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Summary
“We’re going to walk out that door, together, calmly and slowly. We’re going to walk to the exit with you doing whatever you need to do to make it look normal. If someone asks a question, you make something up. I don’t care what you say but if I don’t get out that door, Cassie, you’re fucking dead.”
The sudden touch of cold medal against her neck brings home the seriousness of his threat. Tears fall from her eyes as she leans her head back as far as she can to separate the delicate skin protecting her jugular from the gleaming medal of the scalpel wielded by David.
“I may not be a doctor, but I know a cut right here will do you in, am I right?” David asks, his voice dripping in condescension and superiority, as he pushes the blade into her neck, enough for a bead of blood to appear, and all Cassie can do, once again, is nod.
OR: what if Cassie’s conversation with David after Pittfest ended very differently?