Is It Though?

It was as though he were in a story, just a character on a page, no real strife, just words on a page. At least that’s how he felt, sitting on the cold clammy ground in the foggy cemetery on a stereotypical, cloudy, full-moon Halloween night.

It was not of his own volition that he was there, and although most would say he signed up for this, he in fact been contracted without his knowing, and therefore, considered this a kidnapping and hostage situation.

He had no idea where the cemetery was, or even the name of the one's grave he stood on, which he felt was entirely disrespectful.

He almost wished he were the one inside the grave now, just to escape the torture.

Oh, yes, that was right, he was being tortured and humiliated, he had forgotten. It was funny how one could get lost in their own realm of self-pity and boredom. Boredom was not the usual feeling one would get while feeling as though he were being impaled by hundreds of needles, but he was different.

He was different because this was not the first time he had been hurt or tortured. He had been raised with daily beating and verbal attacks. Abuse was the word that most would use, but he had never considered it that. He just considered it punishment for being who he was. Too smart for his own good came with some quirks in character.

The fog was getting heavier, and yet he could still see. He could see over the grave in front of him that there was an angel, weeping in distress, and though made of stone, it was as if the angel was crying for him.

He knew he had to get out of here, but he was so tired. His clothes were damp and he was dirty from twisting and turning in discomfort and pain, and he had been sitting in the same spot for hours. Not to mention he was tied up, and being stared at by twenty-some people like he was their savior. In their eyes, he probably was seeing as he was their sacrifice for the night.

Yes, he was being sacrificed for some darkly-robed masked people claiming they could do magic. Which was impossible, magic was not real, if it were, the world be a better place, would it not? Also, the supposed pain curse he was under was actually the effects of a drug that had been shot into him with a needle when he had woken up. The leader of the robed people was monologuing like a good old villain, which, again, reminded him of being in a story. 

This a not a story though, this was his life, and he currently did not like where he was in it.

When he zoned back into what was happening he realized the leader was standing in front of him again, this time with a crudely made knife with a wooden handle. Being who he was, he cataloged what had gone on while he had sat passively. Apparently, they were not only sacrificing him to their Gods, but apparently he was also the son of the leader's worst enemies who had killed on Halloween night twenty-four years ago. That was in the realm of possibility, as he was an orphan, but it was just as likely that a chimpanzee could talk without genetic enhancements.

Getting tired of the situation, he looked right in the eye of the leader and said the one thing he could think of in the moment. "Fuck you!"

Denny shot straight up from his bed with sweat covering his body, then winced when his injury twinged on his chest. He remembered that night vividly, the maniacs who were worshipping some Gods he had never heard of had caught him on his way to his consulting job for the local sheriff's office about a major burglary that had happened the week before everything that followed. 

He had been dragged backward with a hand over his mouth and then knocked out with some kind of a drug in a syringe. When he woke up there was a man stepping out of the fog dramatically trying to look superior but in reality, looking ridiculous. A chant had been going on as he groaned and twisted around in pain while also, simultaneously trying to get the ropes that were tied around him off. He was able to set off his tracker, the one his foster mom still insisted that he wear around his wrist so that the police would be alerted to his position and the fact he was in danger. The leader had walked up to him and stabbed him in the chest, probably aiming for the heart, but just missing it and only nearly killing him. The idiot cultists had stayed around and partied and when the cops had shown up, Denny had been barely clinging to life and had fallen into a three-day coma as soon as he heard the sirens. Being the person he was, he did not give up on the job and still reported who had burglarized the bank and jewelry store to the sheriff when he gave his statement about his incident with the cultists. Which coincidentally enough was the leader of the cultists he found out when the sheriff showed him the faces of the cultists without their masks on. He also told the sheriff about what they had said about his supposed parents and asked the sheriff if he knew anything about it.

Apparently, twenty-four years ago, his parents had been cops, the both of them, and had taken down the same cultists' group soon after having had Denny's first birthday the day before. The leader had been imprisoned, but, due to a prison fight, he himself had been in a coma for twenty-three of those years then, he was released after waking up because the judge said the coma had been punishment enough. When released he gathered his followers and convinced them to help him with his revenge against who he saw as his weakness. It was a hastily put-together plan that worked by only the skin of the teeth.

Denny was traumatized but, nevertheless, he continued his consultation job with the local police. Mostly though he vowed to learn more about his parents, and not be so cocky about his well-being. His foster mother, the one who had saved him from his birthmother's cousin and his family of his wife and two kids, encouraged him to follow his heart and was very happy with his vow to protect himself better.