(This is the first part of the entry that emerged victorious in the "Cliffhanger" contest amongst English entries)
Aaron awoke abruptly, his head throbbing, perspiration dripping down his forehead, his mouth duct-taped. His hands were tied behind his back, the rope pulling tight against his wrist made everything all the more difficult. His legs were almost up against his chest. It was dark and damp. The constricted space he was in made it almost impossible to breathe in.
Aaron realized where he was. He was in the trunk of a moving car. The car lurched back and forth at intermittent intervals. He tried to think logically as to how he had gotten himself into such an ordeal. The latest memory he could think of was him sitting in his foyer watching cable television. Everything became fuzzy when he tried to think past that memory, no matter how hard he tried. All his attempts trying to think of what had happened were futile. His temples throbbed with pain every time he tried to think.
He looked around the trunk of the car, gathered in all the information he could perceive. He subconsciously started concocting plans that could free him.
Aaron’s gaze darted to the things that were beside his legs. He saw a spare tire, a fire extinguisher, and what seemed to look like a toolkit.
He wriggled under his arm, his countenance contorting under effort. He stretched his right leg and heaved it right next to the toolkit. He grabbed the toolkit by its outer covering. He pulled the kit along the right side until the kit was beside his hip. He crouched even further so that his legs were touching his chest and grabbed the toolkit with his hands while laying on his chest.
He couldn’t make out what the kit contained, but he could discern whether or not a particular object was sharp. He ran his fingers across the sprawled kit trying to find the right tool that would free him. His conscience knew that the chances of a car toolkit containing a sharp object were slim. He had to try anyway.
After carefully scrutinizing the kit, Aaron was disappointed. He knew since the beginning of his endeavor that it was highly unlikely, but now it gave him other options to explore. He returned back to a comfortable yet an uncomfortable position, still clutching the kit in his hand, behind his back.
Aaron looked around for other options. A few ideas caught his mind and he dismissed them one by one either as illogical or physically impossible until he was left with one. He wasn’t entirely sure that it would work, but he was going to give it a try.
He carefully removed the spanner out of the kit with much effort. He was now lying on his chest. He held the spanner perpendicular to his body and thrust it with his hands. He distinctively heard the spanner hit the roof of the trunk. He started hitting the roof of the trunk repeatedly.
No response.
He tried again. And again. And again.
Aaron started noticing the change in the pace of the car. It was slowing down. After a few seconds, the car came to a complete stop. He heard his own breath. Rapid. His heartbeat. Rising with each passing moment. He heard the driver seat’s door shut close. He stifled his breath to hear better. He heard the scraping of the shoes against the road, nearing the trunk. He heard the trunk dislodge from its place. A Strong wind blew into the trunk. He could easily ascertain that it was night unless they were in a really dark parking lot.
The trunk creaked open. Aaron could as easily see the shining moon and the silhouette of the man overlooking him. The man was hefty, wearing a black mask that covered his entire face leaving out his eyes. Aaron stared into the man’s eyes. He didn’t see what he expected. Coldheartedness .No, he saw sympathy and regret.
The man reached behind his back and pulled out an object that made Aaron’s heart skip a beat.
A gun. To be more precise, a revolver.
The man pointed the revolver at Aaron’s head and cocked it.
“I won’t hesitate.” The man breathed.
Aaron’s heart rose, his head got heavy. Not because he was held at gunpoint, but because of what he saw on the man’s wrist. Something familiar. Something that made his predicament even worse than it already was.
(To be continued)
