The room felt frozen in time, the only sound breaking the silence being the muffled echo of her sobs mixed with the steady drip of her blood soaking the sheets. Her face was streaked with tears, her expression a mix of physical pain, terror, and desperation that she tried to hide beneath a fragile mask of hope. But I knew that mask wouldn't last much longer.
After what felt like an eternity of silence, I realized she had no answer to my last question. She merely stared at me with half-closed eyes, searching for an escape that didn't exist. Then, like a puzzle falling into place, the truth clicked in my mind. Pieces I had gathered throughout the night—her confessions, her contradictions, the restrained emotions she had displayed in her most vulnerable moments—all pointed to one clear picture.
"It's because of your childhood, isn't it?" I finally said, my voice calm but laden with intent.
She frowned, clearly confused by my assertion, and opened her mouth to say something, but I didn't give her the chance.
"In your childhood… you were invisible," I continued, my words cutting through the air like a knife. "The one no one noticed, the one no one paid attention to. You were the ghost in the room, unseen by everyone."
Her confusion shifted to a mix of surprise and anguish as she tried to interject, likely to steer the conversation elsewhere.
"How are you going to heal me if—" she began, but I interrupted her immediately.
"I'm not here to heal you," I said coldly, leaning slightly closer so my words were impossible to ignore. "I'm here to understand you."
She fell silent, her mouth closing as she processed my response. Before she could attempt another interruption, I pressed on.
"But everything changed, didn't it?" I said, letting my tone take on an almost accusatory edge. "When you met that guy—your husband—something in your world shifted. For the first time in your life, you felt important."
Her attempt to cut me off came again, but this time her voice broke into a desperate scream.
"Shut up!"
Her plea didn't deter me. Her words were nothing more than a feeble attempt to stall the inevitable.
"You felt special for the first time," I continued, ignoring her outburst. "Someone finally saw you, made you feel like more than a ghost. But then, when he started going out every night…"
"I said shut up!" she screamed again, her desperation mingling with fury and hopelessness.
"…you felt like you did during your entire childhood," I said, raising my voice just enough to overpower hers. "Ignored. Invisible. And naturally, you sought solace. Solace in the one thing that had ever alleviated that feeling: the love of another man."
My words echoed in the room like a gunshot, leaving a charged silence in their wake. She broke down. The restrained sobs she had been holding back spilled over in an uncontrollable flood. Tears streamed down her face, her body shook under the weight of her emotions, and her breathing became a chaotic mixture of gasps and choked cries.
I watched her in silence for a moment, letting her process what I had said. There was something darkly poetic about her reaction, a bitter irony I couldn't ignore. And then, as if my thoughts had manifested into words, I spoke:
"How ironic… being unfaithful in search of love. It's almost poetic."
She lifted her tear-soaked face to me, her sobs slowly subsiding. Her breathing remained erratic, but she seemed to regain some semblance of control.
"You're right," she finally whispered, her voice barely audible. "Now let me go. I've answered everything you wanted. Please… heal me."
The plea in her voice might have moved someone else, but not me. My gaze remained cold, locked on her as I analyzed her words. It was clear she was clinging to any sliver of hope she could find. But I wasn't finished yet.
"However…" I said, my voice hardening. "You betrayed someone who loved you. That's not something someone without a mask would do."
She stared at me, confusion and fear etched across her face.
"Tell me," I continued, leaning in closer to her. "How long did you hide it from him?"
Her eyes avoided mine, darting around the room as if searching for an escape. The silence was deafening until she finally spoke, her voice cracked and barely above a whisper:
"Until today."
Her answer stopped me cold for a moment, my mind racing.
"Until today?" I repeated, disbelief seeping into my tone. "That means you're still married to that man?"
She didn't need to answer. Her silence said everything.
Suddenly, everything fell into place. Throughout the entire night, she had been deceiving me. Every laugh, every seemingly heartfelt story, had been a facade. An attempt to escape from the reality of her crumbling marriage, her guilt, and the turmoil in her life. She had been playing a role—not just with me, but with her husband, too.
The realization filled me with a mixture of disdain and something close to pity. She was not the person I was searching for. She never had been.
"How pathetic," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "All of this… for nothing."
Her wide, tear-filled eyes locked onto mine, a blend of terror and pleading within them. But at that moment, it no longer mattered. I had seen everything I needed to see. Her mask had fallen completely.
The tension in the room became unbearable, her shallow breaths the only sound as I finally broke the silence.
"I'm sorry," I said with a tone of finality, "but you're not the one I'm looking for."
Her lips trembled as she tried to speak.
"Then… then you'll heal me, right?" she whispered, desperation coating every word.
I shook my head slowly, almost sympathetically.
"I'm sorry," I said again. "But you've seen too much. If I let you live, you'll tell the world what happened here. And then I won't be able to complete my purpose."
"No! We had a deal!" she shouted weakly, her voice breaking. "You said if I answered your questions…"
"I know," I interrupted, my voice soft yet firm. "But this has to end."
She broke down completely, her pleas turning to incoherent sobs.
"Please, no. I have a husband… I'm going to have a child…"
Her trembling voice hung in the air, but my decision was already made. I raised the knife, the glint of the blade catching the faint light.
"Do you have any last words?" I asked, leaning closer as I prepared to deliver the final blow.
Her body convulsed violently, making one last desperate effort to fight.
"No last words?" I said evenly. "That's fine. Everyone meets the end in their own way."
I steadied the knife, but just as I moved to strike, a fleeting thought crossed my mind.
"Wait…" I said, lowering the blade slightly.
Her wide, terrified eyes met mine again.
"What's your name?" I asked casually, as though it was a trivial detail.
She didn't answer. Her convulsions only grew more frantic, shaking the bed and causing the knife to slip in my grasp.
I couldn't wait any longer. With a decisive motion, I plunged the blade into her abdomen, again and again, ensuring to strike vital points. Her thrashing caused blood to splatter across my face and onto the once-pristine sheets, staining them deep red.
Her body, which moments ago had fought with such ferocity, began to weaken. Her strength faded quickly, like a shooting star burning out in an instant.
In that moment, something inside me softened. Perhaps it was the inevitability of her death that dissolved the tension between us. I leaned down, pulling her into an embrace as her trembling body stilled.
"Shh… it's okay," I murmured, almost gently. "Let go."
She let out a final, shallow breath, her tears drying on her pale face. And with her last ounce of strength, she whispered:
"My name… is Sarah."
Her body fell limp in my arms, silent and still.