Chapter 7：Elliot 7

I opened my eyes to see a dark room. I was tied up, tied to a chair. It was smoky and it burned my lungs to breath. I choked and yelled as loud as I could, "Hello?"

I saw a light out of the corner of my eye, then I heard him. "Mr. Benedict, you're awake, good. I've been meaning to talk to you. But you've been so busy killing my boys that I hadn't had a chance, til now, that is."

He came around into my view and I could see a deviousness to his smile. He had something planned, though I didn't know what. "You have me, what is it that you have to say?" I asked.

"What's the rush, Mr. Benedict? The fire is still a few buildings down. We have time," he said with a smug tone to his voice. Miranda had been right when she said that his voice was like nails on a chalkboard. It was bothersome to hear.

He sat the lantern down and pulled out a gun, my gun and spun the cylinder. "How about a game, first, huh?" he was still arrogant about his words.

"No games, Carlston. What do you want?" I asked harshly, then coughed.

"There are quite a few things I want. Gold. Fame. Women. I want to be the biggest mining company in this country. I want everyone to know my name and no one to want to cross me! I want to own this town and everyone in it! I want you, to disappear and not come back! No, I want you dead!" he finished coldly. He spun the chamber on my gun again.

I laughed at the last bit, "you know, I AM dead! You should know, you killed me. Out in the badlands, you shot me and had my body thrown to the bottom of the canyon."

"An angel," I answered.

"An angel," he repeated. He stood quiet for a moment, then he began laughing hysterically. "An angel. Sure Mr. Benedict, and why would an angel bring you back to life?"

"To kill you," I said earnestly.

At that, he stopped laughing and his face turned serious. "Is that so, Mr. Benedict? And what exactly brought you here in the first place?"

"A letter informing me of your murderous means of acquiring land."

"And who sent this letter?" he asked disdainfully.

"Miranda Edwards," I spouted out.

"Ah, yes, Miranda. She was always getting in the way. You know, that's why I convinced Charles to get rid of her." He laughed and my anger flared. I guess he saw the anger in my eyes because he continued, "Ah, does that piss you off, Mr. Benedict? Was there something going on there that Charles and I didn't know?"

"No, I hadn't even met Miranda until after you killed me." I said with obvious anger in my voice. "You act like she was nothing! You act like all of them were nothing! How many people have you killed, Mr. Carlston?"

He laughed. He laughed a maniacal laugh, "Mr. Benedict, there hasn't been anybody that I killed that mattered. They were obstacles, obstacles that were unnecessary, so I removed them, or had them removed. Not even you mattered, Mr. Benedict."

I was really mad, now. "What are you waiting for, John?! If you really want me dead then just do it! I have grown tired of your banter and your voice is like glass in my ears. You think you are above it all! You think you own everything and everyone, but in reality, I don't think you even own yourself!" I finished. I could feel the heat of my anger boiling inside of me.

John sat there quietly watching his hand as he spun the chamber of my gun. Finally, after a few minutes, he looked up at me, "Let's play a game." His face was full with a smile. "Ever heard of a game called Russian Roulette? It's a real man's game."

I had no idea what he was talking about or where he was going with this. He gave the revolver a good spin then aimed it at me. "The rules are simple. Each man takes the gun and puts it to their head. Seeing as how you can't do it yourself, I'll do it for you." He put the gun to my head and pulled the trigger.

Click.

That's all I heard and my breath escaped in a sigh of relief. "Well, my turn," John put the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

Click.

It was only a matter of time before we would hit a gold bullet. It was my turn so he aimed the gun at me.

Boom! The gunshot rang through the room. The sudden pain in my chest, where he shot me, was excruciating. I think he hit my lung with the bullet and he looked amused.

"Damn, I should've aimed that at your head. Oh well, this will be funner. Now I can watch you choke on your own blood." He laughed a hysterical, evil laugh.

I could feel the blood running down my chest, I felt the blood in my lung as I breathed. Suddenly, all at once, the death of another part of my soul hit me. The red, fog of wet fire swallowed me whole, searing my skin, burning my lungs and I wished for death to take me then. The other times had been bad, but this...

This felt like a torturous, long death.