It beats for you, it bleeds for you

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𝔸ℕℕ𝔸𝔹𝔼𝕃𝕃𝔼 looked around the huge bookshelves, her eyes scanning the rows of spines until one title caught her attention: "INCIDENTS IN RUSSIA." She pulled it from the shelf and opened it to the bookmarked page. The paper looked old, and a few drops stained the page, as if someone had cried and the tears had fallen on the paper. Gently, Annabelle traced the marks with her fingers before reading the headline: "BALLET DANCER DIES ON STAGE FROM GUNSHOT."

Annabelle's eyes widened as her gaze travelled to the picture of the dancer. It showed a body lying lifeless with a bleeding wound to the stomach. Another photo on the page showed the dancer's face before her death. Annabelle's heart felt as though it had stopped, and her breath caught in her throat. The name under the picture read, "ANNASTASIA VOLKOVA." Annabelle stared at the image, realizing it was indeed her. Her head began to swim with questions, and her breath quickened.

Before she could process what she was seeing, her thoughts were interrupted by a scream that belonged to Peter. "Help! Help!" The desperate cry echoed through the manor.

Annabelle dropped the book, its pages fluttering shut, and ran toward the direction of the scream. The sound of her footsteps pounded through the dark hallways as she raced to find Peter, her mind a tumultuous mix of fear and confusion.

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Annabelle looked at the headless body that belonged to Dean, his torso slumped in the chair while his head lay gruesomely on the table. The scene was eerily quiet, broken only by Frank's agitated voice as he turned to Sammy.

"What the fuck were you doing down here, anyway?" he demanded.

Sammy, visibly shaken, replied, "I couldn't sleep. I heard something."

Frank scoffed, "What, you just had to come and check it out, huh?"

Annabelle shot him a piercing look. "You think she could do this?" she asked pointedly.

Frank shrugged, his expression indifferent. Annabelle turned her gaze back to Dean's mutilated body, her mind racing. "What does that look like to you?" she asked. Frank's reply was terse and unsettled. "It looks like a fucking wild animal ripped him apart." Annabelle met his eyes, her voice steady. "Exactly. So she couldn't have done this. Which can only mean..."

"No. No. No. I'm not fu... We're not fucking going there," Frank interrupted, a nervous edge creeping into his steps and tone. Don muttered under his breath, his hands on his hips, "Oh, fuck." Sammy, confused and scared, looked at the group. "Why are you all acting so weird?" Annabelle's tone was calm, aiming to soothe her. "There are stories about Lazaar's hitman." Frank, leaning against the kitchen sink, spoke up with frustration. "Can we not do this, please?"

Ignoring him, Annabelle continued, "Valdez."

Peter, with a drawn dick on his cheek, spoke up. Annabelle's eyes flicked to him, momentarily bewildered by the childish prank. "I heard a story once." Don interjected, adding gravity to the situation. "Three of Lazaar's top guys got pinched a few years ago. The FBI flipped 'em on the top floor of a hotel. A dozen agents in the next room and two on the door. Next morning, FBI goes into the room. All eight bodies are ripped apart. Limbs... and organs missing. Decapitations. That's his signature. Valdez. He's a fucking animal."

Annabelle added, "And there was no way in and out of that room except for the front door or the 23rd-story window." She ran her fingers through her hair, the stress evident in her movements. Sammy looked between Annabelle and Don, her skepticism clear. "Bullshit." Don met Sammy's eyes before Frank interjected, "It's not fucking bullshit. That's not the first time I heard that story." Annabelle, sensing the urgency, spoke up, "We'd better check on the guy." With that, they all hurried out of the kitchen, the tension palpable as they moved with a shared sense of dread.

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Annabelle and the group made their way up the stairs carefully, with Frank leading the way, his gun at the ready. He spoke in a low, urgent tone, "Alright, let's game this out. If Valdez or anyone else is in here, that means Lambert gave us up. And I don't buy that."

Annabelle, walking next to Frank and also armed, responded, "Or Lazaar got to him and beat our location out of him."

Frank shot her a look and stopped walking, his frustration clear. "Are you fucking kidding me? Lambert is a meticulous motherfucker. He's very, very careful. If he gave us up, that means either one of us did it or Valdez is in here and he did it." Annabelle looked at the group, her expression serious. "Or one of us is Valdez." The suggestion hung heavy in the air, causing everyone to eye each other with suspicion. Don broke the tense silence, "I, for one, would like to revisit the cut-and-run idea." Frank shook his head, resuming his ascent, Annabelle right behind him. She kept her gun ready as Frank opened the door a crack, peering inside. Gabriel lay on the bed, turning his head towards the door. "Hello?"

Frank quickly closed the door before Gabriel could see who it was. He turned back to the group. "He's fine."

Don wasn't convinced. "Just because he's still in there doesn't mean that Valdez isn't here. I'm out." He looked at Annabelle. "You coming?"

Annabelle shook her head, glancing at the door. "Suit yourself," Don muttered before heading downstairs. Sammy called after him, "You leaving?" while Peter added, "Bye-bye. Bye, Rickles."

Annabelle sighed, muttering under her breath, "Дерьмо." (Shit.) She began to follow Don, with the group trailing behind her. "Rickles. Hey!"

They made their way downstairs, only to discover that the exit door now led to a locked iron gate that had not been there before. Don tried the gate, but it was firmly locked, trapping them inside.

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Peter exclaimed, staring at the newly appeared iron gate.

Don shook the gate, trying to open it while Annabelle looked on in confusion. Peter called out to Don, "Wrinkles. Stand back." Don moved aside as Peter prepared to charge. "Peter, that won't work," Annabelle warned, but Peter ignored her. He ran at the gate, slamming into it. The gate remained firmly shut. Peter turned to the group, stating the obvious, "It's locked."

Annabelle facepalmed, and Frank added sarcastically, "Thanks, Peter."

Suddenly, a loud mechanical noise filled the room. Everyone looked around in alarm as the windows began to be boarded up, sealing off all exits. Peter clutched his cross necklace, muttering nervously. Sammy voiced everyone's confusion, "Uh... what the hell is happening?"

Peter, his voice shaky, suggested, "I think that, uh, trying the door, it, uh... it-it triggered it or something."

Don grabbed a chair and hurled it against a blocked window, but the chair shattered upon impact. Annabelle declared, "This whole thing is a trap." Don bolted up the stairs, with Peter calling after him, "Wrinkles! Where's...? Hey. Where's Wrinkles going?" He started to follow, his panic rising. Frank turned to Annabelle, his face grim. "If this is Valdez, maybe he checked on the guy and left him there to throw us off." Annabelle nodded decisively. "I'll see what I can find out." With that, she ran up the stairs, her heart pounding, determined to uncover the truth.

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Annabelle walked into the room with determination, her mask firmly in place. Gabriel, who had been lounging on the bed, sat up eagerly, only to see a flicker of fear in her eyes. "Odette?" he called out softly. Annabelle crossed the room swiftly, her voice urgent. "I need to ask you something. Has anyone besides me and the man with the glasses been in here?"

Gabriel shook his head, his gaze locked on hers. "No."

Annabelle took his hands, her grip tight. "No one at all?"

Gabriel shook his head again, his tone soothing to counter her agitation. "No."

Annabelle searched his eyes, then lifted her pinkie towards him. "Can you pinkie-promise me that you're not keeping a secret?" Gabriel looked from her pinkie to her face, his expression softening. Annabelle's voice turned gentle but firm. "Gabriel." He hesitated, then spoke in an innocent tone, "He's gonna hurt me."

Annabelle's eyes widened. "Who?"

"The man with the glasses. He told me I had to keep a secret or he'd hurt me." Annabelle's heart pounded as she leaned closer. "What did he say?" She placed her hands over his, her voice a soothing whisper. "It's okay. You can tell me." Gabriel looked down, his thumbs tracing circles on her knuckles. He shook his head, clearly distressed. "Gabriel. Hey." Annabelle lifted his chin gently, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I'm not gonna let him hurt you. But I need you to tell me what he said."

Gabriel inhaled deeply, trying to steady his breath. "He said he works for my father. He said his name was... Valdez."

Annabelle's eyes widened in shock just as the door opened. Don entered, his arm shielding his face. "I need to talk to you right now." Gabriel's expression turned icy as he glared at Don, but he quickly masked it as Annabelle glanced back at him. "I'll be right outside," she promised softly. She stood up and followed Don out of the room, her mind racing with this new revelation.

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By: SilverMist707

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