Endgame
       Chapter 9
 

"Danny," Michelle whispered, barely audible, to the solid shadow before her.

Michelle caught the gleam from his teeth as he smiled saying, "Either I should be very flattered or very worried...for you."

The voice was so like her husband’s, yet varied by the strength of Spanish accent. She knew... this was not Danny. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted but no sound emerged. Panicked, she tried to back away from this unknown, but her legs buckled. She began to fall backwards into darkness, and yet, before this could even register, he had grabbed her arm, steadying her,

"Do you really want to go back down there?"

Stunned into silence by this face, the glint of his eyes, she could only manage to shake her head.

"I thought not. Come, then," the stranger said as he gently took her hand, leading her to above. "I suppose now is just as good of a time as any."

"Wh... what about Mick," she asked apprehensively, turning to look down the stairwell, its end hidden in darkness.

The man stopped. Turning to face Michelle, studying her, he questioned incredulously,

"Should you even care?" Wonder and alarm laid undisguised upon his face.

"He may still be alive. We can’t just leave him..." she lost her conviction, unbelieving that the words were coming from her mouth... but to be able to undo his murder, to be free of that unyielding burden. She had thought the guilt of taking a life was hers to forever bear. Everyday, she relived that moment when she took away from her husband his only brother. Self-defense or not, Danny’s forgiveness or not - the knowledge was still there, yanking at her heart. Everyday. Yet, here existed the potential for altering history. Fresh tears began to fill her eyes.

A flash of sadness crossed the man’s face before it became stone, "He’s too useful to me for now, Miche-

Before he could finish, he saw Mick’s bloodied face emerge from beneath, teeth bared, eyes raging as he vised his hands around Michelle’s leg.

Michelle shrieked as she lost her balance. Her captor had released his hand from hers, and she could see him no more. She fell onto her hands and stomach, her breath unreturning as the cold concrete stairs crushed into her. She could feel Mick’s hands using her as rope, climbing, reaching her thigh. She was kicking with her free leg, using her arms to push up until she could feel the weight of Mick’s torso atop both her legs. Together, they were painfully sliding, more with eachone’s struggle.

Then came the brutal sound of shoe finding flesh and bone, a groan... and then release.

"Dammit, Mickos, how many times do you have to die," exclaimed the captor turned savior, frustrated but half-amused, as he delivered Mick a final blow causing the wounded animal to vanish into the black of below. The figure now approached Michelle with his arm extended.

I cannot take much more, God, I cannot, she thought as tremors relentlessly waved through her muscles.

"I am so sorry, Michelle... but he is a necessary evil," this unknown said to her matter-of-factly, indeed, with all too little sympathy. He lifted her easily, drawing her to him by the waist, and side-by-side, they ascended to the light.

As they stepped onto hardwood floor, the stranger let go of her, turned, closed and locked the door behind them. Michelle, blinded by the sunlight, collapsed to the floor, covering her eyes with her hands. A quiet moan of discomfort escaped.

"You will be fine in a minute or two," he said, placing his hand upon her head, quickly withdrawing it at her flinch.

And so there was silence as she waited, as he waited.

Finally, Michelle looked up to focus on a face comfortingly different, frighteningly familiar.

"So, how many lives is that for Mick, seven, eight," he initiated. "I bet you are hoping for number nine, no?" His mouth spread into a smile, the most gorgeous smile she had ever seen. It belonged to her husband.

She closed her eyes,

inhaling,

exhaling,

...all that she could do.

As her eyes slowly reappeared, he continued, "Why should that animal be given so many lives, and you apparently so little? Do you think you have more than he, Michelle," her captor questioned, challenged her.

Her trembling ceased as she lifted her head to lock eyes with this aged Danny.

"Yes," she enunciated coldly, resolutely, making sure he was first to turn away. And he was. The perplexed expression upon his face quickly vanished, and he began to laugh as only her husband could. She wanted to cover her ears but instead came to her feet, tears falling,

"Stop it! Why are you laughing," she cried out. "Has it been so hilarious to have me waste away down there? To have me lose my mind, piece by piece, minute by minute; to leave me at the mercy of that monster!"

With that, his face hardened as he replied, "I would have killed him first, Michelle."

"STOP SAYING MY NAME!" She was not going to hear her name spoken like that from anyone but Danny. It was too horribly cruel to hear something so akin to her husband’s voice emanating from this stranger.

But then, what he said before her name processed, "You mean you’ve been watching this whole time. You knew, you let Mick taunt, scare me, everyday .... You... you let him nearly kill me that first night," she screamed, wiping away the angry tears that coursed down her pale cheeks.

"Now, now, Miche-, my dear, Dietz was there, no? And did it ever happen again? I admit I underestimated Mick and his desire to take you, but as far as the rest is concerned... you know, you are not exactly the passive, submissive type. I had to have some means of keeping you controlled."

Shaking her head, disbelief and desperation quieting her voice, "How do you know me? Why... why have you done this? Are you some enemy of Danny’s? Is that what this is about? Who are you?"

Advancing towards her, he replied, "My dear, you know better than to ask a question for which you already know the answer." His eyes searched hers.

Michelle witnessed the gait of her husband coming towards her.

It could not be. It could not be. It could not be.

"He’s dead. He’s dead. You’re dead! Danny told me his father was killed when he was 14," she shouted, turning her head side to side to avoid staring into the truth.

"That cruel imbecile was never Danny’s father, never," this nightmare hissed into her ear.

"What? I don’t understand. Who are y-" Fright choked her to silence as he caught her by the shoulders, bending to connect to her wide-eyed stare. Collecting himself, his lips spread into a grin.

"I am that imbecile’s infinitely smarter, younger brother. I, not he, I am Daniel’s father."

And in some python embrace he pulled Michelle to him, bracing the back of her head with his hand, his arm parallel with her spine, trapping her. And into her ear came, "My name, my dear, is Dante Santos."