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to keep a check on approaching shoes. And then, he froze. Two stone cold grey – somewhat like rotten blue- eyes were looking at him. You talk of looking at the devil right in his eyes – maybe this is how that felt. His lips were drawn back in a sneer, and white gleaming teeth and a pointed nose. They sneer was of a predator who knew his prey was trapped, and would sit back and bask in its squirming. Richard couldn’t make a sound. In a flash, the look in Paul’s eyes changed, and it was almost as the rage in his eyes could melt him on the spot.
    “Spoiling my Brooke, are you?” Did he sound jealous? Or was it his ruse to coldly kill Richard?
    Paul let out a soft whisper and called out to Brooke. Richard prayed to all the gods he had been introduced to once in his childhood, prayed that he wouldn’t look into the wardrobe till the police arrived – as he could do nothing if he found Brooke first. He didn’t realise how time crept by as Paul sat staring at him, sneering at him. He knew Paul had to succumb to his body’s discomfort at some point in time. But then he saw his expression change and he whipped his head around and was gone in a flash. Richard took his time to slide out from under the bed. He looked at the wardrobe and tiptoed downstairs following the noise of furniture being smashed. Paul was held captive by three cops and the other was cuffing him. He couldn’t believe his eyes – all that hue and cry, all those victims, and it now ended in his very kitchen.
    Close to midnight, Richard sat in the back of an ambulance with Wattson, riding his way back to his place. He was still shaken after what happened. Once Paul was subdued, he told the cops where Brooke was hiding. Wattson went up to get her. Richard would never forget the look in Paul’s eyes – the hunger, the rage – of the man still fighting till his last breath. He dragged his eyes away from Paul to locate her. Brooke was escorted down the hall to the garden. Anger, fear and hurt was still so evidently etched all over her face, but she stilled as she saw Richard.
    “You found me!”
    She looked at him furtively . Richard had no reply to that. Sheer dumb luck. He shuddered to think what would have happened otherwise.
    Paul was beside himself with anger, but he went deadly quiet as Brooke passed by. He simply looked at her, and then in a flash he looked at Richard. The atmosphere was heavy with the night’s drama, the people around, and the vehicles blaring. But it was all silenced; it was all somewhere in the background, as Richard met his eyes. Unadulterated hatred. Fury. If he didn’t give a damn about his pride, he would have quelled and hidden behind the wall to escape his eyes.
    They still haunt him Richard thought, emerging from his long chain of thoughts. He remembered the blurry uneventful ride back. He recalled searching for Brooke; he wanted to make sure she was fine before he left. He sure as wouldn’t meet her again ever. His heart went out to her, to think what she went through – all these years, and tonight. He wanted to say goodbye. But he didn’t want her to think of him as her hero. It was too much for him to take.
    “You kind of saved her life, you know!” Wattson sighed heavily over breakfast the next day. He didn’t feel like a saviour. He didn’t feel like anything but a coward guy who was thinking of bolting through the door just because Paul had so much as looked at him. And he knew that look. He understood that look. The way he eyed Brooke being led away from him. The way his sneer remained intact. It reeked of unfinished business. He would come back and get his score. Get even. He hoped he hadn’t pushed him over the edge – he prayed he didn’t make Brooke’s life worse than ever. No, he definitely didn’t feel heroic.
    “…if you hadn’t been an ass and poking your nose about in his house, Brooke would have been murdered brutally. Or worse.” Wattson continued. He shrugged. He wanted to return to