One of Us - Chapter Two

Title: One of Us

Rough Draft

Chapter Two

Kris normally wasn't fond of violence, but he did make the occasional exception.

He held the knife firmly in his grasp as he waved it in front of the man's face. The man was seated in wooden chair that was able to hold his bulking weight. Wire wrapped tightly around his wrists, holding them to the arms of the chair.

"Are you going to talk or are we going to be here all day?" Kris asked in a sultry voice.

Sweat dripped off the man's red face. "I told you," he spat nervously, his wide gray eyes darting around, flickering back toward the knife every few seconds, "I dunno nothin'!"

Kris sighed and shook his head. Why did they always have to make this hard? It wasn't like it had to be this way. He twirled the knife in his grasp. The guy flinched back, the wire rubbing his skin raw as he twisted, trying to wring his wrists free.

"You know I'm a nice guy," Kris sighed, "but my patience is wearing thin."

The guy glared at him. "Nice?" he spat. "You're gonna kill me anyway; why should I tell you anythin'? Last guy who done that wound up dead!"

"Well, let's see here...what are you your options? I kill you...or I set you free. Hmm...decisions, decisions..." Kris rubbed his thumb along the sharp edge of the knife, standing directly in front of him. The room they were in was hot and humid and the man's face was red and puffy. Kris had beat him good before; he'd had to. He was a big guy and Kris had had to take him down to even get him into the damn chair in the first place.

The man narrowed his eyes but Kris could sense he was wavering. They always did when it came down to it. All of them.

"They'll jus' kill me," the guy in the chair said finally. "I'm not telling you nothin'."

Kris shook his head. "So be it," he said with a shrug. "But then you're going to be in a world of pain, aren't you?"

He waved the knife in front of his eyes. The tip scratched over the man's nose, drawing blood, and he flinched away from Kris as much as he could.

"One last chance," Kris told him. "I'm not unreasonable. Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to kill you?"

Sweat dripped off his brow. The man's face was black and blue on one side from where he'd been punched earlier. He'd had to go down somewhere, after all. His blonde hair was matted down with dried, crusted blood.

"They'll jus' kill me," the man said quickly.

"I'll kill you," Kris said. He didn't like to kill people, but it was either him or them, and if he had to make a choice, he was going to keep his life. It was a battle. There were casualties in a battle. That was what made it war. "I'll kill you now, or you can live until later. It's your choice. Make it now." He stepped back, fingering the knife. The edge was sharp; of course it was. In a battle he made sure he kept a weapon on him.

"Like you're gonna let me live," the guy scoffed. "You're an assassin."

Kris cocked his head to the side. A slow grin spread across his face, stretching his features. "Is that what you guys are calling me? I like it. But I won't kill you if you just tell me what the hell I want to know." He stepped foward.

The knife came to rest against the man's neck, the soft skin present there. Just a slice was all it took to kill a man. Kris knew that very well. In his twenty-six years of life he had killed dozens of people--all of them on THEIR side. One of THEM.

Just a bit of pressure. A bit of pressure and a nudge and presto, dead person in a chair. Of course, that was leaving out the gargling, the stench of blood, the way the man would choke on his own blood, gasp for air...leaving all of that out.

Kris shoved the thoughts away. He wasn't a killer. No, not a killer; he was just trying to stay alive.

"Tell me what I want to know," he said, a low cadence in his voice. "Tell me, and I'll let you go. I'll let you live."

The man swallowed. His Adam's apple bobbed, knocking against the blade of the knife, scraping it against the skin.

"Tell me, or you're gonna get one hell of a close shave," Kris warned with a growl. "I'm out of patience. I'm not going to ask again. Tell me or you die. Do you understand me?"

"O-Okay," the man whispered, "I'll tell you, just...get that damn knife away from me."

Kris smiled and pulled back. The knife moved away from the man's throat. "See? Was that so hard? Now tell me. Are there any more of you in this town? What are you planning? Do you know where I am?"

"Yes," the man murmured. His voice was low. His head had bowed and he was talking into his chest, not looking at Kris.

Kris sighed and listened. Really listened. He could hear the man's heartbeat, hear how fast it was going, even when he was standing a few feet away from him. He was tuned into him. He could hear the blood pulsing through his veins. Just a slip of the knife and it would have spilled...

He glared at the man. "Are you lying to me? Are you trying to make me angry?"

"No," the guy said quickly, snapping his head up to look at him. His hands twisted again at the wires holding him captive. The skin was rubbed raw and starting to bleed. The scent of it was going to Kris's head; like rusted pennies but increased tenfold. It was hard to think.

Suddenly all he could see was blood. He had to get this over with quickly and leave.

"Okay," he said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. "Alright. So are they coming after me? They're in town?"

"Yes. They're coming after you; they know where you are."

'Shit,' Kris thought to himself, 'that means I can't go back to the hotel...'

All of his stuff was at the hotel. Ah, to hell with it. It was just his clothes. He could buy more.

"Why are you after me? How do you keep finding me?" Kris asked, glaring at the man. It was like, every time he stopped and thought he was safe, he wasn't, and they found him.

And he was left running again.

Or left to kill someone.

"I don't...I don't know," the man said, shaking his head. His voice had gone whispery and shaky. His heart rate had gone up.

"You're lying," Kris snapped. "Why are you lying to me? Do you want to die? Huh? Is that it?" He surged forward and grabbed the front of the man's shirt with one hand, his fingers clawing at the fabric as he pulled him forward, the knife coming to rest at his throat again. "Answer me!"

"No! No! I'm not lying!" the guy said quickly, urgently, as though sensing that Kris was ready to slice the knife across his neck. Kris could feel the urge trying to take over his hands. Just a flick of the wrist and the man would be dead.

Just a flick...a slice...pressure...blood...

Blood. He could hear it racing through the man's veins. He had to get out of here.

"Why are they after me?" Kris snarled. "Why do they keep following me? How do they keep finding me? Huh? Answer me that! Tell me!"

"I don't know! I don't! They won't tell me! I'm just...I'm just a runner!"

"A runner?" Maybe they were getting somewhere. Did the other side--or THEY--have separate groups? This was news to Kris.

"Yes! Yes, I'm a runner! I don't...I don't have all the answers, I only know what they tell me! I'm not lying!"

Pain echoed through Kris's head. The man's blood was just too damn loud. It was racing through his veins. His heart was beating loudly. Just...so LOUD...

He released the man's shirt and stepped away, bringing a hand to his head.

He had to get out of here.

Turning on his heel, he fled toward the door. They were in a small shack in the woods just outside of a small town. The shack was mostly falling down but it had served its purpose--letting Kris use it as an interrogation room.

"Hey...Hey, wait!" the man called to him. The chair shifted on its legs and he knew the guy was trying to escape. "Wait! You said you'd let me go! Wait!"

"I said I wouldn't kill you; you can let yourself go," Kris said as he twisted the knob of the door and left, leaving the man there. If the man worked at the wires enough, he would be able to get them off. They would cut into him and make him bleed, but after all the trouble he and the others had put Kris through, he deserved it and whatever else he got.

Kris had to get out of town. They were coming for him.

What had the man called him? An assassin?

A cold smile crossed Kris's lips. If they wanted him to be an assassin, fine; he would be an assassin.

No more running after this. He would gather his bearings, make one more fresh start, and then, if they found him again--and he was almost certain they WOULD--then he wasn't going to run.

Because if they thought him a cold-hearted killer...

Then that was just what he was going to give them.