Bargain

Others Stories | Nov 18, 2016 | 6 min read
8 Votes, average: 3 out of 5
There he sat on the cold cement floor of the basement in a pool of his own blood. Every breath tugged slightly on the hairs of his bare chest as the congealing mess clutched them together. This was fine, Markus came to peace with the pain; in fact, he knew it was required of him. What was it the scroll said? It was hard to recall now, even simple things such as his sister's name, Isabelle, were harder to grasp. So, this was dying? He hoped to fade to nothingness, so it would kill all his pain. He didn't want the memories of this life, especially of what they did to sweet Isabelle.

She was only four years old when they took her, the nameless ones in the masks. They never said a word when they kicked in the door to the apartment, the only sounds Markus remembered was the splintering of the door frame and the thud as the doorknob punched a hole in the drywall. That and of course Isabelle's screaming as the large man yanked her down the hallway from her bedroom by her hair before he scooped her up in one arm and covered her mouth with the other hand.

As for Markus, he had been sitting on the living room floor, eyes glued to the TV screen. His thumbs wore grooves into his video game controller as fictional soldiers fought for his entertainment. None of that mattered when the men rushed in, three of them. The smaller one leveled a shotgun at Markus and came close, pressing the barrel into his face. Markus could smell the gun oil from the barrel, he never smelled it before and hoped to never again. He was fifteen and watching his little sister while mom was working at Groves, a department store downtown. Markus sat in fear, the war raging on his television screen now ignored and forgotten. Then came the cries of Isabelle, Markus pushed up to his knees without thinking. He couldn't ignore her calling his name. Blackness mixed with textured white flashing spots swirled his head. The man with the shotgun fractured Markus's skull with a well-placed crack from the stock of the rifle.

Enough of that, Markus couldn't stomach reliving those moments again. Night after night for years to follow, those visions tormented his every thought. Therapy didn't help curb the blame of letting the men take his baby sister, even if he knew rationally there was nothing he could have done. The police were no help either. She was one of twelve young girls abducted that same week, all taken by men in masks kidnapping them when they were at their weakest. Yeah, Markus let that sink in again, Isabelle's weakest moment was with her big brother, her protector. Who was the one that she went to when the monsters in her closet came? Doesn't matter now does it. Markus let the anger and self-hate wash over him. It wouldn't be long now.

The scroll said the more torment and suffering he endured, the stronger the beast would become. Markus reached for the knife again that laid in the pool of sticky blood by his leg. His strength was fading, but he was still able to get two more slices across his abdomen. It was hard to tell it bled more, there was already so much blood.

Markus looked around the basement one last time imagining what once filled these empty shelves, the shadows of when he had a life. He vowed never to set foot in this condemned house again, but the scroll said he had to be somewhere she was attached to and this was the only home she ever had.

Boy scout badges and baseball trophies filled the white box he remembered being on the end of the lower shelf. The lid couldn't quite close right because of the large trophy the year his team won the pennant. He played second base, mostly; that was the year he had to wear glasses. Markus was worried at first because of his looks, he was goofy enough already. But those glasses really helped at the plate, he hit .367 that season. It doesn't matter now does it. Markus's life ended when Isabelle was taken, this existence was nothing but a shell, a placeholder for what was supposed to be.

His mind returned to the shelf and what used to be in the next box over, his comic book collection and baseball cards. The valuable ones were gone, he sold them to make missing person flyers for his sister and to pay some thug for bogus information on where she might have been taken. No chance of getting that money back, he was a lying scum bag trying to make a quick buck, he wasn't a hero. Markus gave up most of his collection, the first Captain America comic, all of his X-Men and Batman, besides he needed to get rid of them, heroes didn't exist. They may not have been real, but their ideals were supposed to stand for something, but no, they were lies too. Isabelle loved the Flash, so Markus couldn't sell them. He kept those for her, the rest could burn, he couldn't care less.

Anytime now, Markus slipped in and out of conciseness, welcoming his coming end. He deserved the pain, and they deserved the pain that was coming. Though he wouldn't be there to see it, Markus held tight to the thought that Isabelle would be avenged.

Markus felt the knife slip through his fingers, hitting one of the gashes in his thigh before making a pinging sound as it bounced off the hard floor. His life ended four years ago when Isabelle was taken, his body only now was catching up with his soul. Markus only wished he could see the abomination he was calling forth before he left this life for whatever external torment awaited him.

"Please, let me see you, to know this wasn't all a tragic mistake. I want to know before I go that you will avenge her." Markus' body fell limp on his back. His vision began to blur and drift into tunnel vision. Was this all a mistake? He followed exactly what the scroll said to do, every detail, every word. He damned his soul for another lie. Markus held on to the anger, one last bitter pill to swallow, like his mother had. Except of course hers were sleeping pills and she downed a bottle right after the police found Isabelle's body. It had been decaying for years on the edge of some rural dumpsite, covered by a tarp and a thin layer of dirt. Again, the police were no help.

Markus was fading, he almost didn't notice the eyes above him. Raging fire burned in the eyes as the charred face moved into focus.

"You wish to see them all pay?" The voice was raspy, but feminine.

"Yes." Markus exhaled barely able to move his lips.

"You wish all you deem responsible to suffer tremendous agony?" The voice dropped to a whisper in his ear.

"Yes." Again, Markus barely moved.

"Very well."

The room shook and the cement below him cracked into jagged pieces. The fractured tips of the beast's boney fingers sunk deep into Markus's ribs.

"I will start with you."

Markus spent the final moments of his life in twisted agony he couldn't believe possible. Nerve endings wrenched in agony before being severed and falling dead. At last his mortal torment ended and her vengeance could begin.

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