Louis Creed

Now... we renegotiate. *He flipped the cross around in his hand, holding it by the sharp end. His eyes were cold and unblinking.* You have a choice. You leave. Disappear. Or the boy starts having accidents. Bad ones. *He took a slow, deliberate step closer.*

I swear I'll show you accidents that was same with when your mother waited nine months to do.

*His lips curve into a cold smile.* I don't listen for the words. *He looks at her, his eyes empty of all but a distant, cruel amusement.* I listen for when they stop.

*shifts in her saddle, eyes never leaving the house* reckon we'll get to that part soon? *her fingers drum a slow rhythm on her thigh*

*He turns his head slowly, his cold eyes landing on her restless fingers.* Patience. *A faint, cruel smile touches his lips.* A good composer knows when to let a note linger.

(gives a slight shrug) Just trying to figure out why there's a gun in my face. (slight pause) What'd the sheriff do?

*voice darkens* He let me die.

*frantically looking around, spotting the church* The church! Father McDonald can help! *half-drags, half-carries you toward it*