The Death Card

The man shook with unadulterated fear, sweat oozing from his every pore like a poison. He didn’t remember how he got there. Only a party, a woman in black, then darkness.

He was still in the dark but he was awake now, and realized that he was tied to a chair. The stifling air that he was breathing told him that a hood had been placed over his head. His hands were numb, secured behind his back with a wire thin cord that was cutting off his circulation.

As if on cue the hood was pulled from his head, the sudden light blinding. Vision adjusting, he realized that there was only one captor. She was sitting across from him at a polished wooden table, nonchalantly shuffling a deck of cards.

“I’m very important,â€? he informed her. “They’ll find me.â€?

She didn’t respond, just began lying the cards face up on to the table. Tarot cards.

“Who are you?â€? he whispered, fear creeping.

A mirthless smile crossed her lips as she put the last card down. He glanced down, and his pulse began to race.


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