She slammed into the door a few more times, but it held fast. Something was on top of it, weighing it down. And now the man was coming home. Panic rose inside her chest. Did he know she was here? He must know. Had he noticed the few things that she had moved around? Heard the screeching of the trap door hinges? She must not have been careful enough. Her hands trembled. Did he purposely set something on top of the door so that she wouldn't be able to escape?
She crept towards the room, where she had stayed before. As she got close, she flicked off the lantern light. It wouldn't matter anyway. He would turn on the lights and the darkness in which she was hiding would disappear, leaving only her and him. That couldn't happen, not if she wanted to stay alive.
Footsteps drew close. She looked around for a place to hide. If he knew she was here, which seemed more and more apparent that he did, then hiding wouldn't do much. Would she be able to hide long enough to evade him, to run out the way he was coming in? She doubted it. If he thought about trapping her inside, he would be taking the extra precautions to prevent her from fleeing. All this time she was worried about the police trapping her in this shelter. Now she would come face to face with the man in the mask.
Her hand closed around the handle of the hunting knife she stole. She wouldn't go down without a fight. But would she really be able to plunge the knife into his heart? No, no, but she might to be to stab him somewhere lethal and then leave him to die. She was good at that.
He appeared in the doorway. Light flooded the room. His tall form towered over everything else in the room. His white mask shone. And in his hand, the machete. She felt the blood drain from her face. She could very well be taking her last breaths. There would be in escape. Could she bargain her way out of this? Be diplomatic?
Neither one of them moved in what seemed like eternity.
"Um..." her voice shook, "I-I'm sorry that I went through...your stuff..." It seemed so stupid after it left her mouth.
He just looked at her.
"Please...let me leave..." she sounded like she was begging. But wasn't she? "I won't come here again."
He took a step forward. She took one back. The time for pleading was over. She pulled out the knife, his knife, and raised it. His eyes looked from her to the knife. She realized that she may have just angered him farther. It was his knife after all.
He advanced on her. She moved around furniture, trying to keep as much distance between them as possible. As she moved, she realized she was getting closer to the exit. She forced herself not to look at the way out. She didn't want him to know what she was thinking. But as she moved around the dresser, her instincts took over and she ran.
The hallway twisted and turned, but it seemed all one path. Her heart raced; her feet pounded the concrete. She couldn't tell how close he was, but there was no way she was going to stop and check. Finally she reached the steel door. She grabbed the handle and pulled. It didn't budge. She pulled again, yanking with all her strength. The door swung open, just as the blade came down on her.
It missed by only inches. The door blocked the attack, but sent her to her knees. She swung with the knife, but he moved backward so easily. She swung again, missed again. He raised his blade.
He stood over her. She looked into the eyes of her killer, seeing nothing but rage and loathing. This was the end. The big finale. This is where she would die. He brought the blade down on her.