The Wood Shed

His body screamed with pain as he frantically tried to stand. With his arms violently trembling, he pushed against the ground. His left leg refused to cooperate, as it uselessly hung beneath him, limp and broken. He breathed heavily, shifting his weight and balancing himself awkwardly on his hands and right leg.

“Der borte!” A voice called out in the distance.

Panic surged through him. Without thinking, he began crawling across the jagged shoreline. Sharp rocks tore at his palms and knees as he dragged himself forward, each movement sending jolts of pain through his body.

He had no plan and didn’t know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away.

“Jævla!” A familiar voice shouted behind him.

Druknet’s heart pounded hard, as he glanced over his shoulder… Boots stomped against the ground behind him, closing the distance quickly. There was no way he could outrun his pursuers.

Three silhouettes emerged from the darkness behind him. As they stepped closer, the moonlight revealed their faces… It was Agdar and the two men he had worked with at the dock. The three circled him.

“You try run!” Agdar said in broken English, his voice filled with rage.

“I didn't kill-!”

Druknet couldn’t finish, as Agdar’s boot crashed into his side. Pain exploded through his ribs, as he collapsed face-first into the rocks. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs with a violent gasp.

“You're making a mis-.”

Agdar kicked him again, harder. Druknet let out a cough as pain surged through his chest.

“kjeft!” Agdar spat, glaring down at him.

Druknet laid on the ground in silence. He didn’t try moving anymore, as it was pointless.

The group of men grabbed him roughly with no forgiveness. One of the men twisted his arms behind his back, while another drove a knee into his back, forcing him flat onto the ground. He was met with more punches and kicks raining down on him.

There was nothing Druknet could do to resist. He was completely pinned down and unable to move.

Eventually, the beating stopped and a coarse sack was forcefully shoved over his head, blocking out his vision.

I hope they make it quick. Druknet hopelessly thought to himself.

Agdar grabbed him by the back of his jacket and began dragging him across the ground. Sharp rocks tore at his chest and stomach, ripping through his clothes and scraping his skin. Before long, so much pain was surging through his body, that he became numb to it.

He was dragged for what felt like forever. Until… A door creaked open and he was thrown forward. He stumbled briefly, then collapsed onto wooden planks. The door slammed shut behind him, followed by the heavy click of a metallic padlock.

“Vi tar oss av ham senere.” Agdar's voice came muffled from outside.

The three men spoke briefly among themselves before their footsteps faded into the distance.

Druknet lay there for a moment, as it grew silent. Slowly he reached up and pulled the sack off of his head. He blinked once, then noticed that he had been locked in the wood shed that Bjorge had brought him to a few days before.

He coughed painfully into his hand. As he pulled it away, there was blood on it. His head started to become dizzy. The room began to tilt. Suddenly the darkness began to change…

An orange light faded into the space, as warmth began to replace the cold. The pain in his leg vanished.

He blinked and his crutch was back under his arm and he was standing. In front of him was a familiar door.

As his hand hovered over the handle, he turned his head slowly… Behind him was the inside of Bjorge's house… and in the center of the room was Bjorge, slumped over the table, still alive and breathing. As far as he could see, there was no blood or knife sticking out of his back.

It appeared that this was before he had left Bjorge. Druknet lowered his hand from the door and began to step toward him. Each step was slow and cautious.

Bjorge’s chest rose and fell, steadily, as he remained unconscious. Druknet stared at him, confused, trying to understand why he was here.

Suddenly, his mouth began to move on its own…

“It’s been awhile.” The words slipped out quietly.

An unusual sense of excitement stirred inside of him, as his body began to move. He turned and walked toward the cabinet near the stove. Opening it, he reached inside. His hand grabbed onto something cold and metal… A kitchen knife.

Don't do it… He cried out silently in his mind.

Do it… A strangely comforting and familiar voice echoed over it.

Druknet froze. His grip tightened around the wooden handle of the knife. Part of him wanted to scream, but another felt calm and calculated.

He stepped back toward Bjorge, stopping just behind him, close enough to hear him breathing. His hand began to tremble, as he hesitated.

Don’t… His own voice felt weak in his mind.

“Do it.” His mouth spoke.

His grip tightened, while his expression hardened. Something inside of him shifted, becoming cold and decisive.

He raised the knife, then drove it downward… The blade sank into Bjorge’s back. Bjorge took in one final breath before his life completely faded from him and his body went unnaturally limp.

Druknet released his hand on the knife’s handle and took a step back. The room fell into an eerie silence. He felt no panic or regret, as a pool of blood began to form at his feet.

He suddenly became lightheaded again and his vision turned blurry…

Darkness and cold returned around him. He let out a gasp as pain exploded in his leg. Still laying on the shed’s floor, his forehead was drenched in sweat.

“Did I-...” He sat up wide-eyed.

He struggled to process what he just saw. It seemed apparent, though, that he might in fact have killed Bjorge…