I pull my knife back, standing still as a slight look of fear covers her face.
“Hello? Is someone there?”
I wait, and eventually, she slips the book back on the shelf, adjusting the ones in her arms as she slowly starts to loosen back up. She glances back at the shelf, going to the end of the aisle, picking up another book, running her fingers over the cover before turning it over to read the back.
I slip into the next aisle, my knife going out.
Ting.
Eloise’s head snaps up, and she glances around, the book going back to the shelf. I step toward her, still remaining out of sight as I watch her through the shelves.
“Who’s there?” she whines, holding the books close to her chest. I watch as her hand goes to her purse, and my eyes narrow, wondering what the hell she plans to use to save her.
Nothing will save her.
“Fuck this,” she whispers, racing toward the door.
I step out of the shelves, right in front of her. She jumps back, letting out a scream, the books falling from her arms. Taking a step back, her heel presses on one of the spines, and slips, causing her to stumble. She falls to the ground, her palms slamming against the old, carpeted ground.
“Please! Please, no. Oh, my God. Please!” She crab-walks backward, before flipping over to her feet, shoving to a stand. I give her a moment, toying with her, allowing her the thought that she might get away, and knowing it’s not true in the slightest.
She races toward the back door, and I pick up my pace, stepping over her books as I rush toward her.
“Someone, help me! Please! Someone, help me!” she screams at the top of her lungs, so petrified she stumbles back and forth. Her hand goes to the door, and she swings it open. My gloved hand snaps out, slamming against the door as I knock her to the side.
She falls to the ground with a yelp, and I inhale, tasting the fear which fills the room. Bending over, I grab her naked ankle, pulling her across the ground and toward the innermost part of the library.
Eloise whips her body back and forth, attempting to use her other foot to kick free. She’s clumsy in her panic, and she lets out a cry when she connects with my thigh, thinking she’ll escape.
Maybe she will, maybe she won’t. Either way, I’ll leave her with scars.
We get to the center of the library, the shelves circling around us, a table to my left, the windows to my right. I stand over her, and a mixture of regret, fear, and resignation crosses her face.
“We didn’t mean to kill him. It wasn’t supposed to happen,” she sobs, her chest shaking uncontrollably.
She might believe what she did was a mistake, but it still happened.
“You can’t undo death, Eloise. You can only pay for death, with life.”
She shakes her head back and forth, tears flooding her cheeks in constant rivers. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Please, I’ll do anything.”
Anything? Okay.
I bend down, smirking at her behind my mask, knowing I look like a monster, and feeling like one on the inside.
Because I am.
“Please,” she whispers, her voice shaking, terror seeping from her skin.
I smile. “No.” My altered voice sounds distorted, monotonous. My gloved fingers grip the black handle of the knife, and I plunge it forward, right into the soft skin of her side. Her eyes widen, a tear leaking slowly over the brim of her eye, and down her temple, soaking into her red hair. I twist the blade before pulling out, the silver knife covered in thick, red blood. My free hand goes out, swiping along the side of the blade.
“Please,” she chokes, rolling onto her side. Her hands go out, and she grabs at the floor, attempting to pull herself away from me. The blood soaks from her abdomen, staining the ground and creating a streak along the faded carpet.
I step forward, my feet going on each side of her. She glances at me over her shoulder, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth, mixed with drool. “Leave me alone!” she chokes and groans, shoving herself to her hands and knees. “Someone, help me!” The scream tears from her throat, her eyes turning bloodshot as tears dampen her face.
Bending down, I grab her arm that’s extended for a shelf. I lift her wrist into the air, gripping it roughly with my gloved hand. The tip of the knife goes to her skin, and I know with one quick slice, she’ll bleed out in seconds. I lower the knife, scraping it down her arm, before letting go of her. Her spine bangs against the ground, and I hover over her, the blade dropping to her neck.
Her body trembles, and I smirk behind my mask as the scent of distress and blood mix, a horror-filled mix that makes my cock hard.