Chapter 6
2264words
5/5。
As this number burned into my retina like a branding iron, I felt a chill deeper than death, a complete sense of powerlessness. Jason didn't just want to kill me; he was playing a game of cat and mouse. With each reset, he tightened the noose around my neck, reducing my space to breathe. What he enjoyed wasn't the end, but the process—the pleasure of watching his prey struggle futilely in an ever-shrinking cage.
"Knock, knock, knock."
The knocking, precise as a Swiss watch. It reminded me that the game had begun, the countdown was activated.
Last time, I tried to guide Sarah with complex instructions, attempting to defeat violence with logic and information. I half succeeded—Sarah survived, but I died. Because Jason saw through me; he knew how I would think, how I would strategize. He even... he even enjoyed watching me struggle with my own cleverness.
This time, I cannot think the same way. Complexity represents more variables, and what I lack most now is room for error. Five words—I must use them as precisely as a surgeon, each letter must cut straight to the artery.
Concise, direct, appealing to instinct.
I shift my gaze away from the numbers representing death and onto the phone screen. In the movie, Sarah has just finished that sweet but deadly text conversation, her face still flushed with happiness. She has no idea that the door to her dormitory will soon become the gateway to hell.
Jason, who is essentially the grim reaper in reality, is still patiently knocking on the door, like a polite visitor. I know this patience is merely the prelude to his cruel ritual.
What should I send?
"Run"? Too vague—where would she run to? The hallway? The elevator? The last loop proved that in open spaces, she would only be caught more quickly.
"He wants to kill you"? This seems obvious, and wastes precious four characters. Sarah had already established basic vigilance through my warning in the previous loop.
I need a word that can trigger immediate action and introduce a third-party force. A word that everyone would think of under extreme fear.
My fingertip hovers over the screen, my brain racing. One word, two characters. It represents order, rescue, and a glimmer of hope.
I take a deep breath, almost able to smell the scent of desperation in the air I exhale. Then, with trembling yet determined fingers, I type those two characters in the comment box.
"Police".
I didn't even waste a single character forming a complete sentence. This is my new strategy: using the most primitive, core vocabulary to trigger the most direct response.
The moment I clicked send, I didn't look at Sarah's reaction on the screen. I sprang up from my bed, rushed to my desk, and grabbed my phone. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest, as if it was about to burst out. My actions had to be synchronized with hers; I couldn't just be a bystander. We were bound by the same fate, and we needed to fight together.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Sarah freeze, the last trace of color draining from her face. She clearly understood the ominous sign behind that word. Without hesitation, she made almost the exact same movement as I did—grabbing her phone.
I unlocked my screen, my fingers not quite obeying due to nervousness, missing the right spots several times. But I finally managed to open the dialing interface.
9-1-1。
I pressed the call button and held the phone tightly against my ear.
"911, what's your emergency?" a calm, formal female voice came through the receiver.
At the same time, in the movie on the screen, Sarah also dialed a call. The camera gave a close-up of her phone screen, which prominently displayed the same three digits: 911.
"Someone... someone is trying to break into my dorm! He wants to kill me!" Sarah's voice trembled shrilly with fear as she spoke, her eyes fixed intently on the door of her dorm.
"Ma'am, please stay calm and tell me your address." In the movie, the operator's voice was equally calm.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" In reality, my operator was prompting me.
I opened my mouth but found my throat was blocked by something, unable to make any sound. Jason's footsteps were right outside the door; I could even imagine him pressing against the door panel, listening intently to my every move. If I spoke up, he would immediately know what I was doing.
"Listen," I lowered my voice and quickly whispered, "13 Oak Street, Apartment 2B, someone's trying to break in, hurry!"
After saying this, I immediately hung up the phone. I didn't dare say another word.
In the movie, Sarah also reported her address—University Road, Phoenix Student Apartments, Room 305.
We both made the same choice. Call the police. This was the most rational, and possibly the only correct choice.
But we also both understood that it would take time for the police to arrive. And the killer was just outside the door.
"Emily..." outside the door, Jason's voice suddenly changed, losing its fake gentleness and becoming like icicles in winter, cold and hard, "I know what you're doing in there. Do you think they'll arrive in time?"
His words were like a bucket of ice water, extinguishing the flame of hope that had just ignited in my heart. He knew! He knew everything!
On the phone screen, the doorknob to Sarah's dorm room began to turn violently, accompanied by one heavy impact after another. Mark had also lost his patience and started ramming the door.
Two worlds, the same desperate situation.
I had three characters left.
What should I do? Wait? No, waiting meant waiting to die. I had to keep acting, for myself and for Sarah, to fight for every second.
My gaze frantically scanned the room, searching for any possible escape route. The door was blocked, the kitchen was too far, and last time Jason had proven that he knew my every move.
The only hope...
My eyes fixed on the window that Jason had sealed with superglue.
Perhaps... perhaps this time, things would be different? Even if there was only a one in ten thousand chance, I had to try.
I rushed to my phone, using all my strength to stay calm, and typed the second command.
"Window".
Another two words. Short and clear.
Send.
Sarah on the screen saw the comment and immediately turned to look at her dorm window. It was an old-fashioned sliding window that didn't look very secure. A flash of determination crossed her eyes as she threw her phone aside and desperately rushed toward the window.
"Emily, you're such a disobedient child." Outside the door, Jason's laughter came through the door panel, that laughter filled with mockery and cruelty, "You always like to repeat the same mistakes. Do you think, this time that window will open for you?"
"Bang!"
In reality, my door made a tremendous noise, as if struck hard by a battering ram. The doorframe trembled, and wood chips fell down in a shower.
"Bang!"
In the movie, the door to Sarah's dormitory suffered the same violent impact.
We were running out of time.
I turned and lunged toward the window, not bothering to contemplate Jason's taunts. I used all my strength to push and ram against it, and my shoulder soon began to burn with pain. The window didn't budge at all, as if it had been welded to the wall. The power of the super glue exceeded my imagination.
Despair once again engulfed me like a rising tide.
But at that moment, the scene on the screen gave me a glimmer of hope. Sarah's window, though old, wasn't sealed shut with glue. She pushed hard, and with a "creak," the window opened a crack!
There was hope! At least she had hope!
"Trying to run, baby?" In the movie, Mark's roar accompanied another violent bang against the door, "You can't escape!"
"How pitiful, Emily." In reality, Jason's laughter seemed to be right next to my ear, "Look at you, just like a fly trapped in a glass bottle. You can see the outside world, but you'll never fly out. And that girl you want to save... do you really think you can save her?"
His words sent chills down my spine. He seemed to be able to see everything happening on the screen! He was enjoying this dual-broadcast massacre!
In the movie, Sarah had fully pushed open the window. She poked her head out and looked down, hesitating at the height of the third floor. But the banging on the door behind her left her no choice. She climbed onto the windowsill, preparing to jump.
But just as she leaped, the dormitory door was "BOOM" smashed completely open!
Mark charged in like an enraged bull, wearing that damn smiling mask on his face, yet his eyes were as fierce as a wolf's. He spotted Sarah by the window, let out a sinister laugh, and lunged forward in one swift move, grabbing her ankle before she could jump out the window!
Sarah let out a terrified scream, half of her body suspended outside the window, firmly gripped by Mark, like a puppet on strings.
"Got you!" Mark's voice was distorted with excitement.
It's over.
I watched this scene with my own eyes, my heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. My guidance, my synchronized actions, had once again pushed her toward a dead end.
"Bang!!"
The door behind me was completely forced open at that moment.
I stiffly turned my head and saw the man who was both familiar and strange to me. Jason stood at the doorway, wearing the same twisted and cruel smile that I had seen on Mark through the screen. He wasn't wearing a mask, but his expression at this moment was more terrifying than any mask.
"See, I told you," Jason slowly walked toward me, his steps as casual as if he were strolling in his own living room. "You can't save anyone. Your resistance only makes the game more interesting."
His gaze passed over me, as if he could also see the images on my phone screen.
"What a similar scene." He marveled with a sick admiration in his voice. "Two unarmed girls, two lives about to be ended. This is a work of art, Emily, a work of art that we have created together."
A work of art...
These words pierced my numbed nerves like a poisonous thorn.
No.
I am not your work of art. Nor am I a lamb for you to slaughter at will.
I only have one last word left to say. One word.
What should I say? "Help"? To whom? To the girl on the screen who is equally doomed?
My brain became extraordinarily clear under the immense pressure. I recalled the layout of our apartment, and the layout of Sarah's dormitory. Movies, for dramatic conflict, always arrange similar scene structures.
Kitchen.
Yes, kitchen! Whether in my apartment or her dormitory, there would be a kitchen. And in the kitchen, there must be...
My eyes were fixated on the phone screen, my fingers striking down my final comment with the resolute determination of someone burning their bridges.
One word.
"Knife."
I had no time to see if Sarah received the message, nor the energy to care about how she would respond. Because Jason was already standing in front of me, looking down with eyes full of contempt.
"It's over," he whispered, reaching out his hand, ready to choke my neck just like last time.
But this time, I didn't close my eyes waiting for death.
A split second before he could touch me, I spun around and ran toward the kitchen with every ounce of strength I had in this lifetime.
The distance from the living room to the kitchen was merely seven or eight meters, yet it felt as long as a century. I could hear Jason's brief laugh of surprise behind me, followed by the heavy footsteps of his pursuit.
I yanked open the kitchen drawer, my eyes frantically searching inside. Fruit knife, peeler, bottle opener...
Finally, my hand grabbed something cold and heavy.
A hefty cleaver used for chopping bones.
I gripped the handle tightly and spun around sharply.
Almost simultaneously, on my phone screen, Sarah, who had been dragged back to the room by Mark, also broke free from his grasp and scrambled into the simple kitchen attached to the dorm, pulling out an equally gleaming kitchen knife from the knife rack.
Two worlds, two girls, in their respective spaces, made exactly the same decision.
Jason stopped at the kitchen doorway, seeing the cleaver gripped tightly in my hand, the smile on his face grew more intense, more maniacal.
"That's more like it," he spread his arms as if embracing a grand performance, "this is the ending I wanted to see. Come on, Emily, show me your determination."
On the screen, Mark also blocked the kitchen doorway, letting out the same bone-chilling laughter at Sarah inside.
Laughter echoed through my apartment, overlapping with Mark's laughter from the movie, forming an eerie and terrifying duet.
My hands gripped the knife handle tightly, my palms becoming slippery with sweat. The fear remained, gnawing at my internal organs like a venomous snake. But I knew this was the final struggle. There was no chance to start over, no more words to spare.
Either live, or die.
Right here, right now.
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