Everything went still, quiet, the fight over. Trevor took a deep breath and instantly wished he hadn't. He felt nauseated and his stomach lurched. He carefully opened his eyes looking at his outstretched hand and saw the knife for what felt like the first time. He watched as the blood dripped off the tip.

Looking down at where the drops were falling, he gasped. The lifeless eyes looked up at him, pleading him to stop the torture. Her skin held large, open gashes that were deep and weeping crimson.

Trevor realized that he was straddled on top of her, knees pinning down her hands. His stomach heaved again as he moved off of her. Instinctively, he covered his mouth with his hands, to keep from vomiting; dropping the knife on the floor. He backed away from the bed, hoping to make it through the open door behind him. The wall stopped his retreat and made him look at her again.

How? Why? What had happened here? His head was spinning, he felt dizzy. He needed to sit down. Fresh air, that's what he needed. Trevor looked at the body one last time, then turned and ran through the door. On his way down the hallway, he grabbed her purse and car keys off the small table.

Once out the front door, he sat down on the step to catch his breath. He breathed deeply of the early morning air. The moon still out, darkness hid shadows that frightened him. He held the keys in his hand with a grip so tight they almost drew blood.

"I've got to get out of here," Trevor said to himself, pushing off the steps and heading toward her car.

Reaching out for the door, the wet blood on his hands left a streaked hand print across the light color paint. Inside the car, he buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. "I hope I remember how to do this," he said aloud as he put the car in reverse.