Down, They Go

Ashley. The tallest of the two men—if that's what I could call them—kept pacing back and forth as if he was waiting for someone. I sat back on the sofa, lifting my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around myself as I turned my gaze toward the other man. He had taken up a spot on the floor, resting his back against a wall and had a cell phone pressed to his ear, complaining to whoever was on the other line to hurry up. Hurry up for what? What exactly was it they planned to do with me? What I did catch up on was that they had intentionally followed the delivery man over here, intending to lure in Ryder. I refused to glance toward the door, where the beheaded body laid limply with blood hardening against the linoleum flooring. When I trained in college for my degree I had encountered a body or two in class, dead, but intact nonetheless. Nothing, including medical training with a dead, donated body prepared you for a violently decapitated body. I returned my attention back onto the pa