Ursula holds her wrist
to her nose to smell her perfume. “Jesus Christ.”
The man’s flat is empty. The windows
are covered with swaths of black fabric. A tiny fridge sits beneath a grimy
counter with a hotplate on top.
“Where the hell is the bed?” She
turns to ask the man, but he’s fast. He knocks her down to the cracked
linoleum, his weight crushing her. “Fucking bastard!” She aims a kick at his shins, but she’s
positioned all wrong. He jerks her arm behind her back and her scream is huge
inside the empty room.
“No bed, love,” says the man and
stabs her in the back viciously with a knife he takes from his jacket pocket.
Ursula shrieks. The sour stench of
blood fills the air.
“No! No, don’t!” Tears track down her cheeks, blobs
of black mascara dot her face. He raises the knife over his head to stab her
again and his face contorts. He drops the knife, grabs his chest and, with a
shocking suddenness, topples over, striking the back of his head against the
linoleum. He sprawls, still and silent.
Bleeding,
Ursula crawls for the door, leaving bloody smears in her wake. “Oh, please,”
she whispers. “Please someone help me. Please. Someone.”
***
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