Then he froze.
The bed was empty.
Emmanuel spun in a circle and as his back turned to the bedroom door something slammed into him from behind.
He grunted and went down hard on his hands and knees.
“I won't be hurt again,” a voice hissed. Patrice’s voice. The woman mustn’t have been asleep, must have heard him coming and hidden, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
She hit him with something in the back of the head and the world shimmered around him.
What was happening?
Why was the Universe doing this?
Patrice was a nice woman, she’d been hurt, he knew that, but she wasn’t violent. In fact, she was a librarian at the local library, she worked several children’s programs there. On the weekends, she volunteered at a nearby animal shelter. Everything she was was about helping others, protecting them, caring for them. That was why he’d known that she was one of the ones he was sent to help.
So why was she fighting him like this?
“I’ll kill you before I let you put one of your filthy hands on me.”
“I'm not here to hurt you,” he said.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed. “That’s why you were breaking into my home at midnight.”
Emmanuel turned just as he saw something glint in the moonlight streaming through the open window.
A knife.
He lunged up off the floor, grabbing Patrice’s wrist as he did so. She screamed and thrashed in his hold, but he didn't stop.
Using her own momentum against her, he kept the knife hand moving down only instead of allowing the blade to slice through his flesh he plunged it into Patrice’s own.
“Oh,” she said, dazed as she staggered backward when he released her, the handle of the knife protruding from her belly. She made a gurgly sound as she hit the wall and slid down it until her backside hit the floor.
“Why did you make me do that?” he asked. Tears streamed down his cheeks. This wasn’t what he wanted. He had come here to help her, he wanted to save her, teach her, and help her understand. Why hadn't she got that?
“P-please,” she murmured, blood bubbled out of her mouth, and she reached out for him.
He should go, she’d screamed, she might have alerted a neighbor, and had probably called the cops once she realized he was inside her house. It was definitely the safer option to get out while he still had a chance.
But he found he couldn’t leave her.
She was dying and he didn't want her to die alone like his sister had.
So, he knelt beside her and took her hand. Her fingers clenched around his, but he didn't know if it was because she needed his comfort or if it was just reflex. Her face was contorted in pain, and she looked so sad, so scared.
The merciful thing to do would be to put her out of her misery.
Emmanuel reached out and took hold of the knife, twisting it.
Patrice screamed in pain and tried to push his hands away, but he held on and twisted the knife again.
Why wouldn’t she hurry up and die already?
He didn't want to see her like this, it pained him. He’d come here to help her, to save her, if only she had understood that. It didn't have to end this way.
Keeping one hand on the knife handle as he twisted it a third time, his other hand lifted to palm her cheek. “It didn't have to be this way,” he whispered. “I didn't want it to be this way. It’s okay, let go, don’t prolong things. Let your pain go, don’t fight, Patrice.”