Chapter 8: The Basement

Seraphina’s POV

I stared at the bloodstain, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it. My hands were shaking, and I felt a cold sweat trickle down my back. This couldn’t be happening. The evidence was damning, and no matter how much I tried to think of a way out, my mind was blank.

"Tsk, Tsk, Seraphina," the boss said as he leaned forward. “I never thought you had it in you. I must say I'm somewhat impressed, but you don't just kill a man and go scot-free, especially not one of my men."

As he spoke, my colleagues surrounded me, blocking off all escape routes. I was trapped.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I don't know," I whispered. "I swear, I don't know anything about it."

His eyes narrowed. "Don't bullshit me, girl!. I can smell a lie from a mile away. There's a body in a store room. And blood. Lots of blood leading to your room. You know exactly what happened."

The door to my room burst open, and one of the henchmen walked out, holding a bloodstained piece of cloth. He handed it to the boss, who examined it with a critical eye before tossing it to me.

"Does this jog your memory?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I stared at the cloth, my mind blank. The sight of the blood brought back memories I had tried to suppress. The struggle, the fear, the desperate need to get away.

"I didn't kill anyone," I said, my voice trembling. "Please, you have to believe me."

He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Believe you? Why should I believe anything you say? You owe me everything, Seraphina. I gave you a job, a place to stay. And this is how you repay me? by murdering one of my own?"

"I didn't do it," I insisted, my voice rising in panic. "I didn't kill anyone!"

His expression hardened, and he grabbed my arm, yanking me off my feet. "You expect me to believe that? You're the only one who had access to this room. You're the only one who could have done it."

Tears filled my eyes, and I shook my head desperately. "It wasn't me! I swear it wasn't me!"

He released me, shoving me back into the chair. "Then who was it? Tell me who did this, and maybe I'll go easy on you."

I couldn't. I couldn't betray Alfred. If I told the boss the truth, he would go after Alfred, and I couldn't let that happen.

"I don't know," I said again, my voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know who did it."

He studied me for a long moment, his eyes cold and calculating. "Fine," he said finally. "Have it your way."

On his signal, the boss's henchmen, my colleagues, grabbed my arms roughly, dragging me down the dark, damp corridors of the basement. The scent of mold and decay filled my nostrils, making me gag. I stumbled, but they didn’t slow down, their grip tightening painfully.

My thoughts were racing, a chaotic whirlwind of fear and confusion. How had it come to this? What would happen to Alfred if I confessed? I had to protect him, no matter the cost.

As we descended the last set of stairs, I was shoved into a dimly lit room. The basement was unlike anything I had ever seen. The air was thick with the stench of mold and decay, mingled with something metallic and harsh. The walls were made of old, crumbling bricks, slick with moisture. Water dripped from the ceiling, forming small puddles on the uneven stone floor.

Flickering fluorescent lights hung from the ceiling, casting eerie shadows that danced around the room. Against one wall, a long wooden table was covered with an array of horrifying instruments—chains, pliers, knives, whips, and other items of torture, each one more terrifying than the last. Rusty manacles hung from the ceiling, swinging gently with the faint draft that crept through the cracks in the walls.

Several heavy wooden chairs were scattered around, their surfaces stained with dark, ominous marks. The room was cold, and I could feel the chill seeping into my bones. The atmosphere was oppressive, the air thick with the scent of fear and pain.

The boss stood in the center of the room, his cold, calculating eyes looking at me with a look of disappointment mixed with anger. He had trusted me and given me a job when I had nowhere else to go, and now he believed I had betrayed him. His voice was calm, almost gentle, which made it all the more frightening.

"Why did you kill him, Seraphina?" he asked, his eyes boring into mine. "And who helped you?"

I clenched my jaw, refusing to speak. I couldn’t tell him the truth. If he found out, he’d go after Alfred. I couldn’t let that happen.

The boss’s patience was wearing thin. He nodded to the guards, who immediately moved to tie me to a chair in the center of the room. The ropes cut into my wrists, and I winced, but I held my tongue. I had to stay strong.

His face twisted with rage. "After all I've done for you, Seraphina. Your silence is a slap in the face. If you don’t talk, I’ll make you talk."

Fear clawed at my insides, but I couldn’t give in. I had to protect Alfred.

The boss’s eyes flickered with a dangerous light as he picked up a whip from the table. The sound of it cracking through the air made me flinch.

"You know," he began, his voice low and menacing, "this basement has seen many people come and go. Mostly go. Do you know what happens to the people who end up here?"

I shook my head, too terrified to speak.

"They disappear," he continued, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "This place is where I make sure people understand what it means to cross me. Every tool you see here has a purpose. Each one is designed to extract information or punish those who think they can betray me."

He walked over to the table, picking up a pair of pliers. "These, for example, are excellent for removing fingernails. Very effective at getting people to talk."

I shuddered, the reality of my situation crashing down on me. I was at the mercy of a man who had none.

"Last chance, Seraphina," he growled. "Tell me the truth, or you’ll sorely regret it." He started walking towards me with a set of pliers.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself. My mind raced with images of Alfred, hoping that, somehow, he would be safe. But then, a miracle happened.

The door to the basement burst open, and a familiar voice rang out. "Stop! It’s none of her business."

My eyes flew open, and my heart skipped a beat. Standing in the doorway was Alfred, looking more determined than ever. His presence filled me with a rush of relief and fear all at once.

The boss turned, surprise flashing across his face. "Who are you supposed to be? You must have some nerve to wander into a place like this alone; You're either very brave or very, very, stupid, son."

Alfred stepped into the room, his eyes never leaving mine. "I heard you were looking for a killer. Well, here I am. If you want revenge, take it out on me. Leave her out of this."

The boss laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Oh? So it was you, after all. Do you think you can just walk in here and make demands? You’re more foolish than I thought."

Alfred stood tall, his shoulders squared, and his eyes fierce. "I'm not making demands. I'm telling you how it's going to be. If it's a fight you want, I'll give you one. But I'm not leaving here, not without Seraphina."

The boss's face contorted with rage. "Big talk for a dead man walking. You really think you can take us all on?" His henchmen began circling Alfred; some of them had weapons, and their eyes were cold.

Alfred's gaze didn't waver. "Try me."

The boss signaled his men to attack. They rushed at Alfred, but he was ready. The first thug lunged at him with a knife, but Alfred sidestepped smoothly, grabbing the thug's wrist and twisting it until the knife clattered to the floor. With a swift kick, he sent the thug sprawling.

Another henchman charged from the side, swinging a metal pipe. Alfred ducked, the pipe whooshing over his head, and delivered a powerful punch to the man's gut, followed by an uppercut that sent him reeling backward.

A third man tried to tackle Alfred from behind, but Alfred spun around, using the man's momentum against him. He grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed him into the wall, knocking him out cold.

I watched in awe as Alfred moved with a precision and strength I had never seen before. It was as if he had been trained for this his entire life. Each movement was calculated, efficient, and deadly. He took down one opponent after another, barely breaking a sweat.

The remaining henchmen hesitated, glancing at each other uncertainly. Alfred took advantage of their hesitation, launching himself at them with a series of rapid punches and kicks. The sound of bones cracking and bodies hitting the floor echoed through the basement.

I watched, my heart in my throat, as Alfred battled against the odds. He was outnumbered, but he held his ground, a fierce determination in his eyes. He was fighting for me, and that knowledge filled me with a strange mix of hope and dread.

Just when it seemed like Alfred might overcome the odds finally, the boss pulled out a gun, "Enough of this nonsense," he said as he aimed it directly at my head. "Stop, or she dies."

Alfred froze, his hands clenched into fists. He looked at me, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He didn’t want to surrender, but he couldn’t let me die.

"Alfred, no," I whispered, my voice trembling. "Don’t do it."

But he ignored my plea. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender. The thugs wasted no time, rushing forward to tie him up with ropes. They forced him to his knees, and the boss walked over, pressing the barrel of the gun to my temple.

"Now," the boss said, his voice dripping with malice, "you’re going to do exactly as I say, or you’ll watch her die."

Alfred’s eyes burned with helpless rage. He had come to save me but was now trapped, same as I. The room was silent except for the sound of our heavy breathing, and I knew that this was just the beginning of our nightmare.