"I'll give you a head start," he said, "Ten minutes to find somewhere to stay. If it takes me longer than fifteen minutes to find you, then I might let you live a bit longer," he pointed his knife at me menacingly, "Starting now,"

I stood, shocked for a moment, then realized, collected my bag and ran off, down the street. I thought it wise to try and weave a pattern, so I dodged back and forth through side streets and alleys, eventually coming to a bed and breakfast that seemed a bit more isolated from the rest of the houses. When the woman answered to door and assigned me a room, I was stuck in a shocked daze. She asked several times if I was alright, and I just mumbled that I was, instantly forgetting her name and face as soon as I was alone in my attic room.

As I set up for sleep, I looked at the alarm clock. It had taken me about ten minutes to get here, so I had fifteen minutes…

There was a knock on the door. I almost screamed. I peeked down the landing to the front door, to see it was just a business man returning home from what must've been a long shift.

After a heavy sigh of relief, I returned to my room and splashed my face with cold water in the small ensuite. In the mirror, a tired, ill-looking person looked back at me. She looked pasty, and sick. Her black hair didn't help, making her look like someone had grabbed a bottle of ink and poured it all over her head. It was shiny, greasy, slick…

I shuddered. I hated having greasy hair. Checking the clock again (and finding I had ten minutes left) I decided to wash my hair quickly. If I was gonna go out, I wanted to go out clean.

I jumped in the shower and had completely washed from head to foot within five minutes. I'd had practice enough when I'd been late for work and looked too disgustingly dirty to go in without a wash. Not unless I wanted the health services on my ass. I jumped out and towelled myself dry, taking my time, careful and watchful of both the door and the window by the bed.

Then I slowly got dressed in my clothes, unsure whether I should change into my nightie and get into bed or stay up and pull an all-nighter. The clock told me I'd successfully evaded him for more that fifteen minutes. I smiled to myself and peeked out the window. I stayed there for a bit. A few minutes later, he appeared, looking around with his hands in his pockets. Could've easily passed for a moody teenager if it weren't for the blood that still stained his clothes. He looked about, studying each house, until at last he came to the bed and breakfast. I ducked, praying he'd move on, but there was a series of thuds and then a quiet tap-tap-tap at the window. He sat on the outside sill, looking in. I couldn't move without him seeing me. The door was opposite, as was the bathroom. No-where to run. I slowly stood up. He smiled. And for a second, he looked genuinely pleased to see me. He motioned to the catch on the window. I couldn't not open it. If I ran now, all he'd have to do was climb down again and corner me on the porch. I sighed, took a deep breath, and released the catch. His thin fingers wove inside, pulling the window open. He folded himself into the gap, and landed with a quiet thunk on the faded carpet.

"There you are!" he sounded like a relieved brother for a moment, "I thought I'd never find you! You're very good at this ," he took a look around at the faded upholstery and peeling wallpaper, "You coulda picked somewhere nicer, like,"

I stood agape. Was this really the killer I'd talked to not half an hour ago, who tried to rip open my throat?

He sat himself down in the old arm chair, running his pale finger along the blade of his knife that he removed from his hoodie pocket.

"What? No assignments? No running?" For some reason his simple action pissed me off.

"No. Tomorrow," he looked up at me, "You don't think I'm not going to keep my eyes on you, do you? Leave you here by yourself? Oh no," he shook his head and waggled his finger, "I don't want you running away. No, I think I'll stay here," Blood ran down his finger where he'd sliced, "You're…interesting…" he chucked evilly to himself.

I sat on the bed. Now what?

After a while of watching him play and fiddle with the slice in his finger, he looked up, "You not getting ready for bed?"

I grabbed my nightie and shut the bathroom door, changing quickly.

I felt two things at that moment. One was anger. How DARE he! Barge into my room, demanding to stay and watch me sleep! And the other feeling…was rather strange. I felt excited. My usually boring life had taken an interesting turn. A deadly one. I wondered what he'd assign me to do next.

I left the bathroom and got into bed. For hours I stubbornly sat there, watching his every move. He watched me too, that grin never leaving his face. He was enjoying this. It got to about 3 AM, and my eyelids began to droop. I found myself slipping further and further into the bed, occasionally passing out.

"Go to sleep," he said quietly, "Just go to sleep…"

I didn't want to give in, but I couldn't stay up any longer. I found myself turning over and bringing the duvet up to my chin, listening to him mutter "Go to sleep," on a loop, until my brain slipped into the unconscious.