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They thought it was just the two of them in there, in the dark, in the room.
All the lights in the mansion were out. The power was cut. They knew because they’d cut it.
They’d run inside and up the winding staircase, sliding their fingers along the smoothly turned wooden rail as they went, holding on to keep their bearings in the absolute darkness. They’d found an unlocked door. The room offered sweet, if momentary, relief from capture.
“I told him. You heard me tell him…he killed my father. Prepare to die,” whispered Inigo.
Evil Editor grimaced in the dark.
“Yes, Inigo, and look where that last bit of mouth from you got us. Running for our lives from the proud owner of that she-devil. “
EE heard Inigo breathing in the dark somewhere near him. He knew it was only a few seconds before the “prepare to die” stuff started again. God, how much more could an erudite literary man take?
“Don’t start. It’s pointless, Inigo. We’ve got to figure a way out of this. And I swear to you - if you repeat that phrase one more time…”
Suddenly, a flash of light sputtered and waved before them. The she-devil stood holding a match, just inside the open balcony doors. Ah. This was a bedroom. The match went out. Another was struck. She's moved quickly, leaning over to light bedside candles.
“The man who…employs you. He had you kill my father. Prepare…”
A gunshot rang out. Inigo lay dead on the floor, the gun in the editor’s hand smoking.
The she-devil smiled at him, beckoning him to the bed. What the hell, thought Evil. If I’ve gotta go, I may as well go out with a bang.