Suspenseful thriller audiobook with a riveting delivery
Rising Star
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General) North American (US General American - GenAM)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
I've always known it was here, especially in the fleeting moments of clarity. I later deny the blackness inside me tucked away in the place where a soul should be. I told myself it was a tool to be wielded, a tool I could control. I told myself a lie. It could all be over now. It would only take a moment to snap his neck and finish this, but I won't. He's earned a slow, painful death. He shows the first signs of coming to a twitch. A muscle spasm. Eyelids pull apart. His mouth fights against duct tape. I rip it off as he screams. Happy. I've taken some of his moustache and beard with it. A sliver of vague, bluish moonlight pierces through like a sign illuminating the clip black and white newspaper photo of you I hold. I'm sorry 1000 times. Sorry you were collateral damage. An innocent trapped in a narrative Who's ending will be written tonight. His beady tombstone gray eyes search mine for an answer through round mist covered, wire rimmed glasses. My dead eyed glare gives him nothing. Well, what do you want? He finally asks in a shaky voice. Nearly drowned out by the rush of the falls. I suck in a sharp, damp breath and let out a slow, impatient exhale. I think you know I don't he pleads all color, fading from the few visible patches of face not obscured by a thick salt and peppered moustache and an untended beard. I grab a fistful of his hair so he can't look away and shoved the photo in his face before ripping off the porcelain mask I'm wearing and tossing it to the ground. It shatters into pieces. Shattered Peace is shattered like the lives I'm here to avenge his eyes slammed shut. You can still let me go. I haven't seen your face. Oh, but you have open them. Arms struggle. Urgent. Under the rattle of chains, hands fumble for a phone I've taken from his pocket for the smartwatch I've removed from his wrist, his utter helplessness, something I find myself cherishing. There's no way for people to track you. Now open your eyes. He fights the inevitable for a time, then accepts it. His eyes open, Hugh. He goes white like a ghost, as he should. He created me. Do you see this? I ask picking up my sword, slicing through the air before pointing it at his face. A wet circle forms on his khaki pants. The acrid sting of ammonia fills the air, insulting my eyes and nose. I make a slow semicircle around him, tapping his head with my blade. He flinches with each strike. Don't shut your eyes again unless it's to blink. Hi, Judy may help me. He makes a wasted attempt to fight his way out of the bindings. I sit down, bang opposite him, watching until he collapses in exhaustion. A human may, he calls out in a last desperate plea. There's no one out there for you, I tell him, leaning forward in sliding my cookery across his distended belly, then sharply up his sweat covered white lab coat. Three buttons fly off and bounce on the ground, spinning like tossed coins before coming to rest on the cold stone floor near his hairy knuckled left hand. You don't have to do this, he begs. The circle around his crotch grows. A puddle forms beneath him. I can help you help me. I spit back the words like acid on my tongue like you helped Samuel Moore's grandmother like you helped Paul Pellens, wife and Children. I raise up his chin with my blade. Our eyes meet their dead. Remember his panicked eyes Searched the surroundings for a glimpse of a person. The beam from a flashlight for someone or something to save him. Can I assume you've heard the stories about this hotel? I ask, haunted his stammers. No one comes here at night. I'll be long gone before staff discovers your body In the morning, he opens chapped, spittle lined lips. Just tell me what you want. I lift his chin again with my blade. The woman in the photo I want her life back. I want my life back. I'll settle for yours in exchange, please. His eyes become wet again. I don't want to die. Neither did your victims, I say, followed by a sharp and unrestrained slap to his face. Take a look at the bend in your right elbow. I've already killed you. His eyes fall. His dry lower lip begins to quiver. You're bluffing, he says aconite. So we're clear. Takes a few hours, I tell him, pointing the blade at my backpack. The antidotes in there. If I decide to administer it in time. You may just survive the night his shoulders fall. Why are you doing this to me, Nathan? I've already told you, the woman. I don't know her. He protests. But you will. For every last minute you have left, you're gonna listen to me, tell you her story. My story on the off chance You don't know all the damage you've done. I hope it always on you like an anchor for the whole of ******* eternity. Now pay attention.