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Oh no.
He was going to get Samara, and they were going to live happily ever after. Their very own fairytale.
So, he had a plan.
He was just a couple of streets over from Samara’s house, at a small shopping strip. There were lots of people about, attending lunches to celebrate the season or doing some last-minute Christmas shopping.
He didn't want to do this, but they had left him no choice.
Theywere responsible for what was going to happen next.
If they hadn't put him in this position, then he would never even be contemplating what he was about to do.
Dante scanned the busy mall, searching for just the right candidate. He didn't want a young mother, that would make things complicated, and he didn't want any men who were bigger and stronger than he was, he wanted to send a message, he didn't want to get hurt. His gaze fell on an elderly couple. They were walking hand in hand, and in their free hands, both carried at least half a dozen brightly colored bags. They’d probably been out buying gifts for their grandchildren. They were perfect.
He waited until they walked past him and then he started to follow, keeping well enough back that they wouldn’t notice him, he would just blend into the happy Christmas spirit filled throng.They turned the corner and headed toward the underground parking garage. Could he get any luckier?
He smiled as he followed them, pulling out his keys, not because his car was parked here, it wasn't, it was parked at the other end of the strip mall, but because it made him blend in, he looked like he was heading to his car just like the elderly couple.
The garage wasn't large, and the couple headed to a back corner.
Dante looked around, making sure there was no one else about. He certainly didn't want to be interrupted while he was right in the middle of things.
Pulling his wallet from his pocket, he ran after them. “Excuse me,” he called out.
They both stopped and turned, apprehension in their wrinkled faces as they saw someone running toward them. “Yes?” the man asked, moving slightly forward so he partially blocked his wife. That was sweet—pointless but sweet—and it was exactly how he felt about Samara. He would protect her with his very last breath, she was the reason he was doing this, so they could be together.
“Is this your wallet?” he asked, holding it up. “I found it just over by the entrance.” He pointed over his shoulder. “And I saw you and wondered if it was yours.”
“Oh.” The man smiled and let go of his wife’s hand so he could pat his pocket, pulling out his wallet. “Got mine, must be someone else’s, but thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Maybe I should take it to the nearest store,” he said thoughtfully. “They might come back looking for it, but I don’t want to just leave it where I found it in case someone less scrupulous finds it.”
“Probably a good idea,” the old woman said, smiling at him, at ease now that they thought he wasn't a threat.
They were wrong.
“Sorry to have bothered you,” he said, giving a falsely apologetic smile back at the couple.
“No problem, son. Merry Christmas,” the old man said.
“Merry Christmas,” he returned.
Dante turned as if to walk away, the couple turned to head to their car, and then he turned back and struck.
The elderly couple was no match for him, and he had gone after the husband first, knifing him in the back and then the wife through the chest as she turned in horrified surprise before either of them could scream for help or fight back.
He couldn’t stop.
All the pent-up anger he had from not being able to get to Samara came pouring out with each strike of the knife.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Dante lost all track of time.
His surroundings became one large blur.
