Killer vs Killer

Chapter Two - The Smile

I couldn't think of anything for a second. Someone was in the house, and with given conditions, I was sure of who it was. It was so quiet and dark that one would be scared to death. "Oh man, I was only kidding about those chances," I whispered. "I don't want this right now."

I started to think. The killer must have pulled the main switch right beside the exit, which meant he would enter from the door behind me. I crouched down and walked, slowly on my toes, in the opposite direction towards the kitchen. I stayed there trying to listen. I didn't hear a thing. It seemed like he was gliding above the ground. I was planning my strategy to get out of this situation. I pictured the whole layout of the house in my head again.

The front half of the house was relatively open except for the storeroom and the bathroom at the far end opposite the living room. The rear bedroom had another door that opened in the corridor right in the front of the kitchen, so I could count them in too. I could use that door to get into the rear bedroom and go to the front bedroom from the other door. And from there, I could use the other entrance and reach the corridor right in front of the main exit. That was it.

I started walking towards the kitchen door. I still didn't hear anything. It was so quiet my breathing sounded like strong winds. I stepped into the corridor. The main exit was at the other end on my left. I could run, but I didn't want to risk it because I would cross the living room on my left. I slowly opened the bedroom door in front of me, trying not to make any noise, but it still made a faint clicking sound. I didn't shut it behind me; instead, I quickly walked to the other door on the other end of the left wall. I grabbed the knob of the door to open it, but—it was already open.

I didn't even have to process it. If this door was open, and the other one was closed, it meant the killer was in this room—with me. I threw the door wide open and quickly dashed out. The door slammed on the wall behind me, and for the first time, I heard his footsteps. I didn't wait to think. I got into the front bedroom, and the door was open. So, instead of the living room on his right from the entrance, he turned left. Then he walked through the other door and hid in the rear bedroom. Did he know I was going that way? How could he?

I slowly walked into the corridor, just a few steps away from the exit. 'Phew!' I let the air out of my lungs, grabbed and turned the knob of the door, except—it didn't turn. The door was locked.

'Dam it! Can these doors even be locked from the inside? God, he's good,' I thought. I turned back and looked into the dark corridor. There was only one way I could go now, back into the living room on my right. I slowly entered the living room and, 'What the hell,' I thought. Someone had just pulled the blinds open. The street light fell on the living room floor. And there he was, standing right beside the window. 'He planned all of this,' I thought as I looked at him. He was standing so precisely that I could only see the upper half of his grubby, sweat-soaked, dark green shirt; his flaring nostrils like he was taking the scent of the fear of his prey; and his dry, petulant, belligerent lips, which then stretched into a smile—an evil, broad, and obnoxious smile, a smile that made me freeze dead, right in my spot.

I looked at the killer's smile, and I just kept looking. I could not turn away. And for the first time in my life, I felt my heart. It was pounding out of my chest. He must have heard it too. He knew that whatever he did, was working. He was like Medusa, who had just turned me into stone with his smile instead of his gaze. I couldn't resist but think, 'WOW, he's good.' I wanted to say to him that I was impressed with his move. I mean, he killed people but still. I was so impressed with his game that I almost said, 'I admire you and your game. I wanna play it.' He didn't do anything—like advance towards me, raise his hand while holding a knife, or say something like 'You are dead,' or anything at all. He and I both knew that he didn't have to. We knew that he had got me. One couldn't do anything in this situation. Whether one runs away or towards him, he's got him. Whether one cries, screams or even stays quiet, he's got him. It was his game and rules, so I did the last thing he'd expect. I looked straight at him and—I smiled back.