The doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” a sweet female voice called from inside.
“It’s Mark. I called earlier, wanting to see the place.” he answered, trying to hide his glee.
“Oh! Come on in, Mark.” she sang out, “the door is open. I’m in the kitchen.” He grinned as he limped inside the house. Not a neighbor for miles. Just need to figure out how long I can play before she’s missed. he thought.
“Are those brownies I smell?” he politely asked, faking interest. He hobbled towards the scent of brownies and woman, unsheathing his knife.
“Yes, they are,” the girl’s voice said from behind him, “I thought I might be hungry after this.” The sweet, singing tone to her voice had gone. Her voice had aged fifteen years and was choking on rage. Something familiar about that voice- he thought, neck hairs standing up, while turning around. A loud pop broke his concentration, his legs buckled, his body twisted and collapsed. His stomach was a gushing exit wound.
“YOU!” he said, seeing her.
“Yes,” she said flatly, “it’s me.”