Dressed only in shorts and a halter top, the blonde stopped her run in mid-stride and stood staring at the tall man. "There ain't no use in trying to run, honey," he told her gently, emphasizing his words by waving the long double-edged dagger in his hand at her. "You know what's gotta happen now."
Annabelle Leister bit her lower lip, extended her arms defensively, and glanced over her shoulder. She'd been the only survivor of the massacre that had taken place at the mansion; nine people were lying dead up there, and she had not the slightest idea why they'd been killed. When she'd started to run, she'd believed she had a clear route out, she'd seen the five other men in the courtyard and, believed that was all of them, had taken this route through the gardens.
But she hadn't run far before she'd run into this man. She stared at him for a moment--then turned and began running again, off to her left. She heard his footfalls behind her, gaining on her, and she tried to run faster. Still he gained. Her breath caught in her chest, she sobbed with the effort. When she felt his hand grab at her top she shrieked and jerked away. The flimsy fabric tore, she shrugged herself out of it and ran on topless. Behind her, the man laughed.
Then he was running again, and it wasn't more than a few seconds before she could hear his footfalls behind her, gaining on her again. He was going to catch her again, she knew it, there was no way she could outrun him and there wasn't any place for her to hide. She felt she couldn't stand any more, trying to escape and knowing she couldn't. The swimming pool was just ahead; she ran through the gate, halfway around the pool, then suddenly stopped and spun around to face him.
"I give up, I give myself up to you," she told him. She spread her arms. "Take me, however you want to."
The man, stopping as well, grinned. He tapped the blade of his knife against his palm. "Take the rest of your clothes off," he instructed. "Let's see what we've got here."
Obediently, watching him from the corner of her eye, she hooked her thumbs into the edge of her shorts, pushed them down, and stepped out of them. Nodding in approval, the man stepped a little closer; she resisted the urge she had to back away and, instead, started pushing her panties down over her hips. The man smiled and watched closely as she slid them down her long shapely legs. Once they were off she stood up again, naked now, and spread her arms slightly as she had before.
"Please," she whispered. "Please don't kill me..."
"Can't ask that," he said crisply. "You said take you, however I wanted to. You going back on that?"
She lowered her eyes for a moment, then raised them again. "No. I gave myself up to you. I'm yours, whatever you want to do with me..."
He stepped closer yet. Reaching out, he touched her cheek, then wound his left hand in her hair. "Good girl," he said softly.
Then, holding her by her hair, he stabbed her.
The blade caught her just above the margin of her pubic hair on her right side, and the blade slipped smoothly in, very deep. Blood erupted instantly, streaming down, streaking her bare legs with bright red.
She stood quite still and she didn't scream. "Oh... god..." she murmured. "Oh..."
The tall man stood still for a long moment as well, leaving the blade inside her. "I have to kill you," he told her, his voice soft and calm. "I'm sorry. It's a shame, really, you're very beautiful. But I gotta tell you, it's a pleasure, too!"
He started drawing the blade free, fresh blood gushed out, and she doubled over it a little. "Oh-- oh, God, ahhh....!" She grabbed his forearms but she didn't try to resist him, she merely supported herself. "Just do it, get it over with, please, I--ugghhh...!"
As she spoke he stabbed her again, in the area of her navel, once more burying the blade deeply in her body. She clutched at his arms as blood erupted from her mouth. Slipping the bloody blade out, he drew it back for another stroke, but paused.
Annabelle looked up at his face. She was feeling weak and cold; the terrible cramping and burning in her belly was fading. This was the best way for her, she told herself, better than being stabbed while she fought for freedom or while she was trying to run. Her blue eyes wide, she shifted her gaze between his eyes, wondering what sort of man he was. All she knew, all she would ever know, was that he was her killer. Still gazing into his eyes, she managed a tiny smile.
"Finish it," she croaked.
He smiled too--and plunged the blade into her side, between her ribs, just behind her left breast.
She stiffened, and her body remained rigid as he snatched the blade out and drove it in again, four
more times, in and around her left breast. When he drew it out the last time he released her, and she
crumpled to the ground, lying in a widening pool of her own blood. He waited for a moment, watching
the blood run into the pool, staining the water red. He didn't move at all until the twitching of her body
had ceased. Then, after wiping his blade on the grass, he turned and walked away.