I see the red light of a laser dot crawling across the floor near the cracks of the closet door. They have guns. I freeze, not even daring to breathe. This could be it. I could be caught right here, right now. But then, miraculously, they leave.
My body is still, the air thick with anticipation. I wait, counting seconds in my head, feeling the time stretch on forever. Is it a trap? Are they waiting for me to make a move? The silence hangs heavy in the room. Then, after what feels like an eternity, I hear nothing. I think it’s safe. I take a slow, shaky breath and ease myself out from under the clothes, creeping toward the door. Just as my hand touches the doorknob, a single set of footsteps enters the room. No red light. No chaos. Just one pair of boots. My heart stops.
I pull my hand back instinctively, my body tensing in panic. Then I hear it—his voice, smooth and dangerous, laced with a thick Russian accent.
“Isabella, get out of the closet.”
The blood drains from my face, and a cold sweat breaks out across my skin. He knows I’m here. He’s found me. I don’t move. I can’t. I’m paralyzed with fear. He’s taunting me now, playing with me. I hear him breathe in slowly, a dark chuckle escaping his lips.
“Already disobeying me?” His voice sends a chill straight through me. I feel the weight of it—the loss, the inevitability of what’s coming. But I can’t let him win. Not yet.
Tears streak down my face as I slowly, painfully, twist the doorknob. The soft creak echoes in the stillness, and I force myself to push the door open.
And there he is.
He’s sitting in a black chair, moved right next to the door. My only escape is now a memory. He’s blocking me in. He kicks the door shut with a brutal motion, the bang reverberating through the room like the crack of a gunshot.
I flinch, my body trembling as I take a step back. My breath hitches in my chest, and a single tear falls down my cheek, my lip quivering in terror.
He reaches behind him, pulls out a revolver, and sets it on the desk next to him—the very desk I tried to use as a barricade.
I feel my entire world crashing in on me. I’m going to die. I can feel it in my bones.
The sob that escapes my mouth is broken. Weak. I hate myself for it. I hate that I’m giving him the satisfaction of seeing me terrified.
This is it. This is the end.
Diable
She slowly crawls out of the closet. Her face drained of all color, and blue lips left. Her feet are bruised, I bet they feel like ice cubes. She slowly rises, she’s tiny. Her body shivers from the cold - or fear. As her bloodshot eyes meet mine more tears fall free. Slowly the room fills with sobs. She is giving me an earache with all that crying.
I place my gun on the desk, I have her right where I want to. The fear radiates off her. I could get rid of her right here and right now, but something stops me. Something in me enjoys playing with her. It makes me feel something, something different. It’s the fear that clings to her like a second skin, exactly what I crave.
My mask is still on, covering everything but my eyes. But she knows it’s me, so I reach for the black mask covering my face and pull it down.
“What’s all the crying for?”
Her sobs grow louder after my question, almost as if she has already accepted her faith. She does not look at me, she has only glanced at me once. She cannot face me; she cannot face her nightmare.
She hesitates, her whole body shaking, but I wait. Slowly, her eyes rise from the floor, meeting mine. They are filled with nothing but fear, true terror.
True submission, true defeat.
Isabella
His deep voice dominates the room. I can barely face him. He looks different. The entire dynamic changed. He is in charge now and no one is coming to my rescue. I swallow the thick feeling in my throat. I don’t want to be sold. I don’t want this. My eyes slowly reach up from the ground as I fiddle with my shirt. I curl up my toes on the tile floor, they’re cold. Even if I wanted to, I could not run far anymore. To be honest I can barely stand. My feet are frozen and barely hold my weight anymore.
As my eyes meet his, my heart drops, his face now exposed as he removes his mask with deliberate slowness. The mask drops down, hanging on his neck now. The act feels like a final ominous declaration of my fate.
The light from above catches the angles of his face, casting sharp shadows that make his features look as sharp as shattered glass. Without the mask, he looks more human, but also more terrifying.
‘Come here,’ his voice is a dark whisper. His green eyes unravel my soul, while he spreads his legs. His finger points at the space between them. I don’t move an inch. I am frozen to the ground underneath me, hoping it will swallow me.
He snaps his fingers again, taking my attention back to the man in front of me. I don’t know anything about him. The conversation with Nick repeats in my head. So many puzzle pieces, but how they fit together I don’t know. I only know the clear finished picture is bad, very bad.
As all my pride leaves my body I get down and crawl over to him . With every inch I crawl I feel my soul leaving my body. I reach the place where he is sitting, his boots come into my vision. I have never been this close to him, but I now know why.
I keep my gaze on the floor. I don’t even hear anything anymore; I just hear blood rushing through my ears. Leaving me with a static sound. I can see in the corner of my eyes that he is reaching for something on the desk. He is going to kill me. He is grabbing the gun. I am going to fucking die. I don’t want to die.
I am spiraling into something I had when I was younger. I am on the verge of having a panic attack. Not right now, please. When I was younger, I used to have one almost every day. My breathing becomes fast and I suddenly feel like I am a child again. Alone in my room, hiding in my closet as my stepfather would yell my name. Chasing me around the house, ready to beat me whenever I had done something wrong. Tears start to fall uncontrollably from my eyes to the floor. I am going to die, he is going to kill me.
Diable
This is not how I expected this to go.
Something is off. No fight, no temper, no nothing. Just a cold silence.
As I reach over to the desk next to me to grab a fucking cigarette she breaks loose, perfect. Her tiny body starts to shake, and sobs escape her mouth. The room fills itself with crying sounds. But not just sobbing sounds, she is screaming and crying, pure agony.
‘Isabella,’ I taunt her name, trying to pull some control back into the situation. But it only makes her sobs louder, her cries more desperate. “Blyat.” Fuck.
I reach over to grab her chin, forcefully making her look at me. Her skin is wet, her tears soaking my hand within seconds, and her face is blotchy, raw from the crying. Her lips tremble, and her breath is coming in shallow, erratic gasps.
Even through my gloves, I can feel how cold her skin is. These gloves are not to keep me warm in any sort of way, they are to not leave any traces of DNA. Like I said before, time ticks slowly in hell, but now it is passing by like a snake.
Green meets brown eyes, but not in the way they met before. Before me kneels a young broken girl. Even if I wanted to have some fun in breaking her, there is nothing left to even begin with. My frustration is growing, I am not used to these emotions. Her black cat eyes stare straight into the leftovers of my soul.
“Please,” she cries, “please don’t kill me.”
It comes out as a mere whisper, but I heard her. The words linger in the air, haunting. It’s a hollow surrender, something I deal with often. My fingers dig into her skin, my frustration growing, yet something keeps my hand from going further.