Chapter 165: Very emotional
In the video, the woman was named Pamela Lutti. She was Paul's colleague and the mother of two children, also part of the convoy attacked today. Now, she was being held hostage at a different location, with the kidnappers. Their demand was clear: if Paul didn't record the kidnapping video, they would tear up the ticket right away.
Chanelle was petrified, her muscles frozen, unable to move. Her very soul seemed to have turned into ice, and the shock and fear that burst forth from the depths of her being clamped down on her throat, suffocating her voice. This performance was Renly's initial audition in the youth hostel—a segment infused with despair amid confusion, and resolve amid fear. The unstoppable momentum, like a razor's edge, cut through the screen from top to bottom, crashing down upon Chanelle, leaving her utterly stunned.
Compared to that audition in the youth hostel, the on-screen performance was even more riveting, more intense, and more authentic. Amidst the interplay of light and shadow, those deep brown eyes firmly seized all attention. Even the sound of breathing had completely vanished. Chanelle could clearly sense the taste of blood between her lips and teeth, exploding violently.
It was over—everything was over. As Paul's face pressed against the coffin's floor, a mocking smirk on his lips, but the sparkle in his eyes had vanished. Gavin knew, it was all over. The fear that had entangled his ankles had now risen to his chest. The warmth of his heart and the rise and fall of his lungs seemed to have slowed down. Yet he remained powerless, unable to do anything except witness it all, helpless.
When the screen plunged into darkness again, the entire screening room fell into silence. Despite the twenty-five seconds of darkness, no one expressed annoyance or impatience. Everyone sat quietly in their seats, wide-eyed, trying to find even a hint of light in the unfathomable darkness, even if it was just the gleam in Paul's eyes.
The pace of the movie seemed to suddenly stall. The audience's brains began to function again to some extent. However, at this moment, a green glow stick tore through the veil of darkness, illuminating once more. Then they saw Paul, his face filled with terror, staring at his own feet, his breath trembling. Every muscle in his body was taut to the extreme.
"Ah!" Looking down through the lens, many in the screening room involuntarily cried out, even those with courage were startled. A snake! A snake had somehow slithered into the coffin. Although the type was unclear in the dim light, desert snakes were lethal, especially rattlesnakes. In such a confined space, moving even slightly would be like signing Paul's death sentence, and the movie would immediately end.
The cries of shock were involuntary and even led to tingling scalps, goosebumps covering their bodies.
In his panic, Paul held his breath, opened the small liquor bottle, and sprayed the remaining alcohol toward the direction of the snake's coils. Then, with the utmost caution, he ignited a lighter and locked eyes with the snake. In a critical moment, the flame of the lighter burst forth, igniting the residual alcohol in Paul's hand. Subconsciously, he tossed the lighter toward the snake, then rapidly leaned backward, kicking his legs back. In his haste, he kicked the cellphone out as well.
Right then, the cellphone started vibrating, its blinking light appearing incredibly feeble amidst the flames. However, the snake remained unharmed. It had navigated through the alcohol-infused flames and was now crawling toward Paul.
Chanelle tightly clenched her teeth, preventing herself from crying out in shock. She held her breath, her eyes wide and tearing at the screen. At the last moment, the snake changed its course, crawling over the cellphone and slipping into the sand through a gap.
Yet, the crisis wasn't over. The cellphone continued to vibrate tirelessly, as if it were a death knell, one pulse after another. Paul's peripheral vision darted to the phone incessantly. But his hands were busy stuffing the coat into the gap, and in his haste, the small liquor bottle toppled over. The alcohol spilled out rapidly. Meanwhile, the cellphone kept ringing, seemingly counting down to Paul's life's end.
After finally plugging the gap, Chanelle realized that on one side was the fire pit and on the other side was the cellphone. Paul was at the far end of the coffin and couldn't reach it! Thus, Paul once again curled his body to the extreme, attempting to replicate his previous maneuver. His head, neck, and spine were pressed to their limits, as if applying just a bit more force would cause him to break apart. After a breathless pause, Paul finally managed to complete the turn, but before he could stretch out his hand, the phone's vibrations ceased. At the same time, the alcohol that had leaked was getting closer and closer to the fire pit. Even the glow stick had melted from the heat. It seemed that in the next second, the entire coffin would be set ablaze, burning Paul alive.
Chanelle wanted to close her eyes, unable to bear the sight. Beside her, Tessa had curled up completely, refusing to watch. Yet, Chanelle forced herself to keep her eyes wide open, unwilling to miss any detail. Just as the alcohol was about to touch the flames, Paul, in a moment of inspiration, pushed sand from the ground, blocking the alcohol and extinguishing the flames.
Chanelle could hardly catch her breath. Before she realized it, her parched throat began to retch, her stomach constricted with spasms. The sensation of drowning and suffocation made her lungs burn intensely.
After barely surviving the crisis, the tension seemed to dissipate slightly. Paul absentmindedly picked up the cellphone and started scrolling. Almost by chance, he found the option to change the language. Successfully switching Arabic to English, he found the phone number for this device. He was overcome with joy, immediately calling Linda. However, it was still the voicemail. Nobody answered. To make matters worse, the cellphone had only one bar of battery left.
Just then, the kidnappers sent a second video. As Pamela's plea received no response from the government, they executed her on the spot. Helplessly watching her brain explode on-screen, Paul's terror surged. He began to vomit frantically, but his stomach was empty, so only stomach acid and spit came out. The fear of death had reached his skin.
Amidst his despair, Mark White was Paul's only hope—a man who had once been kidnapped and then rescued.
Paul dialed Dan's number. Dan immediately reprimanded Paul for making the kidnapping video. With over forty thousand views on YouTube, the kidnappers were cornered with no choice. But Paul no longer cared. "I found the number for this phone, but you didn't. Why?" Faced with Paul's question, tired to the point of despair, Dan had no answer. "I don't know." That was his only response to Paul's questions.
At that moment, sounds of battle came from outside the coffin. Paul realized that the search party was likely nearby. A glimmer of hope rekindled, but before they could continue their conversation, an explosion rocked the coffin, as if the military and the kidnappers were engaged in a direct confrontation.
But Paul had no time to rejoice because the coffin lid had been blasted open. Sand cascaded down like a waterfall, as if it would take no time at all to fully bury him alive. Paul took out the coat that had plugged the gap and tried to cover the hole above his head. Yet, his desperate attempt to improvise seemed to have little effect. In this critical moment, the cellphone began vibrating once again. Paul, as if clutching at a lifeline, answered the call.
The voice on the other end of the line was composed and polite—it was Alan Davenport, the company's HR manager.
Gavin felt a chill, a bone-chilling coldness that seemed to sap the warmth from his chest. The tide of fear had risen to his neck, leaving only his brain functioning. In a moment of dire urgency, at the brink of life and death, when everything hung in the balance, Alan called. He cited suspicions of an affair between Paul and Pamela as the reason and fired Paul. Not only had he severed Paul's lifeline, but he also cut off any benefits that would go to Paul's wife and family should he die here.
The coldness of large corporations, government entities—their sheer mechanical nature—instilled an unsettling dread. Confronted with a life hanging by a thread, their considerations revolved around minimizing economic losses. There was no trace of humanity left.
As Paul hung up the phone, the entire theater fell into silence. The sensation of drowning was overwhelming, leaving no strength for resistance. The overwhelming sense of powerlessness left them numb and bewildered.
The coffin lid couldn't hold anymore, and sand began to trickle in. Dan called, confirming that the military had wiped out all the kidnappers with airstrikes. "Do they know I'm here? Do they care?" Paul's only question, because with the kidnappers dead, nobody knew where he was buried. In the vast desert, finding a single person was impossible. "It's all over, isn't it?"
"No," Dan replied, but he didn't elaborate. After a moment of silence, he said, "Yes."
After hanging up, Paul opened his phone again and recorded a video, a testament, leaving everything to his wife Linda and his son Shane. "I love you, Shane." That was his final mark upon the world. The sand continued to fall like sparse rain, gradually burying him. Paul's face began to blur, leaving only his cheerful words echoing in the dim light.
Tessa bit her lower lip, sobbing and weeping. Despite her efforts, tears continued to flow. She watched helplessly as Paul ignited the lighter, placed it over his heart, and gazed calmly at the flames as they were slowly buried by the gravel. A calm and serene acceptance enveloped him. It was as if the world had finally quieted down. The sound of sand falling filled her ears—a hushed, magnificent symphony.
Tessa clamped her hand over her mouth, over and over again, extinguishing the flicker of hope that had cut off all of Paul's courage. And then, it ended, as if it had seized her throat, cutting off her breath.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Shallowman
Shallowman The song of the chupster is...
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