CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Why are you doing this?" croaked the young man. He stared into the blackness, hoping to catch a glimpse of his captor, but it was just too dark. "I've done nothing to you. My parents don't have money for ransom. Why are you doing this to me?"

"Sshhh," said the person on the other side of the room.

"Please, please, if I've done or said something to you, I'm sorry. Please just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I swear," he pleaded.

For a moment, he thought perhaps his captor was thinking about it. Instead, all he heard was the scraping of a chair being pulled along the floor. A door opened and closed, but he saw nothing but blackness. He could hear the sounds of crickets and a barn owl nearby. Maybe they were in an abandoned house.

He pulled on his restraints but knew there was no getting loose. From what he could feel, he was in handcuffs, his arms wrapped around a metal pole. His feet were free, but that did him little good considering his hands.

Staring at the space where he thought the door was, he prayed for just a little light in order to see his surroundings better. He'd been walking home from class, ready to drop his books off at his apartment and head back out to work.

He remembered waving at a few people as they passed him, a few people in his classes, a few who lived in his apartment compound. He walked into his apartment, and that was the last thing he remembered. It had been daylight, maybe just two or three in the afternoon. His last class ended at one, so it couldn't have been later than that. Now, it was dark.

"Hello?" he called. He thought he heard something outside the door, then just shook his head. "Hello? Please come back and talk to me."

A good student, hard worker, good son, and good friend, he couldn't for the life of him think of why someone would want to kidnap him. He heard the sounds of someone placing something in front of the door. What was the point? He couldn't get away anyway. Then he heard a splash.

"What is that?" he whispered to himself. That's when the smell hit him. Kerosene. "No."

"Hey! Hey! Please don't do this! Please, I'm begging you, don't do this!" His worst fear was coming to life. The fear of dying in a fire. He'd been so obsessed with the thought he placed five additional smoke detectors in his apartment, refused to operate a fireplace in his home, and never went anywhere without a fire extinguisher in his car.

Between the cracks of the old wooden door, he could see sparks, then flames licking the sky.

"God, no," he whispered, coughing on the smoke and fumes. "Please! Please, I'm begging you!"

It was too late. Whoever had started the fire was gone or too far away to hear his cries, hear his pleas. In his head, the only thing he could think was that he was grateful he would die of smoke inhalation before he felt the flames.

As the abandoned cabin began to burn, a lone figure watched from a safe distance, hearing the screams and cries of the victim inside. When the walls collapsed inward, and sparks flew into the sky, the sounds of fire trucks could be heard in the distance.

Taking one last look, the figure turned and walked away.