*Friday, 10:30 p.m.*

Hearing the sound of men's voices, I slowly blink my eyes open. As I do, I realize I am back home, in my living room. I move to stand up but feel a sharp tug on my ankles. Looking down, I see I am tied to one of our old kitchen chairs.

What the hell?

Trying to get my bearings back, I whip my head around to the sounds of the voices. As I do that, I feel a blinding pain in my head and see stars in my vision.

Owww!

The shock from the pain must have been enough to fully wake me up because in a second, everything comes flashing back to me. The football game, Wyatt getting hurt, seeing Dorian, the gun, his friend, the sharp pain, and then blackness.

Moving slower this time, I turn to the voices that are getting louder. A few seconds later, I see my uncle and his friend, Jack, stumbling towards me, both holding beers and cigarettes. I try to scoot away from their forms, but the ropes hold me in.

"Well, well. The little bitch finally decided to wake up. I was afraid Jack had killed you. That would have been a shame. I would've been pretty mad if my toy died before I got a little playtime in." My uncle sneers at me.

"What the hell do you think you are doing, Dorian. I'm not your toy. Let me go right now." I reply, in a voice much more confident than I actually feel.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because he quickly steps to me and grips my chin roughly in his sweaty hands. He forces me to look into his cold, lifeless eyes. A memory flashes through my head of Nathan doing the same move. Only, when he did it I felt completely safe and in love. Now, all I feel is terror and rage.

"Oh, so you think you're so tough. I see. The slut goes off and finds a new life and thinks she's all that. Only you forgot one thing, murderers don't get new lives." He spits out at me and squeezes his hand.

The motion hurts like hell, but I manage to keep down my whimper and tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He must see my intentions because he backs up and turns towards Jack.

"Thank you for your help, my friend. Your payment will be transferred to your account momentarily." He says businesslike and motions to the door.

Jack takes the hint, nods, and walks out, leaving just my uncle and me in the place I once called home. Instead of immediately attacking me, like I figured, my uncle slowly walks to the kitchen and comes back out with a knife. He twists the shiny metal in his hand and leans against the couch.

"Here's how this is going to go. We are going to sit here and I am going to make you pay. Then, when I get tired, I'm going to take my gun and shoot you. That way, the real murderer can be in the ground and my brother can finally have the justice he deserves." Dorian says eerily calm. I can see his bloodshot eyes and slight sway, so I know he's intoxicated, though he seems to be hiding it well right now.

"That will never happen. My friends will come looking for me and you will pay." I reply, remembering my hints to Candace.

Please hurry, Nate.

My uncle's face contorts in anger and I watch his fists clench around the knife. Faster than I thought him capable, he moves over and proceeds to kick and hit me. I can feel the blood running down my face and the blinding pain in my body is enough to make me go unconscious. Fighting off the urge, I remain still and wait for the beatings to end.

After a few minutes, he returns to his original position and resumes his task. The room is so silent, I hear nothing but my own heart. He continues to just stand there and play with the knife. I can tell in his eyes, he is too far gone. The alcohol and probably drugs have left me in the hands of a completely off-his-rocker, psychopath that believes I murdered his brother.

Great!

"Ah yes, the loved ones. I don't doubt that they will come for you. That's why we are going to leave them a present." He finally says and takes out my phone, that he must have stolen when I was unconscious. He fiddles with it for a second, and then I see the blinking red light that means it's recording.

"Adelaine. Say hi to your family. They are going to miss you so much." He says loudly and slowly walks over to me.

The camera is pointed towards me, so I don't move a muscle, afraid that my siblings really will see this. That seems to just anger him more because in one quick move, he shoves the knife into my thigh.

"AHHHHH!"

I scream out, not bothering to hide the pulsing pain or tears that now flow from my eyes. Dorian lets out a low chuckle and I look up to see him still recording me, with a Cheshire cat grin on his face.

"That's better. Did you hear that, you little brats?" He drunkenly says the last part to the camera.

The camera! He's recording everything, which means evidence. Idiot. At least now they'll be able to catch the killer.

I smile slightly at my inner thoughts, but immediately regret it when the knife is once again stabbed into my thigh and left there. I let out another scream and my uncle just remains smiling. He stumbles over to the fireplace and places the camera so I am still in frame, but he can now use both hands.

"Sadly, I don't think we have very much time, seeing as how that boy of yours has cop training." He sneers. I just look at him shocked that he knows anything about Nate. He smiles again and walks leisurely to me.

"Oh yes, I know all about him. I know that he wants to save the world, so he did some basic cop training. I know that his dad is ex-military and your Nathan practically grew up surrounded by guns. I mean this is Texas." He lets out a small chuckle at his own remark before bending and twisting the knife in my leg.

I manage to hold back my scream and only let out a low groan, but am not able to stop the tears from streaming down my face. He seems disappointed by my lack of emotion, so he removes the knife, kicks at my legs, and puts a tight grip on my wrists. Bending, he gets close enough to my face that I can smell his rank odor and he oddly whispers into my ear.

"The bad part for you is I don't care about him. He doesn't scare me." He says and then backs off and turns to face the fireplace and camera.

After he turns, I realize his grip slightly loosened the rope around my wrists. Making sure he's still facing away, I move my wrists in a circular motion to try and get them loose enough for me to slip through. Seeing as, I don't know how he's not passed out drunk, his knot tying skills aren't exactly up to par. Ignoring the burning pain and blood coming from my wrists, I continue the process until I'm forced to stop when I see him slowly start to turn towards me again.

Almost there! Distract him.

Knowing I'm going to regret this, I let my emotions loose and start to sob. It's not hard to do considering how terrified I am, but I'm still mostly faking. The rage I feel right now, masks my terror and pain.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?" I sob out. The question is really only a means to keep him occupied, but part of me still wants to hear him say it out loud.

"Why? WHY?" He yells angrily.

"BECAUSE YOU KILLED MY BROTHER. IT WAS ALL YOUR FAULT AND NOW HE IS DEAD. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU WHO DIED, BUT YOU ARE JUST A SPOILED BRAT WHO GOT OFF EASY. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY. I'M GOING TO MAKE YOU PAY." He yells out and proceeds to stomp out of the room, repeating his last sentence over and over again. I also hear him say something about 10:40 and dying, but assuming he's just crazy, I disregard the words.

Taking advantage of his absence, I quickly use the splintering, old chair and continue my twisting motion. Using the wood, I am able to get a much bigger release. After making sure he is still gone, I do a few more twists and the rope slacks almost completely.

Fast as I've ever moved, I get my left wrist out, untie the ropes on my other wrist and ankles, and rush out of the chair. I almost reach the doorknob when my hair is suddenly pulled back and I am thrown to the ground. I scream in pain when the floor connects with my earlier injuries. Looking up, I see my uncle standing over me. He has the most evil and giant grin I've ever seen, spread across his face.

I look into his eyes and see nothing but pure joy. Wondering what brought this on, I move my head slightly to the right. It's there I see the sharp knife placed carelessly by my leg. But that's not what makes me freeze and my breath catch in my throat.

Instead, it's the steely, metal gun my uncle has pointed directly at my head.

"Yes. I do believe 10:40 is the perfect time for a death." He says happily.