The sound of my cries, my screams of pure horror, were the only thing filling the air.

The wind blew around me, the cool air stinging the bleeding gashes across my bare stomach, and left arm. The wounds were deep. I had my hands covering them but it was no use; the blood would seep between my closed fingers. I lay there, unable to move. He was already gone, so it's not like he could have just finished me off and killed me. He left me there, bleeding, to go find his next victim. I always thought I was one tough chick; nobody would ever really mess with me, so I have no idea what his reason was for all of this.

I know you're probably wondering who I'm going on and on about. The answer to that is plain and simple. I'm talking about a guy, he's about two or three years older than me, and he's got a thing for Broadway and scarves. I know that a guy like that does not sound anything close to scary, buy you see, you don't get it.

Jesse St. James, he's not your average guy. He probably sounds like a harmless gay, am I right? Well, he's not. He's one of Lima's most wanted criminals. He goes around, killing anyone he sees fit. Just last week, Rachel Berry, his ex girlfriend, was found in the girl's locker room, a knife coming out of her back. A week before that, Kurt Hummel was found dead, in the middle of a lake. Jesse St. James is a monster, and nobody has been able to stop him.

Apparently, I, Santana Lopez, was his next target.

I can't figure out why he left me there, still partially alive that day. I have no idea, and since that day, he hasn't been seen, and he hasn't attacked anyone. Does that mean he's coming back to get me, make me suffer more? That day, when I was first attacked, I'd been found about an hour after he left me, and I'd suffered a lot of blood loss. An IV for two days, and a shitload of stitches, and lots of pain killers, and I was on my way to recovery.

Ever since that night, I've been watching my back pretty closely. I'm pretty scared. I mean, I don't want to die yet. I'm sexy, and a cheerleader, and popular, and way too amazing to die at such a young age. Jesse St. James is still out there somewhere, and I have this odd feeling that he isn't done with me.

"Santana, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, Girl Chang, why?"

"You're doodling a knife on your English paper."

"Well, if you can clearly see what I'm doing, why the hell would you ask me?"

"I just.. I.. I was w..wondering if you wanted to c..c..catch a movie with me later?"

"As much as I'd love to spend a night with you, I can't I have better things to be doing with my time, Tina, and you should know that. Go ask Wheezie, or Stubbles McCripple Pants."

I hate being so cold towards Tina. She's a good friend of mine, but when I have big things on my mind, I have no real desire to spend a few hours at a movie theatre, then another hour listening to her stutter out a movie review.

I walked home from school that day, running my fingers across the covered stitches on my arm. I walked past the place where I was attacked, and froze. I backtracked, and went back there, going up the alley. I looked around, and gasped, seeing a few tuffs of blonde hair scattered around. So I went a little deeper, seeing Jesse St. James standing over a tattered, beaten, dead, Brittany S. Pierce.

"Brittany!"

It almost killed me, seeing Brittany dead like that. My best friend, gone, just like that. Tears rolled down my cheek as I walked closer to them, shoving Jesse out of the way. I sat down, bringing her cold, bloody body into my arms. I held her close, and glared at Jesse. Jesse looked at me with fire in his eyes, and I could feel shivers going up my spine. I knew he was going to do something to me, because I saw this. I picked up Brittany, and placed her to the side, kissing a spot on her cheek that had no blood.

"Lopez, you shouldn't have come here."

"Why would you do it to Brittany?"

"That's for me to know, and for you never to find out."

"Why didn't you kill me, Jesse? You kill everyone else, why leave me?"

I regretted asking that, as soon as I watched the shift in his anger. Next thing I knew, I was pinned against the wall, him cupping my mouth shut with his hand. I tried to cry out, but I couldn't make more than a muffled moan. He took off his scarf, and wrapped it around my mouth. He grabbed the chain hanging from his jeans, forcing my hands together, behind my back. I was pinned to the cold, concrete ground beneath us. I felt his ass come down on my back. He was heavy.

"You don't ever question me, Santana."

His blade pierced through the calf on my left leg. I screeched, and moved my head to look at him, but the look on his face told me to keep quiet, or he'd kill me this time. He cared the leg in a weird line on my leg, before pulling it out. Then, he moved over about a centimetre, and carved in another weird type of line. He repeated it multiple times. I had tears pouring down my face, and he moved to the next leg, the blade going in and out of the flesh. The more I struggled, trying to get out of his grasp, the worse things got.

"Cross me again, you'll be sorry, Lopez. And believe me, this is not the end."

He took his finger, and outlined the lines on both of my legs, which actually turned out to be letters that read Jesse St. James. He stood up, leaving me tied up, bleeding, on the ground. I didn't know what to do. I still couldn't figure out why he had spared my life yet again.

His words stuck with me. This is not the end. He had more plans for me. Why couldn't it stop? I couldn't take this anymore. I had done nothing to the little bitchlet. Why was he out to get me? I laid there, looking at the body of my best friend. I wish I was the one he killed, not Brittany. She was sweet, and innocent, and had done nothing, ever, to upset him.

I tried to scream, but that scarf was too tight to make a scream loud enough to be heard. I don't know how long I was laying there, until everything started to become blurry. I heard sirens in the distance, but I couldn't make out where they were headed. The noise came closer, and soon, I heard voices, asking me questions that I couldn't answer. Then took the scarf and chain off of me, and one cop tried to talk to me, but I couldn't focus. I kept whispering Brittany's name as I watched police cover her body. The paramedics lifted me onto a stretcher, and loaded me into the ambulance, where they tried to clean the wounds.

"Ms. Lopez, what was the last thing you saw and heard?"

"He walked away..."

"And?"

"This isn't the end."

To be continued...