“Someone is going to die,” the masked intruder didn’t falter. The berretta didn’t budge an inch. “I don’t care which one.”
Tim closed his eyes, hoping. Bob deserved to die for what he’d done. Not only to his family, but to the dozens – probably hundreds – of other families he’d scammed. He couldn’t take his eyes off the coward, shaking against the ropes tying him into the chair. Bob started begging for his life incoherently, and Tim scoffed, sure it was all just an act. He could almost see the blood oozing from Bob’s rotting corpse after it happened. He couldn’t wait!
“Enough!” the intruder stood up, waving the gun between the two of them before he set it on the table and picked up a quarter. “Call it,” he said to Tim as he tossed it in the air. Tim choked on his response.
“Heads.”
The intruder caught it, looked and shook his head. “Bob. You first. Tell me a story. Entertain me. If your story is better then I kill him. Otherwise I kill you. Got it?” Bob nodded frantically, his eyes focusing on everything in the room. The intruder shouted, jogging him out of his incoherent trance. “Start. Now!”
Bob started his story, bumbling at first, stuttering through the nervousness, but soon he was on a roll. That damn salesman mentality was really working for him. Tim even suppressed a grin at one point and cursed himself for it. How the hell would he be able to win if he himself was amused by the tale? The story ended and the intruder nodded, apparently satisfied. “Much better, Bob.”
Tim’s eyes shot open. Did this mean Bob had been here in this situation before? Did they know each other? Was this some sort of prank or another setup? As he tried to process the myriad thoughts that plagued him the intruder just watched him. Bob seemed to become more and more terrified as he watched Tim’s growing confusion. The intruder picked up the gun, sauntered to Tim and bent over him. “All you need to know is that this is real. Someone is going to die.” He began pacing. “Who is it going to be: you or him? Simple. Right?”
Tim nodded absentmindedly, trying to believe this was really happening. His mind was racing in a thousand different directions. Thoughts of escape, of his family, and of what clever things he could say that would result in that piece of shit dying and gasping on the floor in front of him.
“I’m waiting.” The intruder brought Tim out of his own trance, and he knew it was show time. He took a deep breath having already thought of a decent beginning. In the back of his mind he didn’t really think his story was better than Bob’s. He wasn’t the creative type. But he could tell stories and jokes, and thought he might be able to tell it better. Maybe that’s what would matter.
But before he started to talk, he knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself. “Once upon a time, there was a little boy who went to the story to buy some bread. He bought it and went home. The End.” Tim looked up defiantly at the intruder who shook his head.
All of a sudden he planted the gun on Bob’s forehead and pulled the trigger. The force shot blood all over the wall and Bob’s body fell into a heap backward onto the chair, quivering. Tim couldn’t look away.
“You’re not playing right, Tim! I’ll be back and we’ll try this again.”
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