When it was all over he untied her and shoved her roughly off the bed to the floor.

"Put on your clothes," he ordered.

She did so as quickly as she could, although her hands were shaking so badly that it made buttoning her jeans a difficult task. Her mind was numb with shock, and she was tying to keep her head clear although she could feel sheer terror building up inside her. This couldn't have happened to her. How was this still happening to her?

He took a step closer to her, looking down as he stood over her. Her heart was thumping so hard she could feel it pulsing though her entire body, and she was aware of every breath she took. He towered over her, and blocked her exit. She knew she had little chance of fighting him off, and she was afraid that he didn't plan on letting her out of there alive. He shifted then and her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of silver as he pulled a knife from his black coat that lay crumpled on the dresser.

Before she could react, he grabbed her by the shirt and pushed her against the wall, holding her there while he put the knife against her throat applying just enough pressure to keep her from moving but not to cut the skin.

"Beg for your life," He told her in a cold and savage voice.

Jane took a breath and swallowed, and allowed herself to make eye contact with the sick bastard for the first time. He had dark, unruly hair and thick dark brows, which accentuated his menacing demnor, but other than that he looked like anyone else. He was young, she guessed he might be 25 or so, only a few years older than herself. His face was almost handsome, and his green eyes would have been beautiful, but his cold expression made him terrifying.

"No," she managed to say, although her voice shook slightly.

"What?" He replied, clearly surprised at her response. He leaned away from her, and lessened the pressure against her throat.

"Don't you want to live?" Although it was barely noticeable his voice softened slightly, as if he was truly curious about her response.

"Of course I do," she snapped, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Then beg," he demanded.

"No," she said, this time with more force. She wasn't sure where she had found the courage to stand up to this sicko, but if he really was going to kill her she was determined not to give him the pleasure of playing into his game. She really didn't want to die, but she'd be damned if she went out like a coward.

"Why?"

"It won't do any good anyway, will it?" She said. He raised his eyebrows a little in surprise at how very intuitive she was. He hadn't expected this; they always did whatever he told them to. She was right though; it wouldn't do any good.

He took the knife away from her throat completely now and considered her for a moment with an almost amused expression that nearly sent chills down her spine. He liked the fiery spark he saw in her eyes, although he found it ridiculous that she would look at him in such a challenging way when she in such a vulnerable position without a weapon.

He took a step back and tossed her the knife, which she managed to catch, completely bewildered.

"Well, if you want to live then kill me instead," he told her, standing in front of her lifting his arms a little to show that he was going to make no attempt to fight back.

The weapon felt heavy and clumsy in her hands. But this was her only chance to live, she told herself, and she had to do it. She drew the knife back in an awkward fashion, and as she did it occurred to her that no matter how much force she put into it he would be strong enough to stop her hand if he wanted to. He was just toying with her, wasn't he? But she didn't really have a choice, and the smirk on his face as he waited was making her stomach turn.

She made a move to thrust the knife toward him, but as she did just the thought of stabbing someone, of the blood, of actually killing someone flooded her mind, and as quickly as it had come her courage melted away. She was a good person, and even if this man wasn't she couldn't take his life. She dropped the knife before it reached her assailant and it fell to the floor with a heavy thud. Jane collapsed down with it catching herself with her hands, and hanging her head so that her chestnut brown hair fell around her.

"I...can't...do it," she choked in defeat, and finally the tears she had been holding back welled up and silently dropped to the floor. The man was silent as he slowly picked up the knife from the floor. It seemed like a long time that she waited for something to happen, not lifting her head, angry at herself for her fatal weakness and expecting the blow from her assailant to come at any moment. But it didn't.

She was surprised when he yanked her to her feet and she realized he did not have the knife in his hand anymore. He forced her back onto the bed, roughly tying her up again. He said nothing, barely even looking at her, and when he finished he turned off the lights and left, slamming the door loudly behind him. Jane held her breath as she listened to him stomp around the house, and then heard the outside door open and slam. Then it was silent. Until her sobs began.