Tears streamed down my face, falling to the carpeted ground. He left me, he left me to die. The door slammed, the noise from which sent a new pain through my leg, the tear of a knife still fresh. Colored lights flashed outside but it was too late, he was already gone and soon I would be too. Everything was dark once again.

The blinding light of a surgery room gleamed as my eyes opened. People celebrated around me. My body felt numb, my leg loose like a tidal wave being contained in a bowl. Men in surgical masks danced around. The cheering was loud yet grounding. I tried to speak but all that came out was a groan of pain. Everyone froze before rushing back to me.

The floorboards creaked under the steps of the unknown. The Government provided worker guided me, her hand on my back and the other in my hand, I was still getting used to walking with the crutch. I had lost my right leg in the attack, the betrayal. My crutch had straps that wrapped around my forearm, though my knuckles still turned white from the grip I had on the handle. I hobbled with help from the pitying worker to get to the couch, the couch which was probably older than me. On my 20th birthday, the day which the love of my life, or who I believed to be the love of my life, revealed themselves to me, a sociopathic serial killer. His knife tore the muscles of my shin, cursing me with an inability to walk. A hand grasped my shoulder. Everything in me jumped, I could see the person in front of me touching me, yet I couldn’t at the same time. The woman in front of me spoke, yet it was only her mouth moving. I couldn't hear her.

“Are you ok darling? This is the safest place ya can get don’t worry. You’re 15 minutes from civilization and kept in this 5-acre estate by high fences,” again pitying eyes that make it all worse.

“20 from a police station, what if he comes back for me, fences won’t keep him out. I have seen documentaries, these old houses, so many passageways, he could be anywhere. Everywhere.” The fear in my mind began to shine through to my body, my remaining leg bouncing, up and down, up and down. 

“Girlie, now we ain’t that stupid,” she gave a friendly laugh, like my safety was to laugh about, “you are in witness protection, the only way in is the fronts driveway. One would have to go through talking to a police or two if not on your ok’d list.” She looked at me once again, big brown empathetic eyes opened wide, like a girl who couldn’t wait to go home and eat some cookies. “Oh! And the house has been searched multiple times, multiple, multiple times. I’ll be over a few times a week to check on you.” She smiled bright, brighter than anyone should after everything.

“Where I am going to sleep?” My voice stayed in my throat, rasping and clawing to escape. She gave me a confused look. “Where am I going to sleep?” Too loud that time, I cringed back. A confused look, again, “I can’t walk. And I haven’t figured out this whole arm leg crutch thing.” So many emotions in such a short amount of time, I used to spend 5 minutes a month reflecting, but now, it was all I can do. I can’t walk without another person but I’m going to be here alone. 

And that’s what I wanted to be, alone.

I shut myself in, the blinds stayed closed, and lights stayed on. My leg burned as I tried to walk. I put all my pressure on my left leg constantly after the other had to be amputated, the one which my ex, a wanted killer, had slashed with a knife, severing muscles, crippling me. I grabbed my crutch, walking wasn’t going to be happening any time soon. I hobbled around the house, hobbled like an old lady who lost the love of her life to time. If only. Dusty books lined the shelves, their spines crumbling. My arm ached as weight and pressure coursed through it whenever I moved. 

My room was in the middle of the ground floor, previously an office that smelled of tobacco and old pages. The supplied bed was queen-sized, gray sheets laid across, perfect, except for one corner, it was flipped up, exposing the white fitted sheet. Why would it be flipped up, the only one who had been here in the last hour was that government woman, Judy, who showed me my room, and the bed was perfect, the sheets had all been in place. Something is majorly wrong.

I tucked myself in as best I could with a lost leg. I squirmed under the growing thought of a hidden threat. I gazed at the ceiling, 2 floors of history were above me. A 3-story house, not to mention the attic which most likely had just as much space, if not more than one of the regular floors due to the high points on the tower-like structures of the roof. But, I could never go up there, the stairs near impossible at the moment. I was told by the physical therapist I had been working with it could be years before I would be able to go upstairs again. That even his best patients took a year or two to be able to. Before I could think any further a soft noise erupted in the space behind me, in the wall, behind it. Fear took my mind as I scrambled to a sitting position, hitting the help button which sat on the dresser next to me. A signal would be sent to the security which should be standing guard at the entrance gate to the property. If I go down, so will he.

I stayed in my room until the police arrived, they had keys to the old-timey mansion, so, on arrival they knocked on the door and yelled ‘police’ before entering. All of a sudden all the noises stopped, the scuttling in the walls, the footsteps around the house stilled and the air went stagnant. It felt as if I was choking on my paranoia. 

Everything started moving again when the door opened, and an armed cop came into the room. “Ma’am the house has no signs of a break-in or anyone in the house.” He concluded everything in one sentence. I was crazy, I was hiding from a killer who didn’t want even want me dead, it was my hell. Torture of my own making. “Uh, ma’am?” The police officer interrupted my thoughts, bringing my attention to his worried gaze.

“Yes, of course, thank you, I’m so sorry for wasting everyone’s time,” my voice seemed to wobble, the pitch jumping as I held back tears.

“Judy, the government-supplied psychiatrist will be here in about 10 minutes. I will be posted here, well outside until she arrives.” He smiled at me, a smile I had seen a thousand times over. Recognition flickered in my eyes, as he played at innocence, “you know, it was probably just a mouse or a rat.” It's him, it has to be him, I can’t say anything, he would kill me right away. “Or the age of the house you never know do you.” Riddles, it was always riddles. How was he here, how did he get a gig as a police officer, defending me? His hair and eyes were different colors. But it looked so real. He can’t know I know.

“I don’t think you need to stay, like you said, probably just the rats, or the age.” I gave a smile back, brief and harmless.

“I really insist, I’ve heard this killer can be quite, deadly. Isn’t that right Quinly?” No one calls me by my last name, no one, not teachers, no one. It was always Leina. The only people who called me that were my dad, 5 years dead. And him. 

“I prefer going by Leina. Also, my dad was a cop, you must be a rookie because this city's standards are referring to victims, or suspects as Ms or Mr. Now, I insist, I will be alright, it's likely just a rat, right?” I gave an innocent smirk, I won’t let him get to me, not again.

“Alright then, I will leave you to, rest.”

Just like he said, Judy was here in 10 minutes. To the dot. “Judy, JUDY IT WAS HIM!” Footsteps grew louder and quicker. 

“Honey, we need to get you out of here, the police officer who was supposed to check on you was dead, stripped of his uniform. I am so so sorry,” She grabbed my arms helping me up, grabbing the crutch that resided on the other side of the room. “Come on now, come on,” I was standing now, hobbling to the door of my room with her help. 

“He was so close,” I choked on my words, “he was right there, and I knew, he knew I knew.” I was gasping for air, panic seizing me. 

“Darling calm down, he's gone, long gone, we're going to go to the station ok, you will be safe there. Only 20 minutes.”

“20, only 20.”

She led me to the car hand on my back, the other under my armpit, helping me across the driveway. She opened the door holding a button on my crutch which let it close so I could fit it in with me. She ran to the other side of the car, opening her door. 

BANG! A shot rang out. The moments after seemed like a lifetime. I was destined to die by his hand, Judy, pitying Judy was gone and now I could only die. I was crippled and weak. My mental state was fried, fear collapsing it, twisting it until all that was left, was paranoia. 

“Oh Quinly,” he drew out the name in a sing-song voice, “nowhere to run.” He laughed, laughed like a maniac, like the maniac he was. I scrambled, unlocking my seat belt and shoving open the door, tumbling out. My knees, or rather, my knee, hit the gravel which posed as a driveway. Pain broke out in spots. My hands were bloody from stopping myself from slamming on my face.

“STAY AWAY FROM ME,” my voice echoed through the darkness which encased the world. This place couldn’t even keep me safe for a night. 

“But Quinly I love you, I just want to PUT you in a better place, a place which deserves you,” his voice was edged with violent anger which couldn’t lead anywhere good. But the sounds of sirens filled the void of noise.

“Your insane Jackson, INSANE!” His voice tasted like poison in my mouth, it scarred my mind, like the false philanthropy he was playing at. “GO GET HELP, PLEASE,” my voice dropped as tears began streaming down my face, “please.” Car doors slammed behind me. “You’ve gotten sloppy Jackson, you shouldn’t have come back for me. Especially if you loved me, YOU ARE A MONSTER.” 

A voice rang out with the rasp of a speakerphone. “Well said Ms. Quinly. Jackson, come peacefully, or we will open fire. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

I entered the Police station shaking. Someone introduces himself as the police chief but I don’t listen. I get told an emergency button was pressed when Jackson arrived. My head was spinning and so was the room. Death was in the air, on my clothes. I had lost everyone. I didn’t get to chance to have Judy be someone for me.

A few months had passed and hundreds of articles had been released on the now nicknamed ‘Lovesick Killer’ it was sickening, he went mad, causing his own demise, his ‘love’ for me shouldn't be blamed for that. I attended therapy every day, alternating between regular therapy and physical therapy, to try and reconcile the damage to my leg, to help me live a semi-normal life. Yet, my life turned into a living hell because of him, and now, he got to suffer in prison. 15 victims, all carefully picked besides the ones at the end, Judy, and the cop he impersonated. He killed 15 confirmed people, his case was being investigated by the best in the business. They were trying to find more evidence. More evidence than the bodies left in his tracks. He got what he wanted, he would go down in history. I would too, I was the one who got him his name. The Lovesick Killer.