Ding.
As the doors, Jessica’s heart almost stopped. It was the man from the photograph. He ignored her, and pressed seven, even though it was already lit. Her floor. It took all the concentration she had to keep from staring at him, instead focusing on a stain in the weathered blue carpet.
She sneaked a glance up, seeing only his grey suit and dark stubble before he turned, and her heart raced.
“Jessica?” There was no emotion in his voice.
She froze in shock. She would run, but there was nowhere to go.
“I believe you have something of mine. Well technically it was your friend’s, but I don’t think he’ll be needing it anymore.” His smile was empty.
She clutched the photo in the pocket of her jacket, trembling. All she could think about was how his expression was the same now as in was in the photo, minus the spray of blood and knife in his hand.
She pulled out the photo, and he plucked it from her shaking hands.
“Thank you. And I am sorry, but I have no choice.” He reached into his trench coat.
Ding.