The man clicked the barrel back into place. I took off for the door.

“Fucking shitheel,” the man yelled out like he was a drunk yelling at an underperforming athlete in a stadium.

I heard the clicking sound of a gun hammer snapping without a bullet before I made it to the door, ripped it open and tumbled through the doorway.

I opened my eyes in a dark hallway with the only light coming from a candle which was shining through an open door at the end of the corridor. Mother of fuck. What was I thinking getting myself into this shit? I couldn’t believe the dark lord who had led me into the most sinister of nightmares I felt was going to end my life at any moment was Ricky fucking Daniels. The guy probably couldn’t even wipe his asshole properly.

The sound of a boot smashing hard into the closed wooden door my back was pressed up against got me into gear. I crawled away as I heard drunken muttering come from the other side.

It took only a few seconds to get into the candle-lit room at the end of the hallway. Finally, a break. There was no one in the room. Just a short candle resting on a wooden table, a sewing machine and a few boxes covered with blankets.

I laid eyes on salvation on the other side of the room where I saw a broken out window pane which opened onto the ground-level porch. I ran at it as fast as I could and tried to jump through it once I got close enough, but no luck. I felt a hand wrap around my ankle when I was in midair and pull me down hard onto the floor.