He was having a business meeting, except it wasn’t exactly a business meeting. It was in the basement of the house.[2] She couldn’t exactly waltz into the basement and ask what was happening, so she leaned through the doorway, catching an illuminated body. The hanging lamp swung back and forth, but she saw enough.
He was tied to a chair, like she was now. But she saw a glistening red liquid on the ground. He bled across the unfinished basement floor. She heard voices, but she couldn’t make out the conversation. There were words exchanged, but she heard the man screaming. She saw Pepin’s form lean over him, drinking the fresh blood, not the mess on the floor.
That only made the man scream more. He asked what kind of monster Pepin was, and Angie found herself wondered too. What kind of man could be so kind to her and so violent and horrific to others? She worried, wondering when she’d see that side of him directed at her. He begged Pepin he’d tell him everything he knew, but even Angie knew it was too late. He’d already seen Pepin for what he was, and that meant he couldn’t live any longer.
It wasn’t the only thing she witnesses. Whenever she found herself falling too hard for Pepin, she’d linger at the top of the stairs, reminding herself of his nature, his temper, his violence. She wondered if Pepin knew she stood there, watching. She wondered if he showed her on purpose, as if it was something he thought she needed to see, if he was something she was willing to love.
And each time it mattered less and less to her. She stopped focussing on the victim and started focussing on his triumph. The way the light illuminated his scarred face, his blue eyes, the victim’s blood on his lips.
The basement was finished now. Carpet and bookcases. There was a loveseat down there as well, and Pepin did his business elsewhere.
Angie didn’t like it down there. It was cold, and she wondered what was hiding beneath the carpet, what rotted under the floorboards and in the concrete.
But she had to remember Pepin without that violence, or she would become too emotionally invested in this man – this stranger. Maybe that was his intention. Maybe he wanted her to jump out of her chair and defend him – this stranger.
The man was back looking out the window. Plotting maybe. But here she was, tied to a chair as bait. Anyone Pepin tied to a chair wouldn’t be getting out of it. Unless it was some sort of sex play, then Angie would get out of it eventually. She smiled to herself, but it faded quickly as she considered the contrast. It was not something she wanted to consider.
“Where is he?” the man asked.
The sun completely hid, and the stars began illuminating the holes in blanket of the night sky.
“He only does business at night,” Angie said.
“You know why I picked you?” the man asked quickly, keeping his eyes locked out the window.
Angie shook her head, but realized he couldn’t see it. “No,” she said.
“I knew you were one person he’d collect personally,” the man said. “If I kidnapped someone else, he might just send some drone after me. But you, with you he’d want to see the man’s face directly. He’d want to personally show him why no one kidnaps you.”
Angie didn’t bother mentioning that everyone kidnapped her, but no one really lived to tell the tale. Perhaps that’s why everyone thought she was an easy target everyone overlooked.
There was a crunch on the gravel. Angie could see Pepin’s pale face in the moonlight. The man cocked his gun, and Pepin just stared, as if he only saw Angie through the window.
She wanted to tell him to run, both of them, the man and Pepin. She wanted each of them to forget the other existed. But she didn’t. She stayed staring at Pepin. He looked relived to see her.
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