“You should have known I would find you eventually.” The man declared with a victorious spark in his voice. After scratching his head, he run his fingers over his buzz cut. His leather jacket was zipped up to his neck. He wasn’t ashamed of his scarred hands. The pair of jeans he was wearing was dirty and cheap.
He strolled around the lavish penthouse, taking in the sights. His face was twisted, lingering somewhere on the boundary of hate and madness. The former was keeping him from completely losing control. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’ve got the wrong guy?” A pitiful weeping come from the center of the room. A gentleman was restrained. His hands shackled behind his back. Ropes held his feet in place. His flannel shirt was stained with blood that dropped from his mouth. His hair was chaotically falling over his face.
The man came closer, looming over the gentleman. He had an imposing posture, as well as a merciless glare. His eyes were small – barely visible. Two tiny dots that seemed to lack any emotion were now staring at the gentleman. “Alright. You really don’t know who I am? Did you hit your head or something?” The man smacked the gentleman in the back of his skull.
The gent bit his tongue in humiliation.
“I’ll enlighten you. My name is Victor Brown. We have met in NY a few years ago. I am a profession thief.” The man leaned against the wall.
“I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong guy! I’m an office worker! I live here in Sarasota. I’ve never been in New York!” The gent exclaimed feeling a surge of panic hit him.
“Your name is Nicholas Theroux.” Victor roared.
“No, my name is Henry Bridgeman! I keep telling you this!”
Victor stood up in irritation and eyed the room. He saw the myriad of TV screens against the back wall. The soft couch was right in front of them, enticing visitors to watch. The hardwood floor was a nice touch, he thought, but the carpet was unnecessary. For such a huge place, it surprised him that the kitchen and living room were fused together.
He saw the washing machine. Sauntering to the fridge, he took out a bottle of red wine. Popping open the dishwasher, he grabbed a glass. He pulled it out. He felt the intense heat sinking into his skin. Burning his fingers, he released his grip. The glass plummeted to the ground. With a subtle thud, the glass shattered, leaving remnants of its original form all over the kitchen.
“What the?” Victor murmured in aggravation.
“It’ll soon be over.” The gent smiled.
TO BE CONTINUED
Thanks for reading. Just like always, feel free to comment and make suggestions.
I would like to try something new this time to see how it works out. Instead of posting the short story in one big chunk, I’ll post it in parts as I work on it. Part 2 will be up in a day or two, and I anticipate that this will have 3, maybe 4 parts.