"You know, they made these illegal years ago?"

The voice sounds familiar. So does that clicking sound.

"So how you got your hands on one must be a story to tell."

My head hurts and my neck is sore. My eyes open and my blurry vision can make out what seems to be the ground. I also feel that I'm in a sitting position, and my arms and legs are tied together with rope. My rope.

"You have to be careful with these or you can seriously hurt someone."

I lift my head, wincing, and my vision adjusts to see I'm in Brendon's bedroom. He's sitting on his bed, fiddling with my butterfly knife.

"Or kill them." He smirks.

I say nothing, just watch him do various tricks with it.

"This is a turnout, isn't it Sam?" He stops and makes eye contact with me for the first time. "Talk about irony, huh?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say monotone.

"Really? Okay, let's start with how you acquired this then."

I give him a hard glare.

"Oh, come on. You want to kill me but that's never gonna happen. Since we're just talking anyway..."

"I stole it."

"From where?"

"A black market. Six years ago."

"Six years?" He examines the blade incredulously. "And it's in this condition? Hmm."

I guess that's a compliment.

"Although, I guess you'd have to maintain it this way if all you do is make murder scenes resemble suicides."

I narrow my brows. "How do you know about that?"

"I mean, that's what you did with the 9 people you've killed before, isn't it? It all makes sense."

"You don't know that was me. No one does except -"

He reaches behind him and pulls out a journal. My journal. My mouth falls ajar. "Let's see what we have here." He flips through the pages. " 'Noah... Sarah... Frank... Hayley... Gerard... Tyler... Josh... Lindsey... Mikey...' oh, here I am. 'FaceBook rarely used... Single... Total nobody.' Hmm." He closes it and makes eye contact with me again. "Well that's 100% true, but now you see why I'm nobody, don't you?"

"So, what? You're gonna slit my wrists and make it look like a suicide?"

Brendon laughs darkly and stands. "No. This is too slow." He throws my knife on the bed and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a revolver and aiming it at me.

I roll my eyes. "How typical."

"Typical? It's a lot quicker and there's less to clean up." He comes closer. "You don't look very scared."

"You're not very frightening."

"No. It's something else." He crouches down so he's eye level with me and puts the barrel against my temple, his finger on the trigger. "Do you not fear death?"

That's a good question. I recall times where I'd completely submerge myself in the bathtub and refuse to come up until I was on the verge of passing out just for fun. I also have no problem taking the blade to my skin for testing purposes, so bleeding out would be okay too. I don't care how I die, as long as it's not in a small space - like being buried alive in a coffin or something. "I guess not."

"Aww. That sucks. It's fun when they're scared. Then they beg."

"Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not one for begging."

"I can tell."

"Could you?"

He smirks and stands. "Yes. The same way I could tell that you broke free of your bonds seconds ago."

I swallow.

"So you're just gonna sit there or..."

He's right. I sigh as I pull the ropes over my head and rise from the chair. "Let me guess, I get killed now?"

"Kill you? No, don't be obvious. I mean I am gonna kill you eventually. But for now..." His eyes narrow. "... let's see if death really doesn't scare you."

Brendon sits across from me in the kitchen, removing all the bullets from his revolver except one, then spins the chamber and shuts it, placing the weapon on the table. "Ready to play?" He smirks.

"This is your idea of deciding? A game of Russian Roulette?"

"Scared?"

"Concerned."

"Why?"

Because he thinks like me. He likes the concept of risks. We're similar yet different at the same time. "No reason. Who's first?"

There's that infamous smirk again. "The game itself is built on chance. So why not start it that way too?" He takes out a quarter from his pocket and spins it on the table. "Heads or tails?"

I'm intrigued by his thought process. "Heads." The coin slows down, landing on tails.

Brendon shrugs. "Guess I'm first then." As if he's answering a phone call, Brendon steadily takes the gun and puts it to his temple, pulling the trigger. It clicks. He hands it to me and I take it, repeating the action. It clicks again. Brendon does it again with the same outcome. The same thing happens to me. Another click for Brendon. Shit.

"Well, then." I sigh, taking it, putting it against my temple. It feels weird holding something that's going to kill you. Even weirder is killing yourself in front of someone who wants to do it themselves. I guess I am gonna get my tenth kill... myself. My finger rests on the trigger, squeezing it more, and more, and more until... BANG!

"Ouch," I mumble. It feels like someone threw a brick at my head. "Blank bullets?"

"I wanted to see if you feared death. Killing you here and now would be too easy. I'd rather do it when you least expect it."

"I'll be surprised. Not scared."

"Hmm. So what are you scared of?"

My mind flashes images of the time Billie shoved me into the closet and it felt like the walls in that dark place were closing in on me. I wouldn't stop screaming and my chest was hurting. He left me there for 4 hours.

"Nothing," I say.

Brendon scoffs and gets up. "Yeah, right."

I follow him to the front door where he hands me my backpack and my knife. "One question: If you want me dead, why save me, twice?"

He chuckles. "You already know the answer to that, Sam. How would you feel if your target was obliterated and you weren't the cause of it?"

"Fair point." This guy isn't just strategic, he's intelligent. "So, you're gonna give me a head start. An hour? Two?"

"Well, I'm a pretty nice guy. I'll give you a day."

My eyes narrow.

"I'm also a man of my word."

I don't know why I trust him, but I do.

"And it's only fair that you give me the same amount of time."

"Okay."

"I mean it."

"You don't believe me?"

"I do. I just want to emphasize it. Though, I now realize you have no way of coming so far."

"Hmm. When does this head start begin?"

"Five minutes ago. When I said it."

Honest to a fault. Manipulative too.

"I suggest you get home. Savor the remaining hours you have."

"Likewise." I adjust my backpack and leave.

"Try not to get killed before then!" he yells

"No promises," I mumble.

It's a fucking shell game now. I think as I sit on my bed practicing my knife tricks. Kill or be killed. Only one of us will get out of this alive and it's going to be me.

Just the thought of him breaking into my house and looking for me, then me coming up behind him and stabbing him to death makes me excited. Wow. That'd be my first kill where I wouldn't have to manipulate the scene because then I could say it was self-defense. This makes me smile. Brendon will be here in a little over 16 hours. It'll be like the Hunger Games. What I find interesting is that he thinks he'll be able to win just because he's killed more people than I have. So what? I'm younger, not inexperienced. That'll make my victory even more of a surprise. I smirk.