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Craaack!Her head smashes into the wall behind her and she crumples, slithering to the street, leaving a red stain sliding down the stucco.
“No!” The man yells, springing forward, dropping the bundle he’s been carrying, flowers and paper scattering in the wind.
Scrambling on the street, I find my blade just as Kristi’s would-be savior grabs me, strong fingers circling my neck.
I thrust upward.
The blade cuts into his chest, through flesh, marrow, and bone.
“AAAAhhh.”
Gasping for air, I rotate the blade. Hard. Force it upward.
His breath sprays me—air, spittle, and a few flecks of blood.
The hands at my throat fall away.
Blood from the cut on my attacker’s chest rains on me, and I tear the knife from his torso to strike again.
He blinks. Horror giving way to rage. In a split second his fist slams into my face.
Pain cracks through my jaw, rattling down my spine. My legs buckle and I stagger to my knees.
He rounds on me again. Unsteadily. His legs wobbling.
I duck the wild swing. Thrust upward with my knife. Hit my assailant’s thigh. Drive as deep as possible, all my weight into the jab.
He sways.
With all my strength, I force the blade to cut sideways, across the thick muscle.
Blood spurts.
More agonized screams.
And in the distance, sirens shriek.
Footsteps. Running. Hard. Fast. Splashing through puddles.
I fling the gasping man off and roll to my feet. From the corner of my eye I see that Kristi is rousing, blinking, her face ashen as she attempts to focus. “Oh, God!” she cries in agony as I stagger away. I see her stumbling forward, crawling to the dying man, cradling his head in her lap. “Jay!” she screams, her face in the dim light wrenched in pain as she holds him. “No. No. Oh, God. Oh, God. No, no, no!”
There isn’t time to finish her. Already red and blue lights are flashing, washing the cathedral’s walls in eerie strobing lights, lighting up the scene with its bloodstained cathedral walls, injured lovers, and scattered roses.
Without thinking, I pick up one of the long-stemmed buds. Then my mind clears. And I run. On unsteady legs, I sprint in the opposite direction of the police cars.
My face throbbing, I head to the route I’ve planned for months, fleeing down the alleys and streets, avoiding as many cameras as possible, head down, the raging storm my cover.
“Jay!” Kristi’s anguished screams follow me.
But I keep running, slipping twice, righting myself and catching a glimpse of the luminous eyes of the same shadowy cat I saw before. This time it is peering from beneath a scrawny bush.
Bad luck, I think.
Kristi Bentz is still alive.
I’ve failed.
This time.
