Page 49 of Silent Night

Sheila's heart pounded in her ears as she backed into a wall, the cold concrete pressing against her back. On one side was a van, on the other a large truck, the two of them effectively walling her in.

In short, she was trapped.

As Jenson continued to close in on her, the musty smell of the damp space invaded her nostrils and made it difficult to breathe. Her only chance was to disarm him, but how?

"Drop the weapon!" Finn's shout reverberated through the basement, followed by the illumination of a flashlight beam that momentarily blinded Jenson. Seizing the opportunity, Sheila lunged at him, trying to grab the knife. Jenson was quick, however, and he backpedaled out of reach.

"I said," Finn repeated, "drop the weapon!"

Jenson hesitated, glancing between his two adversaries before bolting into the darkness. Finn fired off a shot after him, the report reverberating throughout the enclosed space. With urgency in his eyes, he rushed over to Sheila.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I think he went after Heather," she said.

Finn clenched his jaw. "Come on!"

Without hesitation, they charged deeper into the shadows, their footsteps clapping loudly as they searched desperately for any sign of Heather or her would-be killer. The air grew colder and heavier the farther they ventured, and Sheila couldn't help but wonder if her own life had become a twisted game of predator and prey.

Finn's eyes locked onto a ramp leading upwards at the far end of the garage. "Over there! Hurry!" he shouted, already sprinting in that direction. Sheila followed close behind, but then something caught her attention—a door closing shut off to their right.

"Wait, Finn!" she shouted. "I think I saw—" But Finn had already disappeared around the corner. He must've heard something, given the acoustics of the open garage, but Sheila didn't have time to stick around and find out if he was coming back, not when every second counted.

Turning on her heel, she changed course, heading for the door she had seen closing. Her heart pounded in her chest as she approached, adrenaline coursing through her veins and sharpening her senses. The metallic taste of fear lingered on her tongue.

She reached the door, her hand shaking slightly as she gripped the handle and pulled it open. The small room beyond was dimly lit, the flickering fluorescent light overhead casting eerie shadows on the walls. It appeared to be a storage area for maintenance equipment; tools and cleaning supplies were haphazardly strewn about, creating an unsettling landscape of sharp edges and dark corners.

As Sheila's eyes adjusted to the gloom, she spotted Heather, her face pale and tear-streaked, pressed into a corner as if trying to disappear into the shadows. Jenson stood menacingly in front of her, his knife glinting cruelly in the feeble light. They both turned toward Sheila as she entered, their expressions a mixture of shock and desperation.

"Let her go, Jenson," Sheila said. She took a step forward, trying to draw his attention away from Heather.

"Stay back!" Jenson snarled, brandishing the knife with a wild look in his eyes. "You've interfered enough already!"

"Jenson—" Sheila began, but her words were cut off as he lunged at her, his knife slicing through the air.

Sheila's instincts kicked in, and she avoided the deadly strike by a hair's breadth. Her body shifted into a defensive stance, muscle memory taking over. She dodged another swing of the blade, acutely aware of the cold concrete floor beneath her feet and the stale scent of the room.

"Look," she panted, trying to reason with him. "It doesn't have to be this way."

"Shut up!" he hissed, lunging at her again. This time, the knife found its mark, nicking her forearm. The sudden sting of pain brought clarity, sharpening her focus.

Blood welled from the shallow cut, warm and sticky against her skin. A surge of anger overcame her fear, and she knew she couldn't let Jenson hurt anyone else. Not if she could help it.

"Enough!" she shouted, her voice reverberating through the small room. She launched herself at Jenson, her muscles coiled like springs ready to unleash their power.

As she attacked, Sheila weaved around the knife, anticipating each of Jenson's strikes with careful precision. Her fists landed solid blows on his body, causing him to stagger. The element of surprise was hers; he hadn't expected her to fight back so fiercely.

"Wh-who are you?" Jenson stammered, his eyes wide with fear as he struggled to regain control of the situation. The once-confident killer now realized he'd severely underestimated her.

"Someone who won't let you hurt anyone else," she replied between clenched teeth.

With one swift movement, Sheila sidestepped as Jenson lunged at her again. She grabbed his wrist, using his momentum to twist it and force him to drop the knife. The blade clattered to the floor, now far from his reach.

With the knife out of Jenson's grasp, Sheila could see the frantic desperation in his eyes. His chest heaved with exertion, sweat beading on his brow. He knew he was cornered, and that made him more dangerous than ever.

"Back off!" he said, attempting to use bravado to mask his fear. "I swear I'll—"

"Enough, Jenson," Sheila said, her voice low and steady. She refused to let him regain control of the situation.

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