I heard her footsteps. Death approached, creeping closer and closer. "Emilane..." she cooed, kissing my neck as her left hand caressed my waist. My stomach did cartwheels. Her other hand pointed a gun at my head. She pressed the tip of it to my left temple. I stood perfectly still. Again, I looked at the wall in front of my eyes. The blood. So much blood. From her other victims. Were they all girls? Or had there been boys, too? She stoped kissing me and spun me around, throwing me against that grotesque surface. "You're number 21..." she whispered huskily in my ear, her hands exploring me. She giggled. "When I turned 21, last year, I had the best time of my life! Lots of alcohol, got drunk, wasted, fucked some random college guy.. Sex was nice." She winked. "But don't get jealous baby, you're way hotter." I tried not to puke. "So, we're gonna get drunk babe. In honor of you being my future 21st murder!" She squealed excitedly, her eyes bright. She picked up a bottle of Everclear I hadn't realized she brought. My eyes opened wide in alarm. Oh my god... Bitch crazy.