A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I last updated! I actually wrote this chapter a while ago (not too long after the last chapter) but I never got around to uploading it. I hope y'all enjoy it! I reread through some paragraphs in the older chapters and reread this one and I'm kind of happy with where this is going. I can't believe I started this in August 2011! You guys have been very faithful with following this story, and I'd like to thank all of you! I don't update as often as I should (just around once every six months) but maybe that'll change. I'm looking into getting back into writing because I have a few friends who are looking into doing sketch comedy on YouTube. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter! and hopefully I'll get another one out soon!

Disclaimer: Nothing but OCs and dialogue belong to me. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

Despite the humid heat outside, a draft picked up in the room and chilled Cat to the bone. Her arms prickled with goosebumps and she shuddered in the doorway, her foot soaked with stale water from a puddle formed on the floor. She stared at the smudged face of the girl cowering in the corner, watching the large man lean down close to her.

"My what?"

John was kneeling before Edith, his hands resting on his knees. "Your first kill." He said it slower, louder, to make sure Cat could understand him. The girl was beyond shocked. She couldn't understand what he was saying or what he meant by it. Her first kill? What was going on?

She didn't say anything but John didn't seem to notice. He reached out and Edith flinched, shrinking back into the corner and hiding her face into her shoulder. She whimpered as he brushed his fingers against her arm.

"We've been waiting."

"What?" Cat managed to ask, her sock squishing in her shoe as she shifted her weight.

"We've been waiting."

"What do you mean?"

He looked over his shoulder at Cat and held her gaze. "A couple of weeks ago I got a ride from this girl and her friends. I killed her friends, but ..." He looked back to Edith. "I didn't kill her. I'm not sure why. I thought I had but I must've missed her artery by an inch or two. I was standing outside the car when Dave came by and picked me up. When he pulled over, Edith started moving around and making noises. I couldn't leave her, since she'd seen my face and she'd go to the cops but I couldn't kill her, since I was just about to get ride. So I pulled her out of the car and told Dave that we needed to make a call, so that's when he drove us back to his house. He put Edith in a bed and told me I could use his phone. I went outside, where I slashed his tires, then when I came back in I caught him trying to smother Edith with a pillow. I pulled him off of her and chased him outside. His truck was useless so he ran into the shop – he was headed for the tires – and I got a hold of him and threw him on the ground. I used this," he pulled out his pocketknife, "and he stayed down for a while. He'd told me about this room so I dragged him in here and put him in those chains." He motioned out of the bright room into the darker one where the chains hung in the still air. "I got him to tell me what he did to his family and that's what I did to him, as I already told you. I wasn't angry that he tried to kill Edith, I don't care about her. I was angry because he was going to kill the person I had saved for you … for your first kill."

"Why … Why do you keep saying that?"

"Because..." He stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. "She is. I don't ever make mistakes. I don't let people escape, at least not those that I mean to kill. So why her? Why did I keep her alive? I've never missed before. Then I realized that it was because I wanted her around so you could be part of this, part of what I do. I … I want you to join me."

Cat's eyes widened and she stepped backwards. "You're … you're crazy."

John laughed and she couldn't tell if it was scornful or if he actually found her statement amusing. It made her feel on edge seeing that he was still holding the pocketknife. "Come on," he held out his empty hand towards her, fingers outstretched.

Cat shook her head and shuffled over the threshold into the darker room. She slipped on a puddle of blood and grabbed for the wall. She didn't want to know what she just put her hand in. "I … I would never … I would rather die than kill someone!"

He looked a bit hurt but he didn't stop smiling and he kept advancing towards her, hand reaching for her. "Please, Cat. Don't be so dramatic."

"No," she gasped. "You can't make me! I'm not going to kill –!"

John lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist, pushing her back into the room. He shoved the knife close to her face and let it glint in the overhead light. "You see this? I have killed … so many people with this knife … and I want you … to take it," he grabbed her wrist and forced her hand up, "and use it."

"No!" she screamed as he forced the knife between her clenched fingers. "I'm not going to!"

"You have to!" He held her as he pushed her closer to the girl in the corner. "I never let anyone get away."

"I'm not you!"

He pressed his face against her and closed his eyes. "I brought her out here that night. She's been in here the whole time. I've been traveling back and forth and -"

"I don't understand, you didn't even know me when you killed her friends!"

John sighed. "I had to do something with her. She couldn't just stay in the house. She needed to go, but … it felt almost wrong just killing her. I felt like she was meant for something greater. I kept her in here until I could figure out what to do with her, and I already had plans for Dave. I started traveling again and … that's when I met you. That's when I knew – Edith was meant to be here for you. She was meant to be your first!"

"I'm confused," Cat cried, trying to drop the knife to the ground. John wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed so she couldn't let go of the weapon.

"Fine. I'll start from the beginning. A while ago I got a ride from these girls, one of them was Edith. I thought I killed them all, as usual, but it turned out I didn't. Dave came along and I took Edith with me. Dave tried to kill Edith, I put Dave out here and Edith in this room. Then I went on traveling since I couldn't kill either of them right away. Then I met you and I knew what I wanted to do with Edith. It was pure luck that you decided to come back when you did. I saw your car and just happened to find the trucker who was going to the same motel as you. I gave you the directions this morning and here we are – standing right here. Dave is dead, Edith is waiting and so am I. I'd say that we had a helluva lot of luck on our side, but I think it's more than that." His nose was pressed against her ear and she closed her eyes tight. "All of this, it was meant to be. You're supposed to be here with me, with Edith, with this knife. You're supposed to do this. We're supposed to be together."

Cat was sobbing and her knees felt weak, shaking as she tried to wriggle away from John. He held her tight and squeezed her hand even tighter, turning both their knuckles white.

"Please," she begged through sobs, "just let me go! I don't want any part of this."

"Oh, but you do, obviously. Or else you wouldn't have some all the way out here … you wouldn't have tried to find me, you wouldn't have delivered Dave to me."

"I didn't!" she screeched. "I didn't deliver anyone to you! You're lying! You're trying to turn this around on me! But I haven't done anything!"

"That's right," John muttered, his breath ruffling her hair. "But you're going to. Right now." He forced her arm out towards Edith who tried to shrink back even farther against the wall. Cat squeezed her eyes shut to keep herself from seeing the scene play out before her.

"Just let me go," she cried, "let us both go. We haven't done anything to you!"

"I can't," he muttered, "I can't let you go. You've seen my face. I never let anyone go."

"B-But you can start, can't you? You said … you said that you felt Edith was meant for something greater. Maybe it's not being killed by me. Maybe it's – maybe it's something else. Maybe deep down inside you know it's wrong to kill her."

"It is wrong for me to kill her," he whispered to her, kicking her heels so she'd shuffle closer to the cowering girl. "That's why I'm having you do it. She's yours, Cat. Yours alone."

"No," Cat shook her head, whimpering as John forced her arm closer to the girl on the floor. "Please don't make me do this."

"I have no choice. You have to."

"No, I don't," she pleaded. "If you just let us go -"

"I can't do that," he said a bit forcefully, pressing his body against hers. His eyes fell to Edith who was sobbing in her corner, trying to fold herself as small as possible away from the two. She couldn't get any smaller than she already was. He gritted his teeth.

"Please," Cat whispered again, "just let us go..."

"I can't," he nearly shouted. "Just do it!"

"No," she replied. "I won't! I won't kill her!"

"Yes you will."

"No -"

"You will!" John shouted. Before Cat could protest any more, he shoved his entire weight against her to propel her forward towards Edith. Still in control of the pocketknife in Cat's hand, he slashed at the young girl, cutting her across the arm that was covering her face. When she let out a shriek and tried to turn away, John twisted Cat's wrist and thrust forward, piercing Edith's shoulder blade with the knife. She howled in pain and Cat's stomach churned.

"Stop it!" Cat screamed, trying to free herself from John's control. It was useless.

"Put your hand here," he growled, grabbing Cat's other hand and using it to turn Edith towards them. Cat could see the girl was hyperventilating as tears streamed down her face.

"Stop! Stop it!" Cat shouted, shoving her shoulder back into John's chest. He grunted but didn't let go or loosen his grip. Instead he covered Cat's hand and used it to yank Edith's arms away and controlled her other hand to stick the knife into Edith's now exposed belly. The girl let out a surprised gasp, the action too sudden to feel any immediate pain. She looked down at the two hands covering the handle of the knife in her stomach then looked up at the closest person – Cat.

"Please," she managed to say in a broken voice, blood starting to stain her teeth and drip from her lips.

"Do it," John whispered in Cat's ear. "End it."

Cat was crying and could barely see anything in front of her. "How?" she wailed. "How?"

"Cut her throat."

She made an inhuman noise as she pulled the knife out of Edith's stomach, feeling blood trickle over her fingers. "How?" she asked again.

"Put it here," he said, guiding her hand to one side of Edith's throat, using his other hand to grasp her hair and pull her head up to expose her neck. "And slide it across."

"I can't," she replied through tears.

"You have to. You can't just leave her like this."

"But I can't kill her," she cried.

"You have to," he repeated.

"Fine," she mumbled with a cracked voice. She gripped the sticky knife handle and let out a sob, "I'm sorry." Before she could do anything further, John tightened his hold of her hand.

"Tell her to say it."

"What?"

"Tell her to say it … They have to say it."

"Say what?"

" 'I want to die'."

"What?"

"They have to say it … You have to tell them to say it, and once they do … you do it."

"But why?"

"Because that's how it works."

Sniffling and rubbing tears off with her shoulder, Cat looked back to Edith. Her eyes were fluttering open and close and blood bubbled out of her mouth onto her clothes. She looked towards Cat and she suddenly felt unimaginably guilty for what she was about to do. But she couldn't see any alternative. John was forcing her, literally holding her hand and guiding her through it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Edith's head shook a fraction of an inch as if to say "it's okay". Sucking on her bottom lip, Cat quietly said, "Say it."

Edith coughed, spitting blood at Cat on accident. Blood dribbled down her chin. "I … I want to die."

Cat half-wondered if she meant it. Judging from the amount of blood pooling on the floor from her stomach and the blood coming out of her mouth, she probably did. Even if she didn't, there wouldn't be much they could do for her. If, for some strange reason, John allowed Cat to take Edith to the hospital, it would take too long and chances are she wouldn't make it. And shew knew nearly nothing about healing cuts and bleeding at home, so it's not like she could play nurse for her at the house.

"I'm sorry," she said again, pressing the knife against the girl's neck. She could barely move her arm. She must've taken too long for John's liking because he held her hand tight.

"Just do it," he nearly shouted, pushing Cat's hand closer, as well as the knife deeper into Edith's skin and actually into her throat. He dragged Cat's hand halfway across Edith's throat, slicing through skin and muscle and nerves. Blood spurted out onto Cat and she gasped, screaming. Suddenly John released Cat's hand. Edith was gasping and grabbing at the wall and the knife in her throat. "You better finish it," he taunted her. "It's not nice to leave things half finished."

Cat grabbed the knife with both hands and, screaming while hot tears streamed down her face, tried desperately to cut through the rest of the girl's throat. It was difficult without John's strong hands guiding her. She closed her eyes as she tried sawing back and forth but was quickly reprimanded. John grabbed her chin and flicked her cheek.

"Look at her," he commanded.

Crying, Cat opened her eyes. She avoided eye contact with the squirming body in front of her and used the final burst of adrenaline – or fear – to cut Edith's throat. Red, sticky blood was all over her clothes and face and she could feel it all over her hands. She fell back onto the floor, tossing the knife from her as soon as she could. She nearly vomited at the sight of Edith spasming against the wall, grabbing her throat as blood squirted into the air. She fell over onto the ground, rolling in a pool of her own blood. A few shakes later and she stilled. Cat pushed herself away from the body, still sobbing. John didn't seemed unnerved. He stood up, wiping the blood off on his pants and turned to look at Cat.

"Get up."

Cat rolled onto her hands and knees, gagging as suddenly everything around her seemed too much. The blood was too sticky, the clanging of chains was too loud, the smell of putrid flesh was overwhelming. She coughed hard several times and thought she was close to breaking her ribs if she continued, but she stopped when she felt a strong arm snake under her belly and around her waist. She squirmed as she was lifted up into the air and dragged towards the door.

"Get up," he said again, tightening his arm around her waist.

"No!" she screamed, clawing at the air and catching the wall. She held on tight to the doorjamb. "Let me go! Please! I -" she looked back to the still body lying in blood on the other end of the room. "I'm going to be sick -"

"No you're not." He hoisted her into the air and her nails scraped along the wall as he dragged her out of the other room and into the garage. She struggled against his grip and he released her to close the door behind him and push the workbench back into place. Cat stumbled forward and fell to her knees again, stirring up dirt. She coughed again but the rush of fresh air held back any nauseous feeling. The scuffling of shoes behind her drew her attention upwards. John grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her up to her feet, pushing her forward.

"Walk," he ordered. She tripped over her own feet as she struggled to keep up with his long strides. She squinted and shielded her eyes with her free hand as they left the garage and stepped into the light. He dragged her back around towards the house and pushed her in through the door. She was dropped on the couch and John disappeared into the kitchen. She heard him rustling around and water running. Before long he returned with a bowl and a dishtowel.

"Here," he said, kneeling in front of her. He took the wet towel and began wiping down her arms and hands. He rinsed it in the bowl of warm water and began wiping off her face. He caught her eyes and a smile began to spread across his lips. "How are you feeling?"

Cat was silent as John wiped down her cheeks and forehead. He grinned at her, rinsing the rag in the water again. When he looked back up her mouth was still closed tight. He dipped his fingers in the bowl and ran his thumb along her bottom lip.

"You've got some blood there," he muttered, smiling. Cat repressed the feeling to gag at the thought of that poor girl's blood in her mouth. "All gone." He shifted his weight and rested one arm across his thigh. "You ready to talk now?"

Cat's breathing was steady and even but she refused to say anything to the man. There was nothing to say. She watched him closely as he licked his own lips and his eyes traveled over her face.

"C'mon," he whispered, "say something."

"Why?" Her voice seemed to crack as she spoke but she couldn't help it. She wasn't going to ask for something to drink, either.

His smile widened yet again. "Sounds like you could use some water. I'll be right back." He stood up, taking the bowl and towel with him, and disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of water and handed it to her. She didn't really want to take it, but she didn't want to make him angry either. She'd just seen what he could do – what he could make other people do. She hesitantly took it in her hands and set it between her legs, holding onto the bottle with her fingers.

"Why?" she asked again.

John shrugged loosely. "Why not?"

"No," she sputtered, looking up at him. He towered over her. It would've been incredibly easy for him to overpower her at any moment. His hand would've easily fit around her neck; who knew how much crushing power he possessed in his palm. Still, she continued. "Why? Why did you make me do that? Why did you keep her here? Why?"

"I already told you. I wanted you to join me."

"Aren't – Aren't – Aren't there other ways?"

"Other ways?" He sniffed and sat down beside her on the couch, tossing an arm over her shoulder and pulling her close to him. She squirmed beside him but he grabbed her arm and she stilled. "No," he said nonchalantly. "There's no other way."

"Why not?"

"You know who I am. You know what I am. How could there be any other way?"

"I don't want to go with you," she said meekly. He looked down at her.

"What do you want?"

"I want to go home," she sobbed, hiding her face in his chest.

He settled back into the couch, tossing his head back to look at the ceiling. The plaster was cracked and there were water stains from the leaky roof. It didn't rain often out here, but when it did, it was very obvious that the house had more than a few problems. He softened his grip on the girl just slightly and rubbed his thumb over her upper arm.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, not quite sorry at all, "but that's not going to happen."

He didn't say anything else. He just sat there with Cat laying on his chest, sobbing into his shirt. He could feel her tears starting to penetrate through the fabric but made no attempt to stop her. He knew that when she lifted her face she'd have blood all over it again; it was all over his shirt. But he didn't really care. He let Cat cry out her emotions about being away from home and having to kill that girl and being left with a strange man. There was nothing to say – not that he could say anything to comfort her. So he just sat there, and he listened to her hiccup and sob.