My Stockholm Syndrome. Бекки Чейз
it, picking up and raising his rifle:
′′You'll pay for that!
Suddenly frightened, I flinched backwards. I'd run out of time.
′′Don't touch her!′′ Lesha suddenly jumped out from behind a tree and threw himself right at the cowboy.
No! Why the heroics?!? Stu shot his gun in surprise. It looked as if Lesha had hit an invisible barrier: he froze and collapsed onto the ground right in front of me with a blur of red spreading on his chest. The boy blinked a couple of times, and then his body went limp. Tears welled up in my eyes, but I crawled to him and took his hand.
′′Why?′′ I sobbed as I wrapped my arms around the boy's slumped body. ′′You fool…′′
Why, having made the promise, did he have to keep it? Damn exuberance of youth, and recklessness. The teenager turned out to be braver than the adults around me.
′′Now it's your turn, bitch,′′ the cowboy wheezed. The rifle was shaking in his hands, making it hard to aim.
′′The second murder of the day,′′ Jason reminded him indifferently.
′′I don't give a shit if it's the tenth!′′ Stu went into a rage, rubbing his bitten hand. ′′You think I give a shit about your fucking rules? If I want to, I'll shut your fucking shop down.′′
′′You heard me.′′
′′I heard you. Now you listen to me, motherfucker,′′ the cowboy grimaced again. ′′I put my first target down before you could even say the word ′bullet′! Or you think just because you've been put in charge, you can dictate your terms to me? Shove it up your ass! I'll shoot that girl, and if you try to stop me, I'll shoot you too!′′ He raised his rifle, pointing it at Jason. ′′And don't you try to scare me with the rules. I'm entitled to a bit of compensation, after all, the bitch bit me.′′
Taking the gamekeeper's indifferent gaze as tacit consent, Stu turned towards me. I was still on my knees, holding Lesha's hand, brave Lesha who had died for me. I squirmed instinctively and when the shot rang out, I flinched, but I felt no pain. Instead, I heard Stu's desperate screaming. I opened my eyes in surprise: the cowboy had dropped his rifle and was crouching on the ground, holding on to his wounded hip. His hat had flung off his head. Without it, he looked ordinary and unremarkable.
′′As a warning,′′ Jason explained, not lowering his gun. ′′But if that's not enough, I'll put you down.′′
′′You don't have the guts!′′ Stu hissed, grabbing his rifle. ′′I'm the client, and you wouldn't dare! But I can afford to take you out!′′
The cowboy's hands were shaking. Jason waited for him to take aim, then fired again. The bullet entered Stu's eye through the rifle's telescopic sight. The cowboy's body collapsed to the ground. Unclasping my fingers and letting go of Lesha's hand, I began to crawl back. A hunter had just been killed right before my eyes. Realizing that I wouldn't be allowed to live much longer, I continued crawling until my back was against a tree trunk.
Ignoring my attempt to escape, Jason stepped over the cowboy's body, stopped right in front of me and stared up at the camera above our heads. Jason stared into it, not saying a word, until the red blinking light went out, and then he turned his gaze to me. The gun touched my forehead. I squeezed my eyes shut. As bad luck would have it, no prayers came to mind and I kept repeating to myself: it's over. This is the end now. And as I was mentally saying goodbye to life, I heard Jason's low voice:
′′Get up.′′
Chapter 4
I opened my eyes in surprise to find that the gamekeeper wasn't going to kill me. Not yet, anyway. I lifted myself from the ground and met his colorless eyes again, and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to stop trembling.
′′I'm not going to repeat myself twice,′′ Jason warned me as he tucked his gun behind his belt. ′′Drag this lard-ass over to that birch tree there.′′
Pointing out the direction, he picked up Stu's rifle and hat and began walking. Grabbing cowboy by the legs, I slowly crossed the clearing dragging him along. The jacket on the corpse was baggy and slowed me down, clinging to tree roots and branches lying on the ground. I was exhausted by the time I dragged Stu to the right place. Jason had cleared an area of about two square meters under the birch. The dry branches he'd moved aside had previously covered a small latch sticking out of the ground. Pulling on it and, it seemed to me, twisting a piece of turf out of the way, Jason swung open the leaf-covered hatch. Beneath there was a shallow bunker, like a shipping container buried in the ground.
′′Throw him in there,′′ he ordered.
I pushed Stu's body down.
′′Now get in there yourself.′′
′′What?′′
′′You have five seconds to decide if you're going in there alive or with a bullet in your head.′′
He didn't even reach for his gun. On shaky legs, I climbed down into the metal coffin and laid down. Jason unloaded the rifle and threw it on the corpse together with the hat.
′′If you make a sound, you're dead,′′ he promised me and closed the hatch.
In the darkness, I could hear him covering the bunker entrance with branches again. Then the sounds faded away. Breathing heavily, I tried to count to a hundred but lost track and went to tens. It didn't make me feel any better. I wasn't claustrophobic, but lying in total darkness next to a dead body was very unnerving. I could almost feel the walls beginning to shift and take in the air. At times it seemed to me that Stu was still alive and about to grab his rifle. The minutes of pressing silence dragged on and I felt like I was ceasing to exist, shrinking under the strain of waiting.
Only once did I hear footsteps over my head. My hope of getting out into the light stirred, but I shrank inwardly as I heard the voice of their owner. If that person found me, a resurrected cowboy would seem like a gift from heaven.
′′Did you hear?′′ The unsuspecting Outcast sniggered. ′′Stu was disqualified for shooting both the kid and the slut.′′
′′So why didn't he pay the fine?′′ His companion wondered. ′′He wanted to finish with the blonde.′′
′′Apparently, she wasn't good enough to lose money over,′′ Outcast laughed. ′′That's why he left.′′
I didn't recognize the second voice.
The gamekeepers had left and I was digesting what I'd heard. Jason told everyone I'd been killed by the cowboy. Officially, I was dead. He could have eliminated me as an unwanted witness more than once… so why didn't he? I didn't delude myself into believing he was in love with me. My future seemed bleak, considering who my life depended on. Then again, it wasn't a sure thing that he hadn't already gotten rid of me by burying me alive in the middle of the woods. As I brooded over this, the branches above my head rustled and the hatch lifted. Seeing Jason's silhouette against the darkening sky, I sat up. Wondering whether or not I could come out, I heard the first order:
′′Take his clothes off.′′
Overcoming my squeamishness, I took the cowboy's boots off. The clothes were a bit of a pain to take off; Stu hadn't been very physically active even when he was alive. Hearing the tear of fabric I pulled the jacket off him, barely able to move the body, and ripped the sleeves off his shirt while pulling it off. I stuffed the scraps into a backpack I'd been handed down, and then collapsed tiredly on the cold floor. Jason watched me in silence. After taking a breath, I stood up again, kicking the cowboy's fat body and shoving my knees under him, and finished with the jeans.
′′Now cut them off,′′ Jason threw me something looking like a cross between a pair of pruning shears and a pair of scissors.
′′What?′′ I almost dropped them.
′′Cut off his fingers.′′
God, I think I'm going to be sick.
′′The