JINX

EPISODE 17 (pt.3)

Closing the door behind him, Carlo wastes no time lock it quickly as he takes out the letter that he kept inside his robe for a few seconds. Taking it out, he starts to scan any clues that the messenger might have left, any clue that would lead him to Miguel's whereabouts.

"Sh*t!" He mumbles as he continuously wipes his forehead from the endless drips of sweat. He's nervous, he's scared and he doesn't know where to start.

Should he call for the authorities? Should he not? Will he move on his own? What is the first move he has to take? Does he need to make a plan secretly? Or does he need Lerissa's assistance? These were the question that's starting to disturb his messed-up thoughts. And these thoughts are making everything much worse for him.

Frustration envelopes his system the moment he realizes that he's been wasting time over a blank envelope with a letter in it, no signs of clues or anything that could answer his questions such as 'who is Jinx', he almost wanted to shred it into pieces, finding nothing that could help.

"Argh, stupid mothers*cker!" He utters profanity, throwing the newspaper in hand, causing a light thud to erupt in the vast of silence. He sighs as he places the envelope into the bookshelf, where he can be sure that Lerissa won't be able to find. He knew that what he's doing is a sign of betraying the trust of the woman he loves, but keeping a secret that seems to need knowing for only one person in the room, is what he knows is safe. And for the meantime, this is what he thought best. Thinking of what to do next, one thing came crossing unto his mind.

Rushing into his study desk to grab his phone, he immediately dials Valentine's number, in hopes of him answering the call in a matter of seconds. But to his dismay, it went straight to voicemail. He tries a couple of times and the result is still the same. Before he could even make another call attempt, he flinches at the sound of the door after three consecutive knocks.

"Baby? Why is the door locked? But no matter your reason is, I'm just here to say that breakfast is ready and..." She pauses as Carlo takes a step forward into the door. He stood there a step away, ready to unlock the door.

"And we need to talk."

•••

=back to Miguel=

He was dragged forcefully inside a dark room, with no windows that can be used as a source of light.

"No, please don't!" He shouts as he hurriedly crawls back into the door, hoping that he could make it in time, to not be locked inside a darkened room. Not that he's not used to it, but the horror the darkness of the room brought is getting into his nerves. The coldness of air instantly brushes off into his skin, making him shiver in an instant.

He could hear the locking of the door for a couple of seconds before he could envision them walking away just by the sound produced by their boots. They're already walking away. Frightened, he stood up, clenching his hands in a ball, and banging the door.

"Let me out! Let me out!" He screams on top of his lungs, hoping that they'll change their minds, pity him, go back and unlock the door for him.

But no. They showed him no mercy... And worse is yet to come... Not that he's about to face his punishment in no time. He could feel his eyes getting hot, as tears start to roll down from his eyes. Although tears for him already symbolizes weakness, he tried his best to start the tears from coming out but it was no use. Just when he thought he had moved on from being 'the weak', he didn't. He tried all the ideas he could come up with just to escape, but everything seems to not work according to what he had imagined.

And at that moment, all he could be grateful now is that they had managed to give them clothes and not have played the first game, stripped off naked.

Finally coming into his senses, he wipes his tears off using the back of his palm, sniffing twice, and after that, he's ready to not shed a tear anymore. Although this can be a broken promise to himself in the coming future, at least he gets to remember that he has managed to be proud of himself before things can get any more ugly.

Miguel takes a few steps backward, not wanting to use his remaining strength trying to bust the door open when it was clearly impossible in the first place. He sniffs once more, using the collar of his shirt to wipes his nose. After that, he starts to stare at the door, where there's a small amount of light getting inside fogs room from the bottom of the door. He sighs at the sight, realizing one thing.

There will always be light in the darkness.

He sighs as he stares at it for a long time while continuously taking a step backward, before finally feeling the cold tiled wall hitting his back. The coldness manages to make through into the thin cloth that's keeping his body warm for a small percentage. He then decided to lean his head backward, as if the cold tile somehow soothes his burning hot head. It has been pounding for the last couple of minutes, making him feel like vomit getting stuck on his throat, about to come out of his system anytime soon. He's feeling a bit dizzy like his world is twirling right now at a three-sixty degrees angle. Although he's only staring at a dark area, he can still feel like a bunch of pair of judgemental, intimidating, mad eyes were staring at him. And in that darkness, he doesn't want the attention he is getting in his imaginations anymore. Making him realize that he, wanting others to want him could be something that he never expected it to be. And making him realize all of the nonexistent dreamy wonderlands in an existing scary small space of darkness is the eye-opener he needed. And he's been blind to these sugar-coated lies he tells to himself, believing it will all come true.

And once again, the warmth in his eyes starts to evaporate, only leading to one meaning

"Oh not again." He mumbles as he closes his eyes, taking three deep breaths to stop himself from crying but then again, the overwhelming feelings all amassed in one plate is too much for him to even handle. And that, the tears have started to fall again.

"Why do I get the feeling of getting back to my weak self? Why do I get the feeling of not being able to be just like everybody else? Can't I handle the fact of being weak? Or did I just expect too much on myself that I don't see myself failing?" He mumbles, feeling the pain once more in his heart. It felt like his feelings were like crumpled back and being thrown, as well as the faith in himself that he can be more than what he knows.

He drowns himself in the depths of his emotions, not realizing he had drifted into a painful sleep. But a couple of hours later, he was put into a shocking wake up to find the same two bald guys approaching where he is seated. The light illuminating the room from the outside made his eyes hurt a bit, causing him to blink rapidly. And before he could even react negatively, they already got a hold on both of his arms, pulling him up to his feet.

"Let's go!" The guy in a thick accent managed to mouth the words, clear enough for him to understand. In as a speed of lighting, he is being dragged out of the room, more pain hitting his eyes. Causing him to close his eyes intently to readjust his vision, he continues to feel the motion of walking. He's been thankful to not feel numb in his legs, right where he needed the assurance of his feet still undetached to his body, or that they're still working properly. But unlike the first time he experienced being dragged like this, he didn't flinch not shouted back, or fought back for his freedom.

Because he doesn't want to make use of his energy with non-sense actions. And later now, he'll be facing the 'punishment' Mister Clock had been referring to earlier.

Until they're already standing in front of the same door of horror. Instead of getting intimidated, he was surprised to himself that he wasn't feeling anything.

'Why am I not getting scared? Why do I feel like I don't care anymore?' He asks as he stares at the blank door, imagining himself inside the room where he was kept prisoner for a couple of hours.

"Pourquoi regarde-t-il la porte comme ça?" ("Why does he look at the door like that?")

"Je ne sais pas pourquoi. Mais, ne devrait-il pas avoir plus peur maintenant?"("I don't know why. But, shouldn't he be more scared now?") The man from his left asks him, curious to the gaze Miguel is giving to the door.

"Ce gamin est bizarre, frérot. C'est une salope foirée. Peut-être qu'il agit encore durement." ("This kid is weird, bro. He's a messed up b*tch. Maybe he's acting tough again.")

"Ouais bien, je m'en fiche parce que j'ai hâte de le battre maintenant." ("Yeah well, I don't care because I can't wait to beat him up right now.")

Still not understanding what they're talking about, his eyes never leave the door. He just waited for it to be open, ready to see what's beneath the darkness.

The other guy signals the operator to open it for them. It only held them there for a couple of seconds before the door finally came open, revealing the wholeness of the darkened room. And him being able to enter that room a few times made him already memorize what items are inside and where they are located. Only this time, he doesn't know if he'll be able to see the broken blades he had destroyed a while ago. And if he does, it will be a remarkable memory of him to try and save himself in a very risky way.

Pushing him inside, the door instantly slides back to closing, making him trapped inside the suffocating room. The smell of birth material still lingers around the room, making him smirk from what he has done earlier. And if he'll have the chance to go back, he'd be pleased to do it again. The lights flicker open, revealing the old rusty place, having a darker vibe compared to earlier. Inspecting the area, his eyes never left the image of one thing; Mister Clock. He's been already standing there with his allies, while Valentine still wears the same usual poker face he's been wearing since the day he saw him there.

As his eyes met Mister Clock's, that took them of an advantage to capture both of his wrists. The woman in white directly ambushes his wrist with a chain designed as handcuffs, connected to a chain directed upwards. He flinches a bit as he turns at his back, hoping to catch a glimpse of what is going on. But in an instant, his gaze was back into the mad pair of eyes. After locking in, the man in white steps back as Miguel quickly felt a light tug from his hand, getting pulled upwards. That's when he starts to realize what is going to happen.

Miguel starts to make small movements as if he's controlling everything that he's doing. Mister Clock then takes the opportunity to step forward, now pushing rectangular furniture with him covered in black cloth. When he's settled in a three-step distance, he stares at Miguel for a minute before plastering the same evil grin he had ever worn.

"What are you going to do to me?" Miguel asks with a hint of hatred. Mister Clock decided to not respond rather, looking at the rectangular furniture. Taking off of the cloth, Miguel's eyes widen.

In the furniture, different items were lying flat on top: candostick, baseball bats, sharpened knife, brass knuckles, metal pipes, Mor Macil, and Spiked Morningstar Iron. The sight of the materials aligned in front of him is enough to send a shiver down his spine. And he's not liking what he is seeing.

"You do know why you're here tonight, right Mister Miguel?" He asks, making him stare back at him.

"Yes. Because for once, you felt stupid, you son of a b*tch." Miguel grins as his cocky side returns, and he's loving the tension building. Mister Clock's grin turns into a frown, making Miguel smirk back. The fear had soon evaporated, changing into an adrenaline rush.

"You really like to make things difficult for you Mister Miguel. And you seem to be enjoying it." He argues back, making Miguel chuckle.

"It's because I don't care anymore, you d*mb*ss! Go on! Kill me right now, I don't care! I'm not afraid of dying anymore—"

This time, it was Mister Clock's turn to laugh.

"Oh no, Mister Clock. That's when you're thinking wrong... Want me to spoil you of the fun?" He pauses as he takes the baseball bat into his hand, sliding it as the 'end' touches the floor. He walks slowly to Miguel, making it more like torture to him. As he's standing a step away, he continues to talk. "Because your eyes tell me the opposite."

And with that, his hand lifts the baseball bat, his force is placed into one swing, causing a painful, unprepared collision between his body and the bat. He yells in such pain, but his stressed body couldn't curl up in a ball right now. And it is more painful that way.

"You b*tch!" He shouts right into his face but it wasn't enough to wipe the smirk off into Mister Clock's face. The other boys start to tread forward, gripping tight on what weapon they decided to choose. Miguel's eyes travel around, examining every pair of eyes he could catch, and they're only meaning in one thing: the desire for pain. Not wanting to show his fright, his eyes went to Valentine who has now had a worried look. The expressionless face now shows a hint of concern and pity, making him furrow his brows.

'Why Mister Valentine?' And that's the only question he had for him. Still not figuring out completely about everything, his attention went back to the first guy who takes a step forward, holding a knife. The man seems to enjoy prolonging the act, trailing the tip of the blade from his stomach up into his cheek.

"J'admire votre courage, gamin. Mais vous devez aussi réaliser que vous jouez vos cartes d'une très mauvaise manière," ("I admire your bravery, kid. But you must also realize that you are playing your cards in a very wrong way.") He manages to talk, but only they could understand. Miguel shot him a glare.

"I don't know what you're trying to say because I don't speak your language so how about we get this over with!?" He let his frustration out, causing the guy to grin. The tip of the knife rests an inch below his left eye, causing him to feel his heartbreaking faster and faster.

"Vous avez de jolis yeux, joli garçon. Dommage que vous n'ayez pas celui-ci après que j'en ai fini avec vous," ("You have pretty eyes, pretty boy. Too bad you won't be having this one after I'm done with you.") The man starts to draw the knife, putting pressure on the weapon, causing him to feel the cold blade slicing his skin in a torturously slow motion. He bites his lower lip to prevent the escape of a moan of pain, not wanting to please them with the sound of suffering.

The man trails down into his cheek and lifting the knife out of his skin. The man hungrily aims at his eyes, causing him to feel the fright again.

'No, no, no, no—'

He screams in pain as the man twist the tip of the blade into his cheekbone.

"Or maybe I don't like the idea of removing your eyes because I want you to see everything that's about to happen. And this my friend, will never be erased into your memory.

He continues torturing his cheekbone. When blood starts to drip more and more, his blade moves lower, stopping right into his ribcage.

" how about we copy God's bruise right here?" He asks and without waiting for any response, he moves closer and slices it right there, making him wince in pain. He bit deeper into his lower lip, already tasting the metallic flavor of blood. He closes his eyes, enduring the pain inside.

Before he knows it, the other guy starts hitting his hips, him swaying back and forth, like a pinata. A tear never escaped his eyes, only groans of rage and weakness. They all start to treat him like a toy, taking turns to hit him where. They spit on him, curse at him, kick, threw multiple punches, pulling his hair, and unbuttoning his shirt. They did everything that would bring insult. He's been bleeding for the next couple of minutes, while Mister Clock and Valentine watch from afar. With a glimpse of hope, he manages to not break the glare into Mister Clock, causing him to feel discomfort.

'This kid is something.' He mumbles to himself. But then, he had felt something strange he never expected to feel. Pity.

"Boss, are you okay?" Valentine asks, concern plastered on his face. Mister Clock steps forward before finally shouting the word "ENOUGH!" to them.

"That's enough for my show boys, I don't want you all to be using such energies for one guy."

"But boss—"

"Take these weapons back. I don't want to see them before I leave."

"Y-yes, boss." The guys who enjoyed playing were made to back off, carrying the furniture with weapons with them. All that's left is Mister Clock, Valentine, and Miguel. Mister Clock made his way to Miguel, with a two-step distance.

"Valentine?" He calls out but turning to his shoulder.

"Boss?"

"Untie him please."

Quickly, Valentine rushes like he's been chased by zombies, unlocking the chain into his hand. As he broke loose, his body instantly falls, but with the help of Valentine, he didn't completely hit his body on the floor.

"Leave us, Valentine."

"But sir, I don't think Mister Miguel could still manage on his feet!"

"Leave us. Wait for me outside. I'll be there later."

Although he wanted to still stay, Miguel pushes him away from him. Miguel turns to face Valentine with a weak expression.

"Miguel—"

"Mister Valentine?" Mister Clock caught his attention, waving him with no other choice left. He slowly let go of Miguel, walking away from them. Miguel trembles as he falls after, causing Valentine to turn back. He's about to approach them again when Mister Clock stops him. His eyes trail into Miguel as he stares back. Miguel nodded, making him bite his inner cheek before turning again. Hearing the door shut from behind, Miguel looks up at him.

"Are you happy now?" He asks.

"I thought I would be." He responded. He then looks at his wristwatch. "Wow, I didn't know it's already eleven fifty. Time flies so fast, Mister Miguel."

"You should have just ordered them to kill me, you selfish pr*ck."

"Then it would be boring. As I said, you've caught my attention and I want to see how far you can go. And if I had killed you right now, where will be the fun knowing that the only person making this batch interesting is you... And of course, Miss Ash—"

"Don't you f*cking dare to touch her!" He hisses, but only receive a light kick to his shoulder, causing him to collapse into the ground.

"You're not the boss here, Mister Miguel. Always remember that..." He says his final words before turning his heel, walking away from him.

"Wait." He whispers but enough for him to hear. Miguel tries to stand up, assisting his feet with his right hand as his other hand is wrapped around his stomach. Mister Clock turns to face him, surprised to see him being able to stand.

"I may not be... Not be the boss here..." He tries his best to finish his sentence. When he's completely standing up, he wipes the blood into his cheek using his free hand.

"But I know you're just the rest of us... Trapped in a nightmare. You may call yourself 'the boss', but to me, you are just a f*cking broken kid who wanted to look strong in the face of the weaker ones." He doesn't know where the words come from, but he can be sure of what his eyes were saying. Mister Clock was silent for a short time before replying, disregarding what Miguel has just said.

"Happy Valentines, mister Miguel."