"They say nuclear fire is bad, right? But the Sun is nothing but nuclear fire. They say that radiation will kill you; they say that a steak has more carcinogens than 40 cigarettes; they say that AIDS will wipe humans out. Yet every day people get X-rays, we've been eating steak since time immemorial and last year we were all going to be wiped out by Hepatitis."
"They say a lot of things."
"They say that I won't hurt you, but I will, you filthy faggot."
His monologue had droned at me ever since I had been imprisoned here. I watched him as he stalked back and forth across the warehouse floor, head down and thrust forward as far as it would go. His beady eyes flitted like light-blind moths around the room, missing nothing. I surreptitiously tested the bonds about my wrists while his back was turned, numbed hands clawing spastically, coarse rope grinding into raw skin.
"They say those ropes have a breaking tension of 500 kilograms per metre, but do try..."
He spun back again, not looking at me. His eyes never left the floor. The knife glimmered silvery from his fist, flashing in the gloom. What strange predator sense he had that alerted him to my silent struggles I knew not, clearly I should have been more careful. Fuck that.
I spat at him as he passed near me, the phlegm twisted elastic in the air before splattering close by his boot. Instantly the knife was against my cheek. I closed my eyes.
"In such a rush for the bloodletting? They say that a sharp knife causes no pain, they say that it is not the cut that hurts but the air in the wound. They say..."
He trailed off, distracted and turned away from me and I chanced a peek at him in the dim light. His hair slick against his head, broad shoulders and bunched muscle under a simple skin-tight blue t-shirt, hand limp at his side, knife dangling casually. The bunched muscles beneath his skin twisted and jerked as his rage coursed through him. Little shivers ran through his shoulders and his forearms flexed and relaxed, flexed and relaxed, his fury a palpable thing. I closed my eyes again. Why had I taunted him? His footsteps echoed from the walls, diminishing as he walked away from me. A door creaked open then slammed, and he was gone.
I opened my eyes in disbelief and peered urgently into the murk about me. He'd not left me alone so far, not in the three days he'd had me tied here. Long silent days while I watched the sun creep in long golden stripes across the floor. I took stock of my surroundings.
Dark warehouse - check. Tied hand and foot, naked, to a chair - check. Raw light bulbs hung on kinked electrical cable from the distant ceiling, casting greasy light into the gloom - check. Discarded sheet of plastic on the floor - check. Stinking garbage and rubbish piled in the corners - check. Shelves against the far wall, usele... Wait, what was that?
No longer distracted by his endless pacing back and forth, I could see the edge of one of the shelves was torn and jagged. Cheap but functional aluminium shelving twisted as if from an impact, one corner torn loose and hanging, sharp edge glittering impossibly far away. I grunted to myself in surprise and sudden enthusiasm and began to shuffle.
Time had no meaning, but second by precious second I had edged closer until I was directly underneath the shelf. It was conveniently low, and allowed me to quickly saw through the bindings on my wrists. After a few brief moments my clumsy blood-slick fingers made short work of the knots about my ankles. The only exit was the door by which he had left, and without hesitation I took it.
My overwhelming impression was one of cold, incredible icy, crystallising cold. My breath frosted before me, the snow on the ground shimmered prettily in the moonlight and crunched loudly beneath my boots. I don't know how long he'd been living here, but his clothes fit me perfectly. My escape had been the ultimate in anti-climax, after days of captivity I had expected to fight my way free, overpowering him perhaps, perhaps even killing him to earn my freedom. I never imagined he would just walk away, leaving me to furtively steal clothes before simply walking out the front door. I trudged in the shallow hollows beneath the naked trees away from the larger drifts of snow and headed doggedly towards the distant lights. A city? A town? A single building? I couldn't tell but it represented safety, exhaustion be damned, he could be back at any time. I trudged on.
It was in the early hours of the dawn I found him. He was walking bull-necked through the abandoned mining site, head thrust forward like a dog, hunting for food. I still had no idea where we were. It mattered not. My brief sight of him as I slunk from one nook to another, shadowing him in the snow as he walked through the complex, had unchained a vast anger. Indignation at my captivity over-rode all tiredness and fear for my safety. In my mind at least, the Hunter had become the Hunted. My feet crunched quietly on the snow and I had to slow my pace to keep the sound of my footfalls from reaching him. I allowed myself only the briefest pause, my terror and anger fighting for control during the gaps when I could not see him. As quietly as I could, I snuck forward to peer around the corner of the building. There he was! Back to me, urinating on the street, hips thrust forward. I darted forward and struck him once at the base of the skull, the rabbit killer blow. He crumpled, insensate, to the ground.
"They said I wouldn't hurt you, but they were wrong," the words were forced from my mouth through clenched teeth. My jaw locked tight in my anger. I was getting myself worked up.
The knife scattered slow droplets of blood on the ground as I walked before him, tied naked to the chair in the middle of the refuse-ridden warehouse. I shrugged the anger back and wiped the blade gently on my trousers before tucking it back into his, no - my, belt, still grateful that his clothes fit me so well. No, my impatience demanded action now, not later. I spun on my heel and faced him, knife spinning up into my hand in a swift and impatient motion. I stepped forward until we were almost touching and raised a hand to gently brush his cheek, sweat and blood clung to my fingers as they brushed across his unshaven skin.
"What's good for the goose is good for the gander, is it not, my brother, my beloved twin?"
A slow burbling scream erupted from his broken jaw as I raised the knife and began my work.