The Deadly Consequences

HERAIAH ‘Hera’ BAUTISTA

“AHH! HELP! HELP!” I scream at the top of my lungs as I run toward my house.

Rain is pouring hard now. I have no neighbors nearby, and I don’t know if anyone can hear me.

I don’t dare look back—I’m too scared of the handsome man turned killer who’s surely chasing me down.

“Lord!” I cry out, tears streaming down my face. “Why does my house feel so far away?” I’ve been running for what feels like forever, but it’s as if the path keeps stretching longer.

I’m coughing as I run, my eyes nearly bulging when I slip on the muddy ground.

“ARGHHH!” I groan as I fall hard, landing flat in the muck.

“Shit! Shit!” I shout, realizing what’s happened. I’ve dropped my phone, but I still cling to the shovel in my right hand.

I’m about to stand up when I feel something press against the back of my head. I freeze where I sit, my heart hammering so hard I can barely breathe. Fear roots me to the spot.

“Please, please! I still have dreams to chase, Lord,” I whisper a desperate prayer.

The rain is so loud I think I won’t hear whatever he says—but then he leans close, his breath ghosting over my ear.

“Who sent you?” His voice is colder than the rain itself.

I shake my head violently, my eyes squeezed shut. “I-I don’t know—I don’t know anything!” Slowly I lift my left hand to point toward my house. “I-I live there!” I scream, my voice raw with terror.

He laughs—a low sound that could belong to a movie villain. It sends shivers down my spine.

“I am not dumb, woman…”

I keep shaking my head as he presses the blade closer. Now it’s at my neck instead of my head.

“I-I’m telling the truth…” I sob, my words barely audible.

But he doesn’t seem to care. I feel a sharp sting on my neck where the knife touches my skin. He really is going to kill me.

But I won’t let him! I can’t die now—I have so much left to do!

My gaze drops to the shovel still clutched in my right hand. Suddenly I find a burst of courage, every ounce of strength flooding back.

I slam the back of my head into his face. He staggers backward, his grip loosening just enough for me to break free. I don’t waste a second—my plan kicks in right away.

I squeeze my eyes shut from fear of what I’m about to do, but I swing the shovel hard at his head. The impact is brutal—so strong I can feel it reverberate through my arms. I keep my eyes closed as I strike.

“P-Please… please…” I pray under my breath. No blade pierces me, so slowly I open my eyes.

The blood drains from my face. I drop the shovel—it’s covered in red. I clap a hand over my mouth, horror making me cry out.

“A-Ahhh! I didn’t mean to—oh my God! W-What do I do?!” I shriek, panic taking over.

The man who tried to kill me lies motionless on the ground. His head is bleeding heavily, and he’s unconscious.

“Is he… is he still alive?” I sob, talking to myself now.

I drop to my knees and press my hand to his chest. “You’re so stupid for this part!” I scold myself.

My hand shakes as I feel for a heartbeat—but I can’t find one. Terror grips me tighter, making me dizzy with panic.

I stand up and race into my house. My hands fumble with the lock, and I end up pacing outside the door, unable to think straight.

“Oh my God… I killed him—I killed a killer too. No! That’s not the point, shit! Sorry Lord! Sorry!” I cry out, tears mixing with rain on my face.

I can’t form a single clear thought. Then I hear my dog Ace barking inside the house, and the sound pulls me back to my senses.

I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. When I open them again, I look at my trembling hands—they’re covered in mud and blood.

There’s only one thing I can think to do. I need to use my connection to get out of this mess.

I go back to where the man lies, pick up my phone. It’s soaked through and won’t turn on. So I hurry inside to grab the landline from the kitchen.

I punch in the number I need. It’s stuck to the wall with a sticky note—I’m grateful now that I thought to write it down.

“Please answer,” I beg under my breath.

“Hello?” His voice comes through the line, and relief floods me.

“D-Dad—I mean, Mr. G-Governor…” My words stumble over each other.

“Heraiah? What’s wrong? It’s been a long time since you called me.”

I wipe tears from my eyes. “I-I need your help… please, come to the house. I… I saw someone killing another man—and that killer, I killed him. I killed him! I-I don’t want to go to jail, dad!” I sob into the phone.

Silence fills the line, and I think the call has dropped. Then he speaks again.

“Wait there. I’m on my way.”

My legs give out the moment I hear his answer. I collapse to the floor and cry harder, my body shaking with fear and exhaustion.

I don’t bother cleaning myself up while I wait—I’m too on edge. I huddle in the corner of the living room, Ace lying beside me and resting his head on my lap to comfort me.

When I hear cars outside, I finally find the strength to stand. I run to the door and fling it open. Three black cars are parked in front of my house—they look expensive, and my nerves spike.

Men in dark suits get out of the vehicles. Even in the rain, they’re perfectly dressed in formal wear, and it makes me more anxious than ever.

“Heraiah.”

I turn to the voice. It’s him—my father. He steps out of one of the cars, dressed just as formally as his men.

“W-Where is the… the body?” I stammer, looking past him.

He’s about to answer when two men carrying a stretcher walk toward us.

My eyes widen when I see the man I hit with the shovel lying on it. I look at my father, confused and scared.

“W-Why—”

“I’ll explain everything later, my child. For now, go clean up and dry off. You’ll get sick if you stay like this.”

I nod and don’t argue. I hurry up to the second floor and take a shower in my bedroom bathroom—there are too many strangers downstairs for me to use the one below.

“He was one of my men, Heraiah.”

My ears prick at his words. “D-Dad?” I ask, completely bewildered.

We’re sitting on the sofa in what’s almost my living room. Men keep going up and down the stairs—they’ve taken the killer to the room next to mine upstairs. My house only has two bedrooms, after all.

“You see, I’m a governor. I have people working for me—lots of them, for different things. And him?” He takes a sip from his coffee cup. “He was one of those who work for—”

“He kills people… for you.” I cut him off, understanding now. I stare into his eyes, and he nods to confirm what I’ve said.

“His name was Thaddeus Vitale. He’s Russian.”

“No dad—I don’t need to know his name. I just want to know why… why you put him in the next room!” I shout, my emotions finally boiling over.

“You don’t understand,” he says seriously, setting his cup down on the table in front of us.

“I want you to look after him, Hera. You’ll take care of him while he’s bedridden. Hide him, keep him alive, and never ask why.” His voice is firm as he speaks, and a wave of fear washes over me. The warmth is gone from his tone; he feels like a stranger now.

“W-Why me? I-I wanted a normal life…”

“Because you’re the one who put him in a coma, Hera. What happened messed up our work completely! This is what you have to do—unless you want to go to jail?”

My father’s words freeze me solid. I can’t speak. The next morning, reality hits me hard: I’m now living with a psychopath next door. A comatose man whose very possibility of waking up fills every part of me with dread.

Please, please don’t wake up!