Eric lay facedown on the cold hard floor, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, he could feel it running out his nose and warming his cheek. Everything ached, ribs, knees, legs; his head was throbbing.
Waiting, eyes shut, listening. He could sense a presence but without moving or opening his eyes he could not locate them. Nor could he tell how many there were.
The pain he felt from the beating was fading compared to the pressure points forming due to his laying still for so long. Then he heard it, movement, someone standing from a chair, the chair scraping across the floor.
The smell of foot odor and wet leather filled his nose and mouth, feet mere inches from his face. Opening his eyes just a slit, he could see the boots. He knew who and why he was laying on the floor.
He knew now what this was about, he was as good as dead because of what he had seen. He’d told no one, not even the police. The boots were here now. For him.