Between the Floorboards

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The door creaked as it opened.Dust lay on every surface like a memory.The air smelled of the past—and repression.

Red entered.Slowly.Mindfully.

Why am I here?

The apartment had barely changed.As if someone had frozen everything in time.

"You were closer than you ever thought."

Red spun around.Chance.At the door to the living room.There again.

His voice didn't echo.But it cut through.

"There, under the floorboards. Right side of the living room.You hid it yourself. And forgotten."

Red knelt on the creaking floor.His fingers searched the old wood.A crack.Barely visible.

With effort, he lifted the loose panel.

Underneath it—in a dusty gap—lay a small black book.Scratched.Tattered.Sealed with an old rubber band that almost crumbled when Red untied it.

Chance leaned against the wall,his hands in his pockets.

"It's got everything in it.Not just memories.Truths that hurt, too.Truths about ITrapped.About me.About us."

Red held the book tightly.It felt heavier than it looked.

"You wrote this?"

Chance denied.

"For me. For you.In case I lose myself."

A brief moment of silence.

Then Red whispered:

"Should I read it?"

Chance smiled – but it was a tired, broken smile.

"Only if you're ready to remember.Not just who you were.But also what you've lost."

Perfect - Red opens the door to the past, knowing it could break him or set him free. Let's dive in:

---

Red sat on the floor,the old diary opens in front of him,the first page trembling slightly in his hands –whether from dust or fear, he didn't know.

Scribbled writing.Faded incl.The handwriting was his.But no longer his thoughts.

"If you're reading this,then you're not me anymore."

The first line was a cold greeting.

Chance was still standing against the wall,pale as an echo,his arms crossed.

Red swallowed.And kept reading.

---

"I don't know how much you remember.Maybe nothing.Maybe everything, but wrong.That's why I'm writing this –so that at least one of us still knowswhat happened back then.What I did.What they did."

"ITrapped wasn't an accident.It was a test.A test I failed."

Red turned the page.Page by page,the memories slide closer to the surface.

---

"He called himself my friend.Drank with me, laughed,promised I'd get out of this mess.And then he gave me the gun."

"Russian roulette.But the chamber was empty.I flinched,laughed,looked at him—and then came the knife."

"He didn't wait to see if I lost.He decided I wasn't worth it."

---

Red's hands trembled more violently.The writing began to blur.Not from age—but from tears.

Chance, still in the corner, spoke softly:

"I survived. But I couldn't find myself anymore."

Red turned the page.

"I didn't say anything to anyone.Not the Mafioso.Not the others.I kept quiet.And slowly...I lost chance somewhere along the way."

---

Last page.Short.Scratchy writing.Almost as if in a fever:

"If you're reading this, then it means you survived.And that alone is enoughto forgive you."

"But if you decide to go back—then be better than me.Don't lie.Trust.And get your own ending."

Red closed the book.

The room was silent.

No more dust in the air.Just weight.

Chance looked at him.No mockery.No grin.Just a silent plea.

Red whispered:

"Thank you for not forgetting me."

Chance answered quietly:

"You were all I had."

---

Talk was just about leaving,his diary tucked into his jacket,his gaze determined –but trembling inside.

"Wait."

Chance stood there again,grinning slightly crookedly,with his arms crossed.

"Put on the headphones.Like before.Under the fedora.Then the glasses."

Red hesitated.But obeyed.

The fedora sat low.The sunglasses obscured his view.The headphones hung loosely around his ears,no sound, but the feeling was there.

Like a mask.Like armor.

Chance denied contentedly.

"Better. Now you look like someone who knows something.Even if you don't yet."

---

The first steps were quiet.Then came the noise.A car, way too fast.shouts.Steps.pursuer.

Red ran.

Chance ran beside him –invisible to everyone, but there.

"Don't look back!Always to the left, along the wall!Up ahead, alley, then jump over the trash cans!"

Red obeyed,his breath burning,his blood pumping wildly.

The city flashed by.Familiar, strange, empty.

A kilometer.Or more.He couldn't count anymore.

---

Red pushed through a half-torn gate,his body exhausted,his lungs burning.

Inside:Dust.Old shelves.Abandoned pallets.

Chance stood in the middle of the room,his hands on his knees.

"Welcome to another glorious memory."

Red leaned against a wall, panting.The adrenaline was still coursing through every fiber of his being.

"Who were those people?"

Chance shook his head.

"Not who, but why.And believe me... the answer lies somewhere between the three of us:You, me... and him."

Red whispered:

"Mafioso...?"

Chance didn't answer.

He just looked at him.With a look that knew more than Red dared to admit.

---

To be continued...