A song…
Chills ran down my spine, fear trickling up my stomach to my chest.
The gun shook in my grip as a very weird, twisted version of Connie Francis’s “Pretty Little Baby” echoed softly down the hallway.
Red-hot dread had my insides tightening as I moved, the sound growing louder, just as my breathing did. I could feel panic setting in.
Why… was it playing? Whythatsong?
I forced down a swallow, stopping in front of the door the music seemed to be coming from.
Every muscle in my face was twitching, vibrations stretching from my fingertips to my head.
I felt faint, lightheaded, my stomach churning with anger and fear and confusion.
Panic locked inside me and I kicked the door open, my breathing cutting out as my gaze met that of scared fourteen-year-old boys and girls, all huddled around each other.
My throat tightened as my gaze flicked to a table where a vinyl record player was turning, the music spewing out.
With my teeth clenched, my heart raging, I pointed my barrel at the record player, and fired bullet after bullet after bullet until all I heard was click, click, click.
The music stopped.
My chest was heaving, my panic clawing, eyes wide as I looked at the kids. “Who was here?” I asked.
They didn’t answer. All I saw was fear, raw, unfiltered fear staring back at me.
“Who put that fucking music on!” I yelled, and some of the kids flinched and yelped, drawing farther away from me.
I dropped my gun, my shoulders falling as I walked backward until I hit a wall, slumping down and covering my face with my shaking hands, unable to breathe. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, hot tears gathering and falling from my eyes. “I didn’t—mean to yell. I’m sorry.”
When I looked up again to meet those eyes, those reflections…
Reflections of me.
Of where I used to be,whatI used to be. What… deep down, I still am.
Scared. Uncertain. Voiceless.
My lips trembled, my vision blurred as I managed a small smile. “It’s okay, I’m the good guy,” I said. “You’re all going to be okay now.”
I wiped my eyes, knowing I wasn’t going to receive any response from them as I clicked on the radio attached to my vest. “Does anyone copy? I have them.”
Static, then, “We’re on our way to you now. Our backup has arrived.”
Relief flooded me.
“Daiyu?” I asked.
Silence followed, and my throat grew heavy.
“She didn’t make it,” the voice replied.
I closed my eyes, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks as I nodded. “Got it.” My voice was thick with tears. “Have the boats on standby, we need to get out of here before authorities are alerted. And prepare for cleanup.”
“Copy.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
