Snippet #1699275

Hit her fast and hit her hard. That had been the plan. The wooden board would most likely kill her, but if it didn't, she would still be unconscious afterward. He could then take his time to finish her off. Make it look accidental, or suicidal. He hesitated. Kill? He was going to kill her? No. He wasn't supposed to even touch her. It was all supposed to be "accidental". So why was he suddenly thinking about killing her? It was all wrong! Wrong, wrong, wrong!

It was in that hesitation that Monica decided to turn around. Poor girl, she really shouldn't have. Tom watched her, smile frozen on her face, as time seemed to slow down. Too late now. He couldn't go back now. His decision had been made. He brought the cutting board down, hard, as she started to scream. Past the point of no return, it was now "kill or be killed". And it seemed Monica had no intentions of going down quietly.

Tom really should have known better than to try and attack while she was facing him. He didn't see the knife until it was too late. The blade rose straight up and that, combined with the force of his arm being lowered, had it easily deep in his arm before he could stop and jerk the blade out of her grasp. He dropped the board with a sharp cry and stumbled back, grabbing at the knife's handle. For a moment, he simply held it, gasping and yelping in disbelief at what had just happened. Then, with a sharp yank, he dropped the knife and held the wound in his good hand.

Looking up, Tom watched Monica. Cold, calculating, calm. She couldn't see him panic, he carefully hid that beneath the soulless exterior. But he was panicking. Everything had gone wrong, all at once. If only she hadn't turned around. If only she had waited just a bit longer. If only, if only. Didn't matter. She seemed to have frozen on spot and Tom smiled. Beautiful. Maybe this time, he could finish things. Or at least hurt her. If it didn't work this time, he would have to escape. He couldn't risk death now. Not when he was so close. So desperate.

He released his arm and advanced quickly. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out one of the fancy knives he had stolen earlier and his grin widened. "Tag," he said softly, aiming, ready to finish what he had started, "you're dead..."