She lies at my feet, her head lolling at an awkward angle, as if her neck is broken.

She was much more difficult than him. She fought hard. She ran.

But not hard enough. Not fast enough.

I cannot wait to see her face when she wakes up in that room. It’s what I’ve been waiting for. To see the horror fill her eyes. The realization of what’s to come.

She shifts slightly on the floor, her fingers flexing at her sides.

Her breathing is still deep, steady, but every so often she takes a juddering inhale, her eyes moving rapidly behind her eyelids.

Not much longer and she’ll be awake.

It’s time.

I stretch my arms out above my head, arching my back, which clicks loudly, the muscles in my shoulders screaming. But she shouldn’t be too difficult.

I pull on the black jumpsuit that is hanging in the corner, tugging it up over my clothes, fastening the zip.

I stand, stepping over her shoulders until I am towering over her head, her neck still bent. I bend down, gripping firmly under her arms.

Pull.

Her body drags across the floor, her ankles thumping out a rhythm when she passes over the ridge as we move out of the room and into the corridor. Not much further.

I reach the door and let go of her arms. They drop to the floor.

Thump, thump.

I delve in my pocket and pull out the black material, thick and claustrophobic, only a small gap to see out of. The smell musty and cloying.

I drag the mask on over my head.

Close my eyes. Inhale deeply.

And unlock the door.