Disclaimer: This story has reference to graphic violence. Reader’s discretion is required.
All that I can say about the place is that it is neat. No dust, no wares.
Only an old cash register and a couple of phones sit on the table. Not sure what she uses the cash register for since there is nothing to sell. But I’m sure glad to find her—anything is better than walking in the desert with an open wound that still drips blood after several hours.
I wonder why I had assumed I could find my way through the desert alone without the guide. I shouldn’t have killed him until I reached my new hideout. But he had somehow realised who I was and I acted on instinct, which was to kill—I was already wanted for 17 murders; one more wouldn’t change anything…
Or so I had thought…
I slit his throat with the penknife at the same moment as he stabbed me with a screwdriver in the side. At least, he died quickly. I, on the other hand, have been in agony ever since—as if he is still twisting that damned screwdriver inside even after the hours I have spent blundering around in the desert. I’m sure I had a phone when I started the journey, I can’t find it anymore. It probably slipped out of my pocket when I fell on the way, several times. I can’t think who to call for help and where to call them anyway, for I have no idea where I am now.
The pain is driving me mad and I would welcome death if it would bring relief. But death seems to be avoiding me for some reason, drawing out the torment. My money bag feels like it weighs a ton—I can barely move my feet. I feel like taking it off my back, yet for some reason, I cling to it like a lifeline.
When I finally found this office in the middle of nowhere, I was too relieved to care about the consequences of entering a building. My wound isn’t conspicuous and anyone helping me would certainly enquire. Thankfully, with more than a million dollars tucked in, I had enough hard cash to bribe my way out of any situation. I just hope they aren’t too honest to bribe, or too corrupt to kill me while I sleep.
This office doesn’t bear any sign, nor can I see any stuff to sell. Honestly, I don’t even see the point of having an office in the middle of nowhere anyway; I haven’t seen a single soul on my way in the past five hours. So, who would drive all the way through this hot-as-hell desert to reach this office?
I stand at the door indecisive as the old hag manning the register eyes me with open curiosity. For her sake, I hope she would help me without causing a trouble. “I need a doctor,” I whisper. My mouth feels like a sandpaper and my voice comes out raspy and breathless—I could kill for some water. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.
“I’m sorry but we don’t have that facility here.”
Her drawling voice sets my teeth on edge. I don’t have forever. Her eyes have a dreamy look with no care in the world, which is weird. With the blood on my clothes, I had hoped she would be scared. That way, she’d do my bidding. But, you can’t have everything, I guess.
So, I ask again, “I need a doctor. Call one. Tell him I need stitches and antiseptic. I’ll pay double…triple, if needed.” I add urgency to my voice but it is a struggle, considering the crippling pain.
“You are a little too late for that, darling,” she drawls again.
The pain is maddening and I think of pulling out the penknife again, but she is no use to me dead, “Well, that’s for a doctor to decide!”
“Do you know what this office is for?”
“I don’t care.”
“Oh! I would, if I were you!” Her voice has a menacing edge now and the crazy glint in her eyes gives me goosebumps, which is stupid. I have murdered 18 people with a flick of my wrist…
Why isn’t she scared of me? Is she with the police? No, she is not here to arrest me. Her eyes are cruel…and calculated…and excited at my pain…Is she one of sadistic serial murderers who kill for just the thrill? Just my luck to come across one at my weakest moment!
Should I try bolting? Just the thought of moving my legs any further has me on my knees as the pain seers through my gut again. Then, I am lying on the floor, writhing in agony. The weight of my money bag is pulling at my shoulders and crushing me underneath…
It feels like it is filled with stones instead of banknotes.
I close my eyes wishing for blissful oblivion but no help there. I hear her voice clearly, “Well, darling, since you walked in from the Exit door rather than the Entry on the far wall,” she waved towards the open door on the opposite wall, “I guess, you don’t know yet…”
I wish for death to relieve me. I would beg this woman to kill me now if she wasn’t leering at me like a trapped rat. She probably likes long, drawn-out deaths like mine. I wonder how many dead bodies she has buried in the desert sand.
She smiles at me like she is doing me a favour and calmly continues. “They probably brought you in via a shortcut and dumped you directly. These kids now-a-days have no patience for formalities,” she shakes her head indulgently. “I have told them so many times, they must follow the procedure. Explain to the people where they are going and what to expect but…”
I want to shout at her to kill me now. I don’t care who “they” are. Nobody brought me here. I am not interested in chit-chat. I just want to die so the pain would stop.
But she continues, still smiling cruelly. “Well, you see, this is the receiving office of Hell. You have already been here for at least several hours, as you will continue till eternity!”
Author’s note: This story has been sitting in my WP account for three years. Since blood and gore isn’t my favourite theme, I couldn’t find a place for it in my book. I opened my drafts yesterday and there it sat at the bottom, looking at me with accusing eyes. So, finally I decided to unleash it on the world! :D
Photo by Jakob Owens on Unsplash
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