Page 67 of M for Murder

What are you waiting for, Jen? Do it now!

She couldn’t will herself to move.

Now! Do it now!

Something sharp pierced the back of her neck, tearing into the skin.

This time there was no chance of playing dead. Screaming loudly, she rolled onto her side slamming the screwdriver into the air. She missed the first time but, catching him off guard, was granted a second chance. She plunged the screwdriver into his belly, ramming it as hard as she could.

A look of surprise passed over his face. Surprise that she was alive and then shock as he realised what she had done to him. He looked at her with accusing eyes. Eyes that were stone cold, but also made her feel as though she had in some way betrayed him. As though it was his God given right to take her life, and she shouldn’t attempt to stop him.

Jennifer swallowed hard. Her whole body frozen to the table.

Those eyes.

Stone eyes. Dead eyes. Eyes of pure evil.

He broke away, glancing down at the handle of the screwdriver, the cold steel embedded deep inside him. Blood was already pumping from where his skin had been pierced, soaking through his shirt. Deep red, almost black.

He bleeds black blood! He’s the goddamn Devil.

Jennifer willed herself to move, knowing that she had to get out of this hellhole. A strangled cry escaped his lips and, dropping the knife that was clenched in his hand, he stumbled backwards, crashing into the planks of wood.

Forcing herself to seize the chance, she threw herself off the table, the sheet still clutched around her, and ran for the door. Her head felt heavy, her limbs achy and weak.

Gotta get out of here. Gotta get out of here.

She reached for the handle of the door, clenching it tightly in her fist, and willed it to turn.

As the door started to creak open a strong arm banded around her waist, lifting her from the floor and carrying her back into the room.

‘No! No! Put me down! Get off me!’ she screamed loudly, kicking and struggling against his grip.

Reaching her arms over her head, she grabbed fistfuls of his hair and tugged as hard as she could. Although he didn’t let go of her, he released one arm and, grunting loudly, tried to wrestle himself free. Keeping hold of his head, Jennifer worked the fingers of one hand down onto his face. She felt the broad plain of his forehead, the thick hair of his brows, and the softer flesh of his eyelids. Using her thumb and forefinger, she stabbed him hard in the eyes. Screaming loudly, he released his grip, dropping her to the floor.

Jennifer landed uncomfortably on her knees. Ignoring the pain, she rolled over to face him, clutching the sheet across her chest, ready for another attack.

His back was still to her and he was yelling and screaming as he stumbled around like a blind man, holding his hands over his eyes.

She knew that she should run. This was her chance, her one chance of escape. Of course, she still had no idea where she was, and it was possible that when she reached the top of the stairs she might find herself locked in.

She hadn’t hurt him enough to stop him from coming after her, and she didn’t doubt that when he did he would be mad as hell. Glancing down at the floor, she saw the knife that he had dropped. The same knife he had planned to cut her with.

She reached forward and, grabbing hold of the handle, pulled the weapon towards her. It was heavy and at least twelve inches long with a sharp-edged blade that was already smeared with a few drops of her own blood.

The bastard was going to cut me with this.

Spurred on by a mixture of fear and anger, Jennifer picked herself up from the floor and lunged herself forward, ramming the knife hard into his back.

As the blade sunk in, an anguished cry tore from his lips and he stumbled forward into the workbench, knocking the two candles to the floor.

Jennifer stared at him through a sheen of tears as the flames started to rise, barely able to believe what she had just done. She wiped at her eyes with a shaking hand, watching him sink to the floor, and drew a raspy breath.

Oh my God! He’s dead. I’ve killed him.

Suddenly finding the energy to move, she turned and ran for the door. She passed through it without looking back, then once outside turned and slammed it shut.

There was no key in the lock and she guessed that it was probably in one of his pockets. She told herself though that it wasn’t really necessary to lock the door. If he wasn’t already dead from the stab wound she had inflicted, the flames would soon take care of him. There was no way that he could come after her now because either way he was dead, and no matter which way she looked at it, she had been the one who had killed him.