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Only one answer.
Someone was desperate to make a quick getaway.
Ella thundered inside. If she was wrong, she’d owe a real big apology. If she was right, she might just save a life. High risk, high reward.
She shone her flashlight around the hallway. Nothing out of the ordinary. She stepped into the next room - a sparse living room - and found nothing of note. The kitchen was equally empty, and other than a grand piano and clarinet, so was the rec room.
Then Ella heard it. Movement. Slow and purposeful steps spread across the landing area up above. Ella covered her flashlight, listened, but heard nothing but her fast-beating heart threatening to erupt from her chest. She thought about calling out, revealing her presence, but it was still too risky.
Over to the stairs. Ella stepped on the edges to muffle her movements. Three steps in, the walker in the darkness struck again. Light, methodical thuds that certainly didn’t mimic the way people usually walked through their own homes. She couldn’t be sure, but she’d attuned her senses to the whims of human nature.
She continued up, holding her breath, a pistol in one hand and a flashlight in the other. Ella reached a landing spot where the stairs turned in the opposite direction, giving her full view of the upstairs area.
Four doors.
One of which was wide open.
Two options. Run inside or approach silently. If there was no one in there but a homeowner, the first would incite unnecessary terror. But if there was a killer in there, it would be a different story.
One more step up, her instincts decided for her, because her reverie was cut short by a piercing shriek, shattering the tranquil silence like a bomb. Ella rushed forward, dread choking her, adrenaline pushing her into the unknown. Two more screams followed, two disparate voices. Ella arrived, illuminating the room with her flashlight, expecting the worst. Her footsteps drew the attention of the two occupants, one of whom was lying beneath the bedcovers, eyes glazed with terror.
The other of whom had a hand around her neck and a blade in his hand.
“Don’t move!” Ella screamed. “It ends here.”
Time stood still. Silence descended upon the room, an eerie quiet that seemed to last an eternity. With her gun trained on the standing silhouette, Ella smashed her hand against the walls beside her, her domestic senses telling her that there should be a light switch nearby.
She found it. The room was bathed in an orange glow, giving Ella full sight of the two strangers. The first, a young brunette woman concealed beneath a sheet, although the scars of her attack were plastered across her face. Deep sores, heavy rashes, bumps, and cysts.
The other was a hooded figure. A faceless, shapeless mass of loose clothes with a black mask concealing his mouth and nose.
“Melissa Wall?” Ella shouted.
The bedbound woman gripped onto the headboard for life, paralyzed, unable to turn away from the masked stranger now retreating, freeing his grip, backing against the far wall. She hummed and cried. A symphony of dread.
“Melissa!” Ella called again. “You’re safe. Go.”
The shaking woman scrambled out of her bed, landed on the floor, and scurried towards the door. She held on to her new heroine, pointed at the masked man with a trembling hand and said, “It’s…. him.”
“Go,” Ella pushed her towards the stairs. “Outside. Somewhere safe.” She pointed her gun at the stranger opposite her. “This is going to get ugly.”
Melissa clambered out of the room, down the stairs, leaving the two opponents alone in their personal steel cage. Ella had a mind to put a bullet in his head right here and now. No talking. No showdown. Just instant death. After all, she knew what he was truly capable of.
“Want to take that stupid mask off? You’re going away for a very long time.”
The man remained motionless for a second, breathing heavily, his little black eyes staring a hole at his new enemy. Then he slowly raised his hands like a magician in the throes of a grand illusion, dropped his hood, tore his mask off.
Ella had never seen the man before. He was perhaps in his forties and unremarkable. Around five-foot-ten, gray hairs outnumbering those still dark. He now stood stoically, hands clasped firmly behind his back, as if evaluating the scene with a keen eye. He held an intense gaze beneath heavy eyelids, eyeing Ella with a ferocity that pricked at her nerve endings.
“So, you’re God, huh?” Ella asked. “I’m disappointed.”
He remained stoic, silent. Ella had to push him, had to extract his reasons. She wanted to see this man suffer for the rest of his days, but a small part of her needed to hear his motivations from his own mouth.
“Got nothing to say for yourself? I profiled you as a coward. Happy to strike from the shadows but spineless in the face of a real challenge.”
He thrust his blade through the air. Some kind of intimidation. “You don’t know anything,” he spat.
“Please. I know about you and your little mission. Tell me, did you find anyone who was blameless and upright?”
