The Scarred Man

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Heavy footfalls descended the stairs.

Click.

A single light bulb flickered and lit the small cellar. The man with the scar on his left cheek wore tattered khaki slacks and a blue collared shirt. He cautiously stepped forward to the man tied and gagged in the corner, and kneeling stared him straight in the eyes.

“They’re looking everywhere for you,” he said with a slow meticulous precision, “But they’re not going to find you.” His gaze, though direct, looked straight through the gagged man. “You hate me,” it was almost a question. “I know. I hate myself, too.”