Putting down the knife and pulled on her clothing. Her pants were up, she shirt was laying over them as neatly as possible as she nervously opened the door. Silently she cursed herself for not checking the peephole beforehand. There a large man stood before her. Tall and muscular. Short hair, longer beard. Eyes that looked sunken in. He studied her as if he wanted to recognize her. At first he said nothing. After a moment of silence, as Belinda was about to ask him what he wanted, “your arm,” he said, “it’s bleeding.”
