I was going to die.

That was the only thing I could bring myself to think as the knife pressed against my throat, pricking painfully at my skin.  The thought of my impending death threatened to consume me.  I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, couldn’t even beg for my life.  And why?  Because I was terrified.  I was going to die and there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

I didn’t want to die.

That thought all in itself caused me to let out a shaky breath.  I didn’t want to die.  I didn’t want to die.  Not here, not now.  Not in an alley with a stranger slicing a knife across my throat.  Not before I turned eighteen.  I was so close to eighteen, so close.  Just three weeks and I'd be there.  But now I was struck with the horrifying realization: I wasn’t going to make it to adulthood.  I was going to die here in the hands of a murderer who reeked of beer and cigarettes.

I forced myself to blink.  The alleyway greeted me with its littered, pee-stained ground and graffiti-covered brick walls.  From ahead I could see the street I needed to take in order to get home.  Home.  I wanted to go home so damn bad.  I wanted to see my house that I thought was a disgusting shade of yellow, walk up the porch steps I thought were an irritatingly bright red.  I wanted to see my mom, my dad, my two brothers and my sister.  I wanted to get yelled at for being late.

But I wouldn’t ever be able to do that.  Because I was going to die.

For a few excruciatingly long moments I stood there, hands bound behind me , waiting for my captor to tighten his hold on my waist, slice the knife across my throat, and end it all.  I waited for him to remove the knife from my throat and plunge it into my chest.  But that didn’t happen.  My captor just stood behind me , breathing down my neck.

“P-p-p-p-p-please,” I whispered, finally finding the strength to speak.  I winced as the knife pricked me again.  My voice sounded so unlike my own.  It was so strangled, so timid.  So, so afraid.

“Not a sound,” the man hissed, his grip tightening considerably.  I almost yelped before glancing down, feeling sick to my stomach.  It was wrong—so wrong.  Completely and utterly wrong to be held so close by someone who wanted nothing but to harm me.  I wanted him to let me go, to just let me go home.  Please put the knife down, I wanted to tell him.  Please just let me go.  “If you disobey me or try to run away, I will slit your throat.  Do you understand?”

I gave him a short nod, all strength to speak replaced with a raw terror deep inside me.

I chomped down hard on my cheek to keep from screaming as a dirty bag was slammed over my head.  What little vision I had of the desolate street was now everlasting darkness.  I struggled to keep calm, to not cry and waste my energy.  I needed every breath—there were none to spare.  However, knowing that—the fact that my breaths were numbered—only caused for more panic.  I could suffocate within the confines of this bag.  My breaths would steadily grow shorter…shorter….

Suddenly the ground was gone as I was yanked up and twisted in the opposite direction.  All thoughts of the bag and how it could kill me scattered, and I had to gulp down a terrified cry.  Where was he taking me?  To a torture chamber of some sort?  Was he going to kill me right away or was he going to take his time?  What was his plan?  How much time did I have before I took my final breath?  Was there any chance of me making it out of this alive?

My captor’s grip tightened under my armpits, and then he tossed me.  A shriek escaped as I soared through the air.  I collided heavily with a surface I couldn’t yet identify and whacked my head off some sort of wall before sliding to the ground.  Something felt incredibly wrong with the surface I'd landed on.  It was—lumpy?  And it was—moving?

I let out a small, muffled cry as I scrambled upward, hitting my head off something metal.  I groaned and fell backward, succeeding only in hitting something off my back.  Pain spiked up the entirety of my back, slicing its way up my spine and into the back of my neck.  Ouch, I thought blearily.  My teeth dug painfully into my lip as I struggled to calm myself, to keep myself from shedding the tears I so desperately wanted to shed.  But how could I?  What I'd landed on wasn’t a blanket or a pillow.  It wasn’t some inanimate object that didn’t matter.

I'd landed on a person.

“A-a-are you all right?” a timid voice arose from the darkness.  My head shot from side to side, and I almost cursed.  There was a bag over my head.  I wouldn’t be able to see whoever was speaking to me .  It didn’t matter how much I wanted to see the person belonging to the voice.  I was trapped in never-ending darkness.  “A-a-a-are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I muttered, wishing I could rub my head.  “Are you okay?”

I leaned back, resting against the wall-like surface and closing my eyes.  It wasn’t like closing my eyes made much of a difference, but I did anyway.  Was darkness the last thing I'd ever see?  Would the last thing I'd smell be a foul scent of potatoes mixed with beer?  Was I going to die here?

“I’m okay,” the girl whispered.  She sounded so little, so afraid.  How old was she?  She didn’t sound a year over twelve.  “What’s your name?”

“S-Serenity,” I replied softly, my breath hot against the bag.  I wondered if the girl had a bag over her head as well.  Was she bound by her hands, too?  Could she see where they were?  Could she move her hands freely?  “What’s your name?”

“Rosalie.”  The girl sniffled.  “B-but my friends call my R-Rose.”

I was silent for a moment as I attempted, yet again, to contain my fear.  This little girl sounded so terrified, so weak with fear that it made me want to curl into a ball and cry.  I wasn’t the only one here.  I had no idea what was going on, but it—whatever it was—seemed especially demented now that there were two others with me.  That was, if there were only two.  Who knew how many people were here?  “How many others are there?” I asked, struggling to keep my voice from cracking.  “Do you know?”

“There are two others.”  Rosalie’s voice continued to shake.  “I landed on one of them when I—when I got thrown in.  She was unconscious.  And then this other girl got thrown in and she hit her head on something.  I—I’ve been the only one awake for the past half-hour.”  She let out a small cry.  “I’m so scared.”

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her we'd be fine, but I couldn’t.  I'd be lying, and we both knew it.  “Are we in a car?” I inquired.  “A van of some sort?”

“Yes,” Rosalie replied meekly.  “He’s going around and picking people up.”

Rosalie was crying now.  I sighed shakily, willing myself not to join her.  I couldn’t.  Even as the car started and lurched forward, I knew that I couldn’t join her.  I had to figure out what was going on and what exactly we were fighting against.  I'd seen Criminal Minds.  I'd seen NCIS.  I knew this freak had some sort of plan up his sleeve.

But, the problem was, this didn’t feel at all like it did on TV.

“Do you have any idea where we’re going?” I forced myself to ask, cringing when I heard a tremor.  Dammit.  I had to hold myself together.  But it was so hard.  I felt so sick with fear.  I wanted to throw up, to vomit all over the car floor.

“No.”

It was silent for another few moments.  I took deep, even breaths, my head lulling from side to side.  I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to die.  I wanted to live.  I wanted to go to school, fail a test, and get screamed at for it.  I wanted to be home.  And what about Rosalie?  She was so much younger than me, I could already tell.  Rosalie had so much going for her and now she was stuck here with me, off to God-knows-where in order to be tortured and killed.

We were screwed.  So completely and utterly screwed.

Rosalie let out a whimper as the van came to a halt.  The sudden stop almost sent me flying.  “He found someone else,” Rosalie cried, completely torn with distress. 

My head shot to the right, and I wished that I could see what was going on.  I could hear screams coming from outside, sounds of combat.  At first I felt hope rise within me.  Whoever got caught was fighting back.  Maybe they could get away, could go to the police and report what was going on…. But they soon fell silent and I knew the man had a knife to the newest victim’s throat. 

A moment later the door was opening and someone was being thrown inside.  A masculine shout erupted as the victim crashed to the floor, landing right on top of me.  I let out a small shriek, wriggling underneath the person as panic flitted through me.  I wasn’t quite sure why I was reacting as though this newest victim was my captor, but I was.  All I could feel was my captor’s hands on my waist, the knife against my skin….

As quickly as the person collided with me, the person was gone, their weight lifting off my stomach.  I groaned.  Another ouch.

The newest victim was definitely a boy.  He cursed under his breath before muttering a quick, “Sorry.”  His voice was deep, and I could all but hear my best friend, Maddi, giggling and whispering about how sexy the voice was and how she’d “tap that.”  The thought of my friend made me want to cry more.  I would never be able to laugh with Maddi again.  And why?  Because I'd decided to take a shortcut home instead of going the normal way.  Maddi had warned me to go the regular way, and I hadn’t listened.

Well, you learned your lesson, didn’t you?  I thought bitterly.  And now you’re paying the price.

“It’s okay,” I whispered shakily, turning my attention back to the boy and away from my inner thoughts.  “W-where are we?”

“We’re downtown,” the boy answered, his voice calm, collected.  It was as though he was stuck in traffic instead of being hauled off to what was probably his death.  I didn’t understand how he wasn’t terrified.  “How many others are there?”

“Five,” Rosalie mumbled thickly.  “Five of us altogether.  T-two are unconscious.”

The boy let out a deep sigh, as though this was a complete hindrance on what the he had planned for the night.  I wanted his bravery, his utter ability to take this situation in stride.  I wanted to be calm, to be able to handle what was about to happen.  Whatever it was, I had a feeling that this boy would be ready for it.  I wouldn’t be.  I'd probably weep and be too afraid to move even as the weapon made its way toward me.  With a sickened feeling sprouting its way into my stomach, I realized that I was just like the heroines in the movies.  The ones that always made the wrong choices and ended up getting killed in the process.

But this wasn’t some movie that I would be able to exit after an hour and a half.  No, this was real.  And I was the one who would die, not a character in a film.

I closed my eyes.  No.  I wouldn’t be like that—I wouldn’t be.  I'd get out of this.  I had a family to get back to; I had friends to hang out with.  If I died….

I sucked in a shaky breath.  “We have no idea where we’re going,” I practically whimpered.  I didn’t know why I said it, but I did.  Maybe it was some subconscious need to keep a conversation going so that I didn’t go insane.  There was no point in my words.  None of us knew where we were going, what was going to happen to us.  We were all clueless.  I suddenly wished I was one of the unconscious girls.  It would be so much less painful than sitting there thinking about how I was going to die.  At least they got a few moments of peace before they perished.

“I didn’t expect you to,” the boy replied softly.  From the tone in his voice, I could tell that he knew how afraid I was. 

“W-what’s your name?” I asked.

“Coden.”

“T-that’s a cool name.”  It was cool a name, actually, one that I had never heard before.  I just wished we were having this conversation anywhere else but here.  I wished that I could put a face to the name, could smile and actually appreciate the fact that his name was unique.  But I couldn’t.

“Thanks.”  Coden let out a breathless sort of laugh.  “What’s your name?”

“S-Serenity.”

It was silent for a long time.  I concentrated on keeping my breaths even.  In, out.  In, out.  If I concentrated on much more than that I was going to fall apart completely.  I couldn’t have a meltdown.  There was a bag over my head.  I'd probably drown in my tears.

I could hear the others breathing around me, could feel their anxiety growing as the ride continued on.  Where were we going?  Why was it taking us so long to get there?  How could this man put bags over our heads and keep us in a car for so long?  We needed air. 

However, I had more pressing questions than the bags over our heads.  Was this man working alone?  Were me and the others the only victims of this screwed up criminal?  Or were there more vans, filled with more people, driven by other screwed up criminals?  How many captives were there?  How many people were going to die tonight?

I wanted to ask these questions to Coden and Rosalie, but I knew they wouldn’t have the answers.  All we could do was speculate.  And I didn’t want to frighten Rosalie; the little girl was already scared enough as it was.  As terrified as I was, I knew that Rosalie was even worse off.

The van came to another sudden halt, and I tensed, completely on edge.  I could feel the hairs on my arms begin to rise, and a cold sweat began to form on the back of my neck.  Was this freak picking up another victim?  Or had they finally reached their destination?

I listened hard, waiting for the screams to come.  But they didn’t.  All I could hear was the distant sound of cars driving by.  What was going on?  I squeezed my eyes shut again, praying to God that I would make it through the night.  I didn’t want to die, I didn’t want to….

Cold air rushed into the van as the back doors opened.  “Damn," our captor muttered.  “Dan, they’re still unconscious!”

I chomped down on my cheek again to keep from crying out as footsteps pounded toward the van.  So there was someone else.  This man, whoever he was, was not working alone.  What did they have planned?  The question reeled through my mind like a broken record player.  What did they have planned, what did they have planned, what did they have planned?

And why did it matter if the victims were unconscious or not?

“Sucks for them.”  A man, Dan I supposed, snorted.  “Get them out and inside, would you?  We don’t have all night.”

The man who grabbed me and the others off the street snickered.  “Yeah, right.”

I could feel hysteria rising in my throat as Coden let out a sudden shout.  I could hear him lashing out, cussing at the man who grabbed him.  “Let me go!” Coden screamed.  “Let me go.”

But, in the end, the captor didn’t let him go.  I listened with tears pricking at my eyelids as Coden was carried off, probably inside whatever building they’d been brought to.  I swallowed.  Who would be next to leave?  Me or Rosalie?  And what were their captors going to do with the girls who were unconscious?

I let out a terrified shriek as hands suddenly grabbed ahold of my shoulders and dragged me toward the van’s opening.  I could feel the unconscious girl’s body beneath mine as I was pulled, and I gagged.  How sick did someone have to be in order to be okay with this—to enjoy it even?  How could these people sit there and do this to us?  “Please!” I continued to shriek.  “Please, let me go!”

“Shut up,” the man hissed.  “Or I’ll kill you first.”

My mouth instantly closed, and I could feel tears dribbling down my cheeks.  I struggled to breathe as I was thrown over the man’s shoulders and carried inside as though I was nothing but a pile of rags.  I could feel the air change as the man stepped inside.  It seemed thicker, like even without the bag on my head it would be hard to breathe.

I gulped down a cry as I was slammed into a seat.  My teeth chattered, and the taste of blood entered my mouth.  I whimpered.  The taste of blood made me nauseous. 

“C-Coden?” I called.  There was a need deep inside me to know that I wasn’t alone, that there was someone with me in this newfound hell.  If I was forced to go through this alone, I'd probably die of fright.  The captors wouldn’t even have to touch me.  That was what terrified me the most.  That I would die alone with absolutely no one to save me.  “A-are you there?”

“Yeah,” Coden replied.  His voice sounded distant.  How large of a room where they in?  “There are others here, too.”

In total, there were seven others.  And, as time passed, others came.  Rosalie arrived soon after I did, her cries and whimpers more recognizable than anything I had ever heard before.  The captor swore at Rosalie before he threw her into the seat next to mine.  Rosalie let out one more cry before she fell silent, just like the rest.

My entire body went rigid as a deafening sound erupted around us.  It was the sound of a garage door closing, except louder and more piercing.  I swallowed.  Were we in a garage?  I doubted it.  There were too many people here to fit in such a small space.  But where else would a door shut like that?

“Did we get enough?” one of the captors asked as the metallic grinding came to an end.

“Yeah.”

“You sure?”

“Count them up yourself.”

I froze.  There were three voices.  Three.  Two men, one woman.  The panic was bubbling within me again, and all I wanted to do was sob.  It had been awful enough with one captor, but three?  We  were doomed.

“The twenty seats are filled,” the woman said.  “Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

The two men agreed, and then the woman was off, giving us all a speech as though she was a principal standing in front of her students.  “Dan is coming around to untie your hands,” she drawled.  “Once your hands are untied, remove the bags from your heads.  Stay silent.  No talking to anyone.  If you speak, you will be shot.”

I could distinctly hear the sound of ruffling, as though bags were being taken off of heads.

“My name is Samantha,” the woman continued.  “And we brought you here to play a game.”

My eyebrows drew together.  I hated the way Samantha said “game” as though she actually thought this was a game.  She fed off this.  The terror of others, the way everyone begged for their captors to let them go.  She was enjoying herself.  They all were.

And then suddenly hands were on my wrists, and my thoughts of my captors and their sick enjoyment fell away.  Dan tugged my bonds free; the way pulled them off hurt, and I had to fight back a pain-filled scream.  I rubbed my wrists for a moment before pulling the bag off my head, taking a deep breath.  I had to blink multiple times before anything actually became visible.

My eyes flicked around.  To my right was a metal, garage-like door that glinted in the darkness, mocking me.  There was the way out, right in front of me, but I had no way to use that exit.  No one here would be able to lift it.  I had no doubt that they either used some special technology or locked it from the outside.  Either way, I knew better than to hope to escape through there.

My eyes moved away from the metal door and back to the room around me.  There was a high ceiling, and every bit of the floor and walls were covered in dirt.  There was no furniture except for the circle of chairs, each holding a teenager.  I brought a hand to my mouth as I stared at everyone.  There were boys and girls of varying ages, most with petrified expressions on their faces.  My eyes darted to the right, and for the first time I saw Rosalie.  She looked even younger than she sounded, with long, blond locks of hair.  She was extremely pale, though I couldn’t tell if that was how she normally looked or if it was from fright.  Rosalie’s brown eyes were wide as they stared at me, a silent plea for me to get her out of there. 

If only I knew how.

“What is that game?” Samantha drew out.  “It’s a game of man hunt.”

My gaze shot away from the terrified teenagers and back to our captor.  She looked so normal, I couldn’t help but notice.  Usually criminals were creepy-looking, weren’t they?  So why was Samantha a beautiful woman with straight black hair, a pretty face, and hazel eyes?  Why did she seem like a normal person who I could see any day and not feel alarmed?

How could someone so normal-looking be capable of something so…demented?

The rules of the game are simple,” Samantha continued.  “Get to the safe-zone, and you win.  Get caught?”  She smiled coolly, and I instantly saw the villain in her.  “You die.”

I stared at her, uncomprehending.  What did she say?  We were here to play a game of man hunt and if we got caught we died?  I felt a shiver go up my spine.  This was so sick.  And, as my eyes travelled to the kids around me, I could see that they felt the same way.  My fear reflected in their eyes; my disgust was just as apparent on their own faces.

What the hell was wrong with these people?

Dan and Al stepped forward, joining Samantha in the middle of the circle.  “This is Dan, and this is Al,” Samantha introduced, gesturing to each of them as she did. 

Dan resembled a normal person, too, like someone who worked overtime at an office.  He kind of reminded me of my father with his small beard and his worn-out clothing that said he couldn’t be bothered to buy new ones because that took too much time.  Al, on the other hand, was as spine-chilling as the serial killers on TV.  My breath caught at the sight of him.  He was overweight, had the starting of a beard, and resembled something of a crazed scientist.  He didn’t take care of himself.  At all.

Samantha spun around slowly, her eyes locking on each and everyone one of her captives.  I knew that Samantha wanted us to know that she saw us, that she knew we were there.  She wanted us to know that she was going to take us out one by one.  Until there were none.  “The safe-zone will be the door.  And no, you little fools, it will not be the metal door right next to you.  Don’t even try opening it.  It’s locked from the outside, and unless you have superhuman strength, you will not be able to open it yourselves.”  She grinned nastily.  “The door that holds your freedom will be extremely hard to find, so good luck finding it.

“When I say go, you will all have one minute to run.  Then we come to find you.”

We  all watched silently as the three captors pulled out their weapons.  Samantha and Al both wielded knives while Dan had a gun in his hands.  It was as though Dan was the only one who cared about ending our lives quickly.

“If you try to run before I say you can, then I’ll have Dan here shoot you,” Samantha said lightly.  “Am I clear?  Nod.”

Simultaneously we all nodded our heads.  I cast a glance in Rosalie’s direction.  I could not let her die.  I looked up, searching for Coden now.  There were about ten boys in the room.  It seemed like the captors wanted to keep things even.  So, as I searched, I struggled to figure out which one he was.  Was he the pale boy in glasses?  I doubted it.  Was he the boy with baggy pants and a hat placed backwards on his head?  I doubted that, too.

After struggling for a few moments to figure out which one was him, I gave up.  I also gave up trying to figure out which two girls were the ones who had been unconscious in the van.  Everyone looked wide awake now.  Wide awake and afraid.

“Now!” Samantha exclaimed cheerfully.  “Is everyone ready?”

We stared, our mouths closed.

Samantha smirked, amused.  I felt rage towards the woman.  How could they be so heartless that they could take twenty teenagers from the street to play such a sick game?  How could they take people like Rosalie, like Coden, like me?  This was so wrong, my mind whispered.  So, so wrong.

“Cheer up,” Samantha cooed.  Her eyes glinted.  “This is going to be so fun.  You’ll see.”

She clapped her hands together before smiling.  I watched her with unease, not wanting to look at her, but unable to look away.  There was something about her that was captivating, that forced me to keep my eyes on her even though it would only kill me in the end.  Was this how all victims felt about their captors?  That they were terrifying, but you couldn’t help but stare?

Samantha nodded toward Dan and Al, signifying that the time for the game had begun.  I tensed, waiting for what was to come.  “On the count of three,” Samantha said, “all of you are to get up and find a hiding spot.  Good luck.”

Wishing us luck?  That seemed even more demented than taking us here in the first place.

“One.”

My eyes went straight toward the entryway, wondering just where I was going to run.  I was obviously going to take Rosalie with me , but I had to make sure we could find a secure place.  I didn’t want to be the first one found.  I didn’t want anyone to be found, but I knew that was an impossible hope.  These three played to kill.

“Two.”

I searched one last time for Coden.  I wished that I was able to recognize him, to put a voice to the face.  But how could I when I'd never laid eyes on him before?

“Three!”

All hell broke loose.  Everyone was up, chairs clattering to the floor as they raced toward the entryway.  I grabbed onto Rosalie’s hand, tugging her toward the entrance, refusing to let go of her, to make her fight this battle on her own.  Rosalie didn’t seem to mind.  She ran with me, freely weeping as her feet pounded against the dirt-covered floor.

And, as we all ran, I could hear Samantha’s laughter wafting through the air.