The knife fell again.

Val picked it up, cowering defensively with it. Pointing it outward, shaking, afraid Molly would come at her. She didn’t have to wait long. Molly ran forward.

With what little strength she had left, Val lifted herself up and plunged the knife into Molly’s chest. Her eyes were wide and locked on Val’s as the knife went in. Her hands went to the knife as she collapsed to the floor.

Val hobbled out of the room. Gwen! Where’s Gwen? Val found her on the bed in the room next door. She felt for a pulse; there was one, a strong one.

Val rushed down the stairs as quickly as she could, almost falling several times. She could barely feel her gashed leg anymore. Her phone was in the living room and she needed to get to it. When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she noticed someone lying on the kitchen floor. She limped forward, her heart racing. As she got closer, she nearly collapsed. It was Howie, lying in a pool of blood.

“Oh my God no!”

She felt for a pulse and found one. It was weak. He was still alive but barely. He tried to talk. His lips moved but what little sound came out was incoherent.

Val shushed him. “Howie, save your strength. Don’t talk.”

“I… have… tell… Val…”

“Howie, not now! I’m going to get help for you,” she said frantically. She needed to call an ambulance.

Blood dripped from Val’s leg. She was dizzy and stumbled to the living room where she left her phone on the couch. She grabbed it then staggered back to the kitchen, to Howie. Her fingers acted like they were moving in slow motion as her brain tried to instruct them to push the numbers.

“911, what’s your emergency?” the operator responded.

“Help. I’ve been stabbed,” Val’s voice whispered. It was all she could get out.

She collapsed to the floor, barely conscious now. The phone still in her hand, the dispatcher was yelling in the background.

“Ma’am! Ma’am! Are you there? Stay on the line! Help is on the way!”

Val dropped the phone. A pool of red was beneath her. She was bleeding out.

She pictured Dr. Blythe filling out his report. “Cause of death: exsanguination. Manner of death: homicide.” She pictured herself lying on the cold steel table of the morgue.

She turned her head and looked at Howie. He was lying next to her on the floor. His eyes blinked and his chest rose up and down, and then without warning, both movements stopped. His body appeared lifeless. His head was turned to the side with eyes fixed in her direction, chest still. She had seen this look enough to know what it meant. She tried to reach out to touch him, but her hand wouldn’t reach.