(To read the first episode, click here)

(Continued)

James sat in his hall, gaping at the black box that lay in front of him. The contents of the box made his heart palpitate. He was getting apprehensive with each passing minute. He peered into the box again to get a look at the contents.

It must be a mistake. He thought.

James was convinced that the box was delivered to the wrong apartment. He took the contents of the box out with his napkin careful not to get his fingerprints on it.

A revolver. A mobile phone. A letter.

Why would they deliver this to me? He questioned himself, again and again, trying to find a rational answer. He could tell by the weight of the revolver that it was loaded.

He made up his mind. He quickly took out his phone and started to dial the one number people dialed when they usually found themselves in such situations. Before he could press ‘dial’ the phone on the porcelain table started to ring and vibrate. The phone had the same monotonous ringtone most cell phones had.

James hesitated. He was contemplating on whether or not to attend the call. He reached for the phone and answered.

“Hello?”

“Open the letter.” The voice whispered from the phone. It was all the man said before he disconnected.

“He- Hello? Hello?” James set the phone down. He sat on the sofa completely dumbstruck.

He reached for the letter with a sense of foreboding. He scrutinized the letter, running his fingers across the surface, and the edges of the letter.

No name. No address. Nothing.

He opened the letter and stared down into the contents. The letter contained neatly arranged square cards. No, James observed closely and remarked that they weren’t square cards, but photographs. He took out the photographs from the letter and was completely taken by despair.

James’ heart rose. His breath was completely sporadic. He tried to calm himself, but failed. It only made his situation worse.

The phone started ringing again. He tried stalling, trying to figure out what the man could possibly want.

He couldn’t begin to comprehend what the motive could be.

James’ mother was tied up and held at gunpoint. Each photograph showed his mother from different angles being held at gunpoint. The ringing was deafening, made it arduous for him to concentrate. He answered the phone.

“What do you want?!” James bellowed angrily.

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“You so even breathe a word to anyone about this, consider your mother dead. You have twenty-four hours.” The words the man uttered before he disconnected. After having finished an intense conversation with the grim man on the phone, James analyzed the options that lay before him.

Why would he want me to do such a thing?

Why him?

Why? Should I? Should I not?

Questions welled up in his head that he found himself unable to answer. He had to help his mother. He had to free her. His resolve was strong. He couldn’t afford to lose precious time.

He went to his closet and fashioned a mask out of his old sweater. He also found old gloves in his closet and thought it would be useful. He then went to his drawing room and retrieved his duct-tape, rope and baseball bat.

He was all ready. Except for his moral conscience. He replaced it with thoughts of his mother and hoped the man didn’t ask him to do the unthinkable.

He prayed with all his heart.