"You Know Too Much"
It was night. The city drowned in fog, the empty streets breathing silently under the pale yellow streetlights.
The heavy roar of an engine replayed in Emma's mind—the same one from the night before. A black 1968 Dodge. Its body gleamed in the dark, as if it was alive… as if it was breathing.
Emma had seen things others called imagination. But she knew better. She knew that car was behind the strange events shadowing the city. And every lead dragged her here—to a garage on the edge of town. To a man named Robbie.
The garage door was half-open. A dead radio hummed faintly, the air thick with burnt rubber and hot oil. Without knocking, Emma stepped inside.
A deep, gravelly voice came from the dark.
"Closed. Come back tomorrow."
Emma ignored him, taking another step.
"I just have one question… about a Dodge. 1968. Black. Someone said they saw it here. At night. Around this garage."
Robbie rose from behind a car. Grease smeared his hands, his face unreadable. He studied her for a moment, then said flatly:
"No. No such car here."
Emma narrowed her eyes.
"That's strange. Because I found a piece of that exact model two blocks down. Fresh tire marks too. And that sound… like hot metal breathing."
Silence. His face turned to stone.
Her pulse quickened. She turned to leave—
"Wait."
His voice softened, but there was something hidden beneath it.
"Maybe in the back office. Old files. If you want, you can take a look. Follow me."
Emma hesitated. Just for a second. Then curiosity pulled her forward like a rope. She followed him into a narrow hallway where the air grew heavier, darker. Robbie opened a door.
"Left shelf. Go ahead."
Emma stepped inside. The room smelled of smoke and rotting wood. A single bulb flickered overhead. She started searching through dusty folders… but something felt wrong. Heavier.
She turned—
Robbie stood right behind her. Motionless. A heavy wrench in his hand.
Her voice trembled.
"Why… why did you close the door?"
His reply was calm. Emotionless.
"Because when someone gets too close to the truth… there's only one way left."
Before Emma could even draw a breath—
CRACK.
The wrench slammed into her temple. Her body crumpled. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Robbie crouched beside her limp form, his grip still tight on the wrench. His voice barely a whisper.
"Little lady… you got too close."
Her hands were still tied. Her head throbbed. She didn't know how long she'd been out—only that the sound of the iron door closing echoed like a sentence.
The garage air was cold. Damp. Heavy with gasoline.
Footsteps came again. Slow, heavy. Certain.
Robbie.
The door opened. Without a word, he stepped inside. A bottle of water hit the table beside her. His eyes, as always, unreadable.
Emma's voice was low, shaky.
"Why… why did you keep me alive?"
No answer. He just stared.
"If you wanted me dead, you would've done it already. So why am I here? What do you want from me?"
His eyes narrowed. His voice rasped low:
"Be quiet."
Her heartbeat quickened. She glared at him.
"You're nothing but a coward. A killer hiding in shadows. You think just because fire burns out of you, you're some kind of god?"
The blow came sudden. The back of his hand cracked against her face. The sting was sharp, but her voice was sharper.
Spitting blood, Emma whispered:
"Now I'm sure. You really are a monster."
Robbie didn't flinch. Didn't smile. Didn't even look proud. He just stood there, watching her, as if even he didn't understand why he'd done it.
Quietly, he said:
"If you really knew what I am… you wouldn't run. You'd hate me."
Emma's lips curved into a bitter smile, blood staining her teeth.
"You already hate yourself. Don't you?"
For a second, something broke in his eyes. His gaze drifted—far away from her, far away from this garage. Somewhere darker.
Then it was gone. He turned back. Opened the bottle. Held it out to her.
"Drink."
Emma hesitated, but took a sip. The water burned down her throat—or maybe it was just fear choking her.
Robbie stood. The sound of his leather belt and chain rattled with every step.
"Until I figure out what to do with you, you stay here."
The door shut. The lock echoed like a hammer.
Emma was left alone. Wounded. Trapped. And with only one thought circling in her head:
If he's a monster… then why does it feel like there's still a man burning underneath all that fire?
Morning bled gray through the broken window.
The lock clicked.
Robbie again.
This time he carried food. And something else: a long, rusted chain and a thin blanket.
Without looking at her, he set down the blanket, then locked the chain to the iron table. The sharp click rang like a death sentence.
He untied her hands, but before she could even move, he clasped the chain around her ankle. Freedom? Only a few more feet than last night.
The food dropped to the floor.
"You'll get hungry. Eat."
Emma's eyes went to the chain.
"So this is it. I'm your prisoner now."
Robbie sat on the table, elbows on his knees. His stare cold, unblinking.
Emma gave a dry laugh.
"A bed, a blanket… yeah. Officially a prisoner."
"You still know too much."
Her lips curled in defiance.
"Yeah… but it's not just me who's trapped, Robbie. You are too. If you were really a monster, I'd already be dead."
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. But it vanished.
"Eat. That's all you're getting today."
He stood, turned for the door.
"How long do you plan on keeping this up?"
He paused.
"Until that part of you that keeps digging for the truth… shuts up."
The lock sealed again.
Night.
The sound of an engine died outside. The garage door creaked. Robbie stepped in, food in hand.
But froze.
Emma lay on the mattress, motionless.
He frowned. Slowly approached. Kneeling beside her, his hand hovered near her face—
Sudden movement.
Emma shot up, a sharp stone clutched in her hand, and aimed for his head.
Robbie caught her wrist midair. The stone clattered to the ground. His breath flared hot, angry.
"You think I'm that stupid?"
Emma thrashed, screaming, fists pounding against his chest.
"Let me go, you bastard! You won't keep me here—"
Her scream cut short.
Robbie's hand clamped over her mouth. He leaned in close, his breath burning her skin.
And his eyes—
They blazed. A fiery glow burned deep within them, orange and deadly.
"Shut. Up!"
His voice roared like thunder. The walls shook. Even the chain on her ankle rattled.
Silence.
Emma stared back, wide-eyed, not at the man—but at the thing behind his eyes.
Slowly, Robbie pulled his hand away. His breathing ragged, heavy. The fire dimmed, leaving only gray, stormy eyes.
He turned. Picked up tools. Rearranged them. Locked away anything sharp. Even a box of bullets disappeared to the top shelf.
"Next time… you'll meet the other side of me. You don't want that."
Emma said nothing. She was watching. Not him—everything around him. Every distance. Every possibility.
Robbie finished. Wiped grease off an old bumper. His voice flat.
"If you touch anything, you won't get a warning."
Then, without looking at her, he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. A stub of pencil.
He walked over. Placed them by her hand.
"Your name. Age. Job. Address. Everything useful. By tomorrow morning, I want it written. Full."
Emma stared at the paper. Silent. Then a smirk tugged her lips.
"And if I don't? What, you'll kill me for my info, psycho?"
Robbie paused. Then smiled. A slow, empty smile. Dangerous.
He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. His gaze lingered on her cracked lips, then back up. His voice dropped, low and threatening.
"If you don't… I'll find another way to make you talk. Got it?"
He released her. Stepped back.
The food hit the floor beside her.
"You have until tomorrow."
And then he was gone.
The lock clanged shut.
Emma was alone. With a paper, a pencil… and a monster whose fire was only just beginning to show.
To be continued