5

The terrified woman slowly, very slowly, began to understand that she had virtually no chance of escape. That no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't avoid the fate someone had prepared for her. She couldn't escape the fate that awaited her. She found herself in a trap, a cunning trap, from which there was no escape, from which she had no chance of escaping. If she had ever had any hope, it was gone forever. She slowly began to consider how to kill herself, what to do to avoid suffering. Suffering was what Laura feared most. Perhaps more than ordinary death, she feared the pain, the lying there waiting to die, the hope of no one helping her. Because she had lost hope of any help. The worst was that there was nothing in the apartment that Laura could use to kill herself. Except, of course, the snake. The snake—yes, the snake. Where was it? Where had that terrifying beast gone? As if answering her silent, unasked question, the snake slithered into the room. "I have no strength. I have no strength to move," the terrified woman thought. "This time she has me. This time she has me." But there was something that wouldn't let her give up, some primal, inner instinct that told her she couldn't give in without a fight, something that made her scramble to her feet and dash to the door with astonishing speed. My baton, I'd forgotten my baton. But she knew it was too late to turn back, especially since the hated head poked out from behind the door and the snake was slithering quickly toward her. Laura ran into the kitchen, barricading the door behind her. She threw herself on the floor, nervously examining the baseboard, but she couldn't see an opening anywhere. Was she safe? At least for a while? Until the beast found its way back to her? Because she had no doubt it would. Sooner or later, it would surely get me.

The man watched with growing satisfaction as the whore lost her strength. He knew the snake wouldn't rest; that was how he'd been raised, after all. Besides, he hadn't eaten for so long that hunger was now giving him strength. The man knew it wasn't kind of him, and more than once it broke his heart to watch the snake suffer from hunger. But he also knew that if he was to achieve what he desired, he would unfortunately have to sacrifice his beloved. Fortunately, it was only for a moment. Laura had no strength left; she finally returned exhausted, and it was already quite late. The man glanced at his watch and realized the chase had lasted a full ten hours. Good, very good, excellent. Just a little while longer and Marcel would be at Laura's. Yes, the man knew that none of Laura's friends had the right to tell Marcel that Laura had returned, but he wasn't one of them. One innocent, tiny phone call, and Marcel would soon be hurtling his magnificent machine straight into the arms of... fate. By then, my child would have dealt with your whore. And you will answer for this. The man laughed, a quiet, mad laugh that sent shivers down his spine.

Laura knew she wouldn't get out of here. She knew the end was near, closer than ever before. If the beast got into the kitchen, there was no chance of escape. What? There was no "if," only "when." It wasn't a question of whether the snake would get into the kitchen or not; it was a question of when. How much life did Laura have left? Her heart was beating wildly, thoughts raced chaotically through her head. Dull, unstoppable thoughts, as if flowing directly from her subconscious. Thoughts over whose shape, content, and form—it seemed—Laura had no control. And among these thoughts, one stubbornly kept returning, like a boomerang, like a snake, slithering into every nook and cranny, revealing the terrifying truth: you will die. You will die, or rather, you are already dead. You died the moment you crossed the threshold. No, not right now, Laura corrected herself. I died practically the moment I decided to have some fun at the expense of this man. A man whose name she tried very, very hard to remember, but whose name was lost in the darkness. A man who seemed to be the perfect victim and entertainment for a beautiful, wealthy, and bored woman. A man whose destiny—from Laura's perspective and those like her—was to serve. A man who, by design, was meant to quickly recover and forget. A man who was supposed to disappear as quietly and silently from her world, from her life, as he had appeared. Laura knew, understood, that it was he, this gray, inconspicuous man, who was the cause of her suffering. And worse, she slowly began to realize he was right. That with her life, her actions, her entire attitude, she had deserved what had happened to her. Funny how, in the moment just before death, you realize what a son of a bitch (or what a bitch) you really are. It's a shame it's usually too late by then. Too late for regrets, too late for begging forgiveness, too late for repentance. Too late for anything.