The air was acrid and had a putrid smell.

The air was rancid, hot and burnt like hell.

Am I in hell? Paul wondered again and for a while, he really could not tell.

His eyes flew open and yet he saw nothing. It was really dark and a sharp pain shot through his body. When he breathed he felt his jaw shift. "Ouch!" He exclaimed and at once, it all came back to him.

-

When Melanie's phone rang and exposed their hiding place in the trashcan, a switch in Paul's mind had flipped. He fully understood the technicalities of the fight or flight response for situations where one faces a danger greater than he/she/it. It was simple really, -run and panic while you still can and that's termed the flight response, but when you turn into a dead end, you don't just stand there and get preyed on, you turn around and fight and that's the fight response. It was the simplest algorithm and one understood by the simplest of organisms. A lizard would run from a falcon, until it meets a dead end, then it turns around and fights with its last breath, ignoring completely, the fact that Statistics laughs at its face and say, 'buddy, just give up. You're only procrastinating the inevitable.' But then at this point, Paul thought about it and said; "Jake. Give me the knife." because the statistics was not so pessimistic about their chances at that moment. There was him, tough Melanie and athletic Jake. If they turned around and just fight back, there was a chance...

He had given the knife to Jake earlier when he had to carry and drag Melanie to their present hiding spot. Jake studied his face with the help of the thin light that penetrated into the can and saw that something had flipped in him. He could see that at that moment, Paul was no longer thinking about his career or a shameful unfair deportation. He had been pushed to the wall, shoved into his primal instincts and all he thought about, at that moment, was defending himself and his friends. But the most interesting thing about the look on his face was that he looked like someone who knew what he was doing, like he had done it before, so Jake nodded and handed the knife to him, but the nod was not just an agreement. The nod said something like; 'Let's do it . . . together.'

Melanie had managed to fumble through and switch off her phone. She generated some more noise while she did so and after that, there existed nothing but absolute silence; -cold, eerie silence. Her heart had thumped in fear when she could hear the men's footsteps and voices, but when this silence followed the phone's ringing, the fear had multiplied, because now she knew that the men were quiet, because they were trying to locate the source of the sound. It made things three times worse, because the men were so quiet that no one could tell if they were ten feet away or standing right on top of the trash can. "Oh God!" Melanie exclaimed in a whisper and Paul shushed her.

Why? Melanie queried him with her eyes. Our cover is already blown. She realized right then that her life was about to be changed forever, but she had no idea how much. She had no idea that that single cellphone ring was a fate twister and has already completely changed the entire course of her life.

Paul's fingers wiggled around the handle of that knife like a sea wave and he waited, breathed and listened patiently for only two things; -the creak of the trash can's lid and the pour in of light. And soon it happened that way, when one of the men tip toed to the trashcan with his pistol. He wore an evil grin and pushed the trashcan lid open. Paul heard the hinge creak and saw the light fly in and he did not wait to see who he was about to strike at like a vulnerable viper. He just leaped up swiftly and the first thing he saw was a hand holding a small pistol. He grabbed it, and as he did, he slid the knife under the wrist swiftly and slashed it open.

These happened in a split second and the man's loud cry overshadowed everything else the next second. He dropped his gun and Jake caught it, then he held his profusely bleeding wrist with his other hand and yelled out pained profanities.

Paul wasted no time, because he knew they didn't have the luxury to waste any. He swiftly jumped out of the can, to build on this momentum and fight for a chance for them. There was no thinking and no holding back, because these men carried and shot guns, so it all just got real, but unfortunately as soon as Paul jumped onto the ground from the trashcan, the other man smashed him into oblivion with a baseball bat, even before his feet could feel the ground. Paul did not see the bat before it connected to his face. He just collapsed to the ground like a piece of rag.

"Dylan!" The other man held his wrist tightly and yelled. "The bastard's got my gun."

Almost immediately, Jake peeked out of the trashcan and yelled; "Drop it." He was pointing the gun at the guy, Dylan, whom was holding the bat.

"I'm going to fucking kill y'all!" The guy with the bleeding wrist promised as Melanie jumped to the ground and held Paul, worried. She felt terribly guilty.

"Shut up." Jake yelled at him and his hand trembled. He glanced at Paul's limp body and felt really worried.

"I'm going to track down everyone you've ever known and loved and shit down their throat after I cut it open." The man promised again.

"Shut up!" Jake repeated and did not reckon to the man's promises, but yet he considered Paul on the ground and the guy with the bat and felt his vigor abandon him. Yes, he was the man with the gun there and whatever he commanded would be done, but then the problem was . . . what would he command? His fingers sweat and trembled around a loaded gun, but . . . what next?

The man with bleeding arm continued; "I'm going to kill you, but before that, I would get a woman to fuck you and have your kids . . . just so I could raise them and then torture them to death."

"Enough, Joe." Dylan said to his bleeding partner and was not at all surprised at how ugly his mind was. He turned to Jake. "After I drop the bat, then what? Huh?"

Jake was beginning to feel dizzy. His blood pressure was high and sweat oozed so much from his forehead that they slid down his eyelids and stung his eyes. He looked into Dylan's scanty eyes and even though he was the one with the gun and the heroic intentions, he felt already defeated.

"What are you going to do?" Dylan continued insolently, confident that he had already gotten into Jake's head even before he started. "What's the plan? Shoot us? Best case scenario, you shoot us and our men will hear the shots and gather here within seconds. You still could not escape if your friend..." He nodded at Paul, "...was not knocked out cold and you definitely can't carry him and run . . . but it gets worse..." He stepped closer to Jake, swinging his bat through the air playfully. "...right? You can't pull that trigger can you?" He finished with a smirk.

Melanie could see purple-blue patches that formed around Paul's left temple and cheek. Blood clothed around the point the bat met his face. She held him and looking at him like that brought up a lot of feelings and memories. She began a soul cry, -deep, convulsive, hopeless, tearless and voiceless. This is all my fault. She thought. I'm so sorry Paul.

Jake had envisioned this going differently when Paul had asked him to hand over the knife, with a lot of confidence. He did not realise that the situation could turn so helpless and desperate. He sighed and his shoulders fell defeatedly.

"Nice work, Dylan." A familiar voice came from a distance and they looked up to find Ryan walking down to them with the rest of the men. He appeared to be younger than all of the men and yet he seemed to lead them. "Damn!" He said as he got closer and considered Joe's bleeding wrist. "The hell happened to you?"

Jake dropped the gun and surrendered.

-

Paul sneezed heavily and dusts flew from under his breath. The rancid air made the interior of his nose itch. He snapped out of his reverie and realized the dusty, cold, hard concrete floor he was lying on. He was lying on his side awkwardly and his arms hurt from a hot, cutting blistering pain. He wanted to adjust but could not, because his shoulder felt shifted and his hands were tied tightly with a rough rope. He struggled and moved in the darkness for a moment before he felt a gentle calming hand touch him.

"Hey." Melanie said and stroke his head gently to calm him down.

Paul stopped struggling and then Melanie helped him to gently roll over. "What's going on?" Paul asked, glad to have found something familiar in an unfamiliar dark room that smelled of death. He would have hugged her if his hands were not tied up. "Are we dead?"

"Not yet!" He heard a voice answer him from a distances and he recognized it as Jake's, but he could not see him.

"Jake?" Paul called.

"Yes?"

"Where are we? What happened?"

Melanie answered; "You got knocked out and we couldn't escape. They took our phones and threw us into a van. Then drove really far . . . for like . . . over an hour . . . and then they brought us here blindfolded and dumped us in this room. It's some sort of makeshift dungeon."

"What are they keeping us for?" Paul asked and no one answered. Instead an eerie silence grew between them and said a lot that Paul understood. He knew that he had struck a sensitive chord. That question must have been on Jake and Melanie's minds and had tormented them since. Knowing the answer, he decided to ask something else; "How could they just take us and drive away? After all the shooting and chase and all, I imagined that the police would come after us?"

"They did." Jake answered and Paul noticed that he seated on the floor at a far corner, leaning on by the wall. "These men are not just street touts." He said sadly. "They seem quite resourceful and organized and probably have the police in their pocket . . . since we passed those checkpoints like they owned the street."

"How's your head feeling?" Melanie asked Paul with a lot of concern in her voice.

Paul recognized the strong migraine and throbbing in his head and answered, "I don't know . . . but I've survived worse."

"I'm really sorry, Paul." Melanie blurted and the guilt was bitter and tangible in her tone.

"Don't worry." Paul replied. "I'm not going to have a concussion or something."

Melanie paused for a moment and continued. "Okay, but I meant for the whole thing. This is all my fault, guys . . . and I feel terrible."

Paul was melted by Melanie's words. Seeing this scared, concerned and vulnerable side of her made him feel a certain level of bonding between them. "It's okay, Melanie."

"But I . . . We are..."

Paul managed to hold her hands and shushed her. "It's not over yet."

Melanie was confused. She expected him to be frantic and really angry at her. She expected him to blame her and yell about how she had ruined his life, but instead he seemed so cool, calm and collected and it did not make sense at multiple levels. "Why are you not mad?" She asked.

"I think I've been disillusioned." He answered as if he had prepared for that question. "Sometimes when your dreams begin to come through, it feels so fragile. It gives you more worry and fear, because you want to hold on to it. You feel like you're actually asleep in your bed and would totally punch anyone who wakes you up, because you'd rather stay in that dream than admit it's just a dream. Same goes here . . . and slowly you begin to go gaga, because you're obsessed with protecting the fragility of something that had managed to survive up to this point without your help. Really, when I think about it, this situation has the potential to turn into anything; -shadows or rainbows. They are opposite, but they are produced by the same situation. Think about it."

"I don't understand." Melanie said.

Paul sighed and pondered for a moment. "Okay let me explain, light, as in the white light is the fusion of all electromagnetic waves in the visible spectrum, superposed to..."

Jake interrupted. "Paul . . . Paul, I will give you a thousand dollars if you will save all the sad physics talk for when my father comes back." He said with mild playful annoyance and Melanie giggled softly.

"My point is..." Paul cleared his throat and continued. "If you put on a flashlight right now, light will be produced, but not just light. Shadows will also be casted because of it. Light can not exist without shadows and vice versa. So . . . that single flashlight, just like this situation can produce a wonderful twist and also an ugly one. Therefore, until some hulk walks in here wearing a death mask and carrying a chainsaw, we should not beat ourselves up and assume that it's all over . . . you feel me?"

Melanie smiled worriedly and nodded. She squeezed Paul's hands tightly and loved how he made her feel, -safe, protected and hopeful. He reminded her of her late brother, Michael.

"Seriously?" Jake blurted and sounded critical. "Death mask and chainsaw? Are you completely mad?"

"Wait!" Paul exclaimed and got their attention. "Am I the only one that is tied up?" He squinted and tried to see others in the dark. "Why?" He asked. "Why the hell am I the only one tied up?"

"They think you're dangerous." Jake answered, but did not sound flattery. "They probably think you were the one that broke that idiots face in the first place . . . and then you almost chopped off someone's hand with an ordinary kitchen knife."

Paul's heart skipped and then he realized that he probably had not thought of how really bad this situation could get. Surely it could produce both Rainbows and Shadows, but what if he gets the shadow, alone, casted upon him. "Oh God!" He muttered and swallowed, finding breathing a lot more difficult. "Oh God!" He repeated and then his heart sank into his stomach when he heard a click.

Their attention was taken and absorbed by the sound. Someone outside the room was opening the door. They watched and prayed voicelessly as the bolt slid open, and then, with creaks, the door flung open.

Light flew into the dark room from the room beyond the door and there, on the door an almost seven foot figure of a man stood . . . and they could not see his face. The direction of the light formed an eerie silhouette frame of this man and his Shadow, singularly, was casted upon Paul and Melanie, enveloping them completely.

The man just stood there for a few terrifying seconds and it was not his facelessness or height that terrified the trio the most, but the slim, long, blade-like tool in his hand.

"Oh God!" Melanie exclaimed and shuddered. The light reflected off the steel and into her eyes, promising doom.