By Livia John
The noise of the chatter inside was deafening, but outside the theater, the silence was absolute. Edward stared at the ruined man collapsing onto the cold cement.
Blood rained like a flood through the crevices and cracks he was unable to fill with makeup. His face was covered with angry red scratches, like the devil himself took his anger out on his face. His ability to speak seemed impaired, and he was only able to garble out a few words before falling into a puddle of his own filth.
“I know what you did,” he croaked, finally succumbing to the callings of hell.
Edward took a slow step backward, his boots soaking in the spreading crimson tide. That face. Even under the torn flesh and ruined cosmetics, Edward recognized the stalker who he had managed to avoid time and time again, if only by a hair. The one who he had tried to push off the balcony of a 12-story building.
The corpse lay perfectly still. Edward let out a ragged breath, turning toward the window to wipe the sweat from his own brow.
But in the reflection, the body wasn’t on the floor.
It was standing right behind him, a bloody dagger rising to touch Edward’s cheek.