Fifteen

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When Jeremy Wilson woke up, he tried to inhale a deep breath but couldn't. For a second he felt like he was drowning or smothered by a plastic bag, but air began to seep in through his nose. He realized after twitching his mouth that it was covered by a strip of duct tape. Tears, mucus and blood had streamed down his face, clogging every breath like a backed up drain. His hands were bound by zip ties and so too were his feet. He couldn't see anything – no light, no shapes – all was black. Something deep inside of him quickly realized that he wasn't going to make it out alive.

Do people feel pain when they are dead?

The pain from his head wound was his only reminder of life. He had been knocked out and when he awoke, his eyes opened but he remained in darkness. He knew it wouldn't matter but he tried to speak from under the duct tape. Somebody Help Me... was what he tried to say, but it only came out in smothered vowels.

He was cold and although he couldn't see his feet he could feel the rough hardwood floor against his heels. He didn't have shoes on – his toes were rigid and slow to move.

Then he heard a step and a creak. And then another and another, approaching him slowly. He could almost make out a black shape morphing in the dark. And then it stood still. The footsteps stopped.

Jeremy's breaths intensified, he was huffing and puffing, as he knew what was to come. Then a hissing voice broke the darkness.

"It's much better to do good in a way that no one knows anything about it." Jeremy recognized the quote immediately. It was Tolstoy – Anna Karenina. And then he thought about what it meant and what was to come. Who are you? He tried again to speak but it was no use. Then he heard the sound of sliding metal, like a knife being pulled from its sheath.

Another footstep sounded in the dark, a creak and then the shadow descended on him.

The knife cut – his skin split and pain and blood followed. All that was left for the darkness was Jeremy Wilson's muffled screams.

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