"He's dead?"

"No... That can't be true," he said.

His face paled. His forehead furrowed as if he was worried.

My gaze remained on him. He tried to untie the rope tied to his wrist. Tangled tangled his dirty coat, obviously several times he tried to escape.

He stumbled into the dirty and dusty corner of the basement. His feet and hands were tied behind his back.

"That's not true! I saw him rushing towards me before I passed out. He's not dead ---"

"Of course he's not." I cut him off.

His face softened. Unable to hide the weariness on his face, the black was deep below his eyes....