The sweat in his eyes blurred his vision, making it almost impossible to see through the leaves and branches. Across the greenhouse the twin fans slowly whirled to life again, every ten minutes like clock-work. They came on when the ambient temperature reached 78 degrees inside the man-made jungle, the sound hitting you before the cooling touch of the breeze. After only thirty some odd minutes in here, he was beginning to trust the fans. He stood there, breathing deeply, trying not to focus on anything in particular, just letting his mind see more than his eyes ever could have before.

Then suddenly, there, across the aisle from the conifers, the gravel moves against itself, some one shifted weight, made just enough sound, just enough vibration.

He moves again, across the chat of the walkways, moving with a sinister purpose, holding the extension of his own hand close to his side, the gleam of the knife bright silver against the tan of his chest. Sweat drips from his arms, off his face and down his back, making a dot-to-dot pattern on the white sands beneath the zinnias.

He can see her now, on her knees, crouching, and ready to run again, rabbit-under-the-brush quiet. The smile across his face grows again as his nerves settle, this one has been an issue. She should have been downed in mere seconds, not still running after twenty minutes. The three others had gone like he wanted, they simply accepted the blade, gift given, and taken as it was intended. Of course the one behind the counter screamed, giving this one time to hide, but that was fine, in fact that was delicious.

But, when the little bitch hit him back, brushed the knife away and ran, that was sweetest of all. Finally, prey worthy of the chase.

Now she was close enough to reach for again, he was quiet; his breath was waiting for a moment to escape after he struck out at her again. He could hear the clock ticking, mocking him, thirty minutes; it had never taken so long to finish off a scene before. Now the clock was reminding him again that at any minute someone else could come walking in and make this whole thing a lot messier; something that had never happened before.

Enough of this; finish it.

He covered the ten feet between them in one movement, big-cat like in his lunge. His hands wrapped around her head and the weight of him crashing into her back, it sent them both to the floor in a tangled mass of limbs. He pulled the knife in to her stomach, straining against her arms as she frantically tried to push-pull and turn away in one jumbled motion.

His mind raced as she actually left his grasp, sweat on sweat, slid out from under him in one fluid movement and rolled into the darkness of the green leaves. His legs refused to move, his arms fell slowly to his sides, his head fell one degree at a time, ratcheting down like on a lever system, until his eyes found the scissors sticking out of his gut. They moved rhythmically up and down with the beating of his heart, slowing. Blood danced out of the wound, sprayed and trickled down the blades with the pumping.

Already a pool was gathering at his feet, turning the chalky dust from the gravel a soft muted red color. In a second his eyes where back up, scanning for her, not finding her as fast as he should have, as fast as he always had found the others.

A short choppy laugh erupted from his mouth. “Bitch,” he said quietly. “I will finish this.”

He walked from the greenhouse and in to the shadows of the hot night.

The only sign of his time in the greenhouse lay on the ground. Two, a husband and wife, he had taken in the back near the exit to the ponds. The husband went first, without really understanding. The wife, ah, she knew, she understood the gift. He could see that in her eyes, the clench of her jaws.

The cashier he grabbed from behind, whispering to her as he slid the knife in to her back. Her voice escaped her throat before he could cover her mouth with his right hand. With no more than a tiny shutter she let go. He laid her on the ground softly, reverently.

Now he left the scissors as well, another gift given, and the girl that got away, for now. She was the last gift of the night. Her life would never be the same, if she lived, and he was sure she would; she was like him, different from the rest. She had the will to do more than live; she wanted to win.

She watched him walk out of the greenhouse from her dark hole under the metal desk. The desk the pruning gear, she had found the scissors here, and it was the safest place she could think of when he didn’t pursue her. She was bleeding too, he had slammed the knife into her stomach with so much force that she didn’t even feel the cut, just the sting of her ribs for now.

But she knew enough to realize she needed medical attention and soon. Was he waiting in the parking lot? Hidden in between the cars? Watching from across the street?

It didn’t matter now; she had to move before the bleeding did her in. Too far from the hospital too walk, she had to get to her car, chance him being there in the parking lot. Or maybe just get across the street to the movie theater, once inside she would be safe.

It took longer than she would have thought to stand, feeling every rock under her palms as she pressed her arms in to the floor to stand. Bearing her weight instead of taking it all on her legs, they felt way too weak right now. Getting to the parking lot would be a miracle, much less across the street.

The fans roared to life again, she had first noticed them when she was asking for the perennials, the fans had started and she missed what the cashier had said, forcing her to ask where she would find the flowers again. Now the fans were welcomed though, as she suddenly realized she could no longer hear her own footfall as she slowly walked down the chat covered path.

When she got to the door, she waited a moment, listening for something, anything. She smiled at herself when she realized how stupid she must look.

I guess it isn’t like he’s out there, waiting for me and whistling…

She took a breath, pushed the door open and walked in to the night.