He wants to open Charlie up from sternum to eyeball with the knife, and he’ll do it too, he’ll do it soon, but he’ll open up the bitch first. He can already see how she’ll look with her limbs severed and her face all torn open. The thought does nothing to excite him, nothing at all. The entire process of killing her will be mechanical, but at least it’ll be over.
She’s looking at him, staring at him, her eyes bugging out of her head, and even though she must have known where tonight was going to lead, she looks surprised. He twists the handle in her stomach and he can feel her through it. He can feel her pain as her body moves beneath it. He can feel the blood running down the handle. He can hear Charlie yelling at him and thrashing about on the rope.
He has stabbed her in the same place Charlie stabbed him. It’s not fatal, not yet, but it will be. Already he can feel her life slipping away. The satisfaction he feels is meager. Meeting this woman and meeting Charlie and meeting Frank are the worst things that have ever happened to him. As he takes his hand away and touches the side of his burned face, he knows life will never be the same. He looks into her eyes and he can see her dying, he can see her slipping away. He clamps a hand over her mouth to feel her dying breath against his skin. It gives him strength. It makes the back of his neck tingle, it makes the muscles in his arms and legs quiver, but it doesn’t make the pain go away.
He stares into her eyes. He keeps his hands on her mouth. Her breath against his skin is weak and warm. He steps away. The knife is sticking out of her the same way it stuck out of him on Monday morning. Welcome to my world, bitch.
He turns toward Feldman. Feldman is reaching up toward the rope. He has something in his hand. A pocket knife?
It’s something sharp, because a moment later Feldman is hitting the ground. He’s landed on his front. He’s getting to his feet.
Cyris points the Glock at him.
He has this covered.
He steps forward and uses the zippo to set Charlie on fire.