Grace's POV

My leg stung with pain as I limped over to the edge of the door. I heard gunshots so I tried to walk faster, and as I saw a table with bandages, I walked quickly over to there. I was so concerned about bandaging myself up that I almost forgot I just lived—barely, however—through one of the most suspenseful and dangerous moments of my life.

I stood up, using my good leg, and saw some alcohol. I took a swig—for pain relief—of vodka, before I poured the rest of the small bottle over the wound. I tried my hardest not to scream. I took pain killers, and put the gauze and bandages over my wound. It started to be where I could walk. Over to the door.

I listened in on Moriarty and what I called the "Mysterious Muffled." Poor person. Moriarty was yelling. I couldn't hear well, even with my ear pressed up against the door, so I moved a little over to the hinge. I could hear perfectly.

"So you failed me, huh?" Another bullet. "Maybe do it right next time! Here you are, in the perfect position to kill them, but you screwed your second job up!" He laughed and I cringed. He laugh was cold. His laugh was death.

And I expected it to be. I wanted to run in there and kill Moriarty—for everything he said about John, and the threats, and murders—it just didn't seem right. Murder him coldblooded. But I knew I couldn't, and wouldn't. I couldn't stoop down to his level, and it would be wrong. I expect him to kill. He's the murderer. I'm not. So I wouldn't kill him.

Either way, I couldn't believe what I heard next.

"That Gracie had a chance, had she not come in here. That hair was brilliant, you tying it onto the screwdriver, but you screwed the bag up! She might actually figure out what the screw driver was!" I was finally starting to connect the dots. Whoever it was, was the key to all of the mysteries—the screwdriver, the hair, maybe even John's threat letter. I had to figure out who it was, and get my hands on that information. My first thought was to reach into my pocket for my bag, but I remembered I'd left the bag at the crime scene.

Faking passing out is harder than it seems. People try to shake you and wake you, and you almost want to punch them in the face. But that would eliminate the purpose of faking it.

Good thing is you can hear everything they say. So when Moriarty shut the door, I jumped out of my chair.

I was really confused, about the plans.

"So you killed the scaffolding guy, like we discussed, but you didn't kill who we wanted to in the first place! What a waste of a death. You are stupid enough to even THINK you could pull off the next plan without my go ahead. And you did anyways, and you screwed it up! You imbecile!" I saw through the door edge something shiny. There was a muffled scream. I knew, at that moment, it was a knife.

"You aren't as stupid as Gracie, though. I'll give you that credit. I'm going to kill her, I think, because I only need you. And as far as I'm concerned, she's only a waste of space." He grabbed the shiny thing.

I got up and ran.