The fight had happened here. But then, Sharon must have gotten away. And she must follow her tracks. She must have fled upstairs.
May rushed out of the kitchen, back into the hallway, and then up the staircase, her feet drumming on the treads. This was definitely where it was, upstairs. She could hear the scuffle going on, the violent thuds, the sounds of splintering wood.
But then another sound filled her ears.
The killer's laugh started out quiet and cold, but as the laugh grew louder, May could hear the glee in it. It wasn't a laugh of madness, but rather a laugh of pleasure and triumph.
She felt her blood freeze at this sound. It was the sound of a man who was enjoying himself, enjoying the chase, in the full knowledge that he was the strong one. It was the laugh of death itself, she thought, shivering.
May took the stairs two at a time, her gun held at the ready. She had a feeling she was almost too late to save this woman, but she had to try.
She couldn't bear the thought of the killer going unpunished. She couldn't bear the thought of allowing another woman to die.
It was darker here due to the upper floor blackout blinds, the light a muted cone, the light bulb in the overhead broken.
She reached the top of the staircase, and there they were. The woman, Sharon Toms, was in the corner of the upstairs lounge, fighting for her life. She was blond and feisty, and although she looked terrified, she was fighting him, throwing objects at him, using furniture to shield herself from the vicious onslaught as he attacked with his scythe.
Blackout blinds covered the windows, and this scene was all the more macabre for taking place in the reddish glow of a tall standard lamp. In the muted light, he was chillingly similar to the Grim Reaper figure she’d always imagined.
He was taking savage swipes at Sharon, and she was leaping aside, her body twisted, her arm instinctively up to protect her face.Even though an arm could surely offer little protection against that heavy, lethal blade. She was screaming in fear. But she was fighting bravely back, refusing to be scared. As May watched, she grabbed hold of a china vase and flung it at him, so that he staggered back, shouting in surprise as the vase hit his shoulder before it fell and shattered around him.
But the killer was already turning, his scythe held high, prepared to bring it down on the woman, ready to deal the killing blow.
"It's time!" he yelled. "You were greedy. You stole time that was never yours. Now pay it back! Do you hear? Pay it back!"
"Stop!" Sharon screamed. "Don't do this! I didn’t survive a car crash to be killed by you, you monster! You buried my friends! You’re not burying me too!"
"Burgess!" May yelled over the mayhem, desperate to distract him before he brought that scythe down again.
Burgess swung around. He saw May, and his face darkened. She had never expected him to do what he did next.
He flung the scythe at May, so suddenly that she had to duck, cowering low as the deadly, swishing blade flew toward her. And then, before she could raise the gun again, he had jumped at Sharon and gotten her in a stranglehold, jerking her around so that her body shielded his. His hands were wrapped around her neck, she was choking, and May had no clear shot at him, not when she'd risk hitting the victim herself.
Sharon’s blue eyes met May's, holding them with a surprising strength, her gaze desperate and pleading.
And behind her, his grip on her neck tight and lethal, May finally saw the funeral director. A slim, tall man who was surprisingly strong and well-coordinated. He moved like a dancer, or a fencer, except the grace in his body didn't reach to his eyes, or his ferocious expression.
Murderous hatred blazed from his gaze.
"You weren't supposed to be here," Burgess growled. "She was mine!"
"Let her go!" May yelled. "This is over now! It's over! You're done!"
"I am not," he hissed. "You'll never take me!"
If only she could get a clear shot, but he was too fast, too cunning. He ducked behind Sharon, who was choking and gagging, but still struggling and doing her damnedest to dislodge him. She was fighting like a demon, trying to kick him, clawing at his hands.
"Stop!" May yelled.
"You can't stop death!" he snarled, and jerked Sharon's head back.
May moved forward, eyes narrowed, trying to make the call of whether she should get close enough for a clear shot, or else just holster her gun and attack. Both carried risks. She did not want to risk this woman's life, but she knew that her time to make the call was running out.
This was her decision to make, and she had no time to waste. Delay might mean it was too late. Sharon stretched out a hand to her, as if begging for help, so that May could see her face, could see the tears and the terror in her eyes.
“Burgess, you need to let go of her,” she shouted, wondering if talking would help to defuse this situation, which was veering fast toward disastrous. “Look, I’ll put my gun down if you put her down. You don’t have to do this. You have the choice,” May pleaded.
“I have to do this!” he yelled.