Eyes wide with terror, she stumbled against the register counter. Fear and pain weakened her knees and she sank to the floor, sobbing, her wounded arm cradled to her chest.
The clown paced menacingly forward, knife raised, Stacy’s own blood coating the blade. Mocking her, his own eyes so wide the whites were prevalent. Saliva glistening on the points of his teeth and dribbling down his chin, he looked hungrily at his prey.
“Stacy!” Trevin shouted. Without hesitation, he threw himself at the clown’s back. They went down hard. The knife flew from the clown’s hand and clattered to the floor. Trevin scrambled after it, using the murderous jester’s body beneath him for traction. His fingers grazed the hilt, but only enough to send it skittering away from him across the tiles. Stacy’s attacker drove an elbow into Trevin’s stomach, rolled to the side, and knocked Trevin from his back. Scrambling onto hands and knees, the clown lunged for the knife.
Stacy grabbed a hold of her assailant’s leg, crying out in pain as she did so. The fingers on her wounded hand were mostly useless, but her efforts prevented him from reaching the blade. Furious, he rounded on her pining her to the ground. Lips twisted in a snarl, his eyes shining with malice, the clown wrapped his stained fingers around her neck and squeezed.
Stacy’s hands beat at his shoulders as she tried to force him off her. Struggling for breath, she kicked and bucked but the clown didn’t budge. Her face grew red then purple as her body reacted to the lack of air.
Suddenly, the clown’s grip loosened, his expression sliding from malevolence to utter surprise. Leaping to his feet, he spun wildly, his hand reaching behind him. From her place on the floor, Stacy saw the hilt of the knife jutting from his back. Coughing and sputtering, thankful for the air burning down her throat and filling her lungs, she curled onto her side, watching the scene with one eye. To her astonishment, it was Trevin who stood behind the clown looking dazed. Mouth hanging open, he stared down at his hands as if in disbelief at what he’d done.
Jadine saw their chance at survival and took it. Arms outstretched, she rushed the clown, using her momentum to force him back out the doors. The intruder tumbled to the sidewalk, screaming in agony as the knife was driven deeper into his back. The tip of the blade protruded through his chest. Jadine slammed the two panels together.
“Trevin! Keys!”
The urgency in her voice brought him back to the present. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the keys flying in her direction. Jadine snatched them out of the air, much to her amazement. Swifter than she thought possible, she lay fingers on the door key. With a quick turn, she had the doors locked into place.
Trevin scrambled to Stacy’s side. Carefully, he helped her into a sitting position, bracing her back against the counter. To his relief, the cut to her arm was small. Though it was deep and bleeding heavily, the blade seemed to have missed the artery.
“Hang tight, Stacy,” he said. “We need to get this cleaned and bandaged.”
Behind the counter, under register four, was a first aid kit. Trevin retrieved it and knelt down next to her. From the box, he produced an antiseptic wipe, bandage pad, roll of gauze, and some tape.
“Hold still,” he said, resting her arm on his knee. “I’ll be as gentle as possible.”
Outside the clown had lumbered to his feet and pressed his body against the door. Blood flowed from the knife wound smearing the glass. The protruding tip scraped across the surface each time he moved, producing a high pitched squeak.
Jadine backed away. There was a thick pane of glass between them but he was still too close for her comfort. Without taking her eyes from the scene, she fumbled briefly in her pocket for her cell phone, her fingers feeling numb. Yanking the phone from her pocket, her gaze shifted to the screen and she begin to dial. His movements outside drew her eyes back to him.
To her horror, the clown reached behind him and grasped the handle of the knife. Panting, his eyes locked on Jadine’s, he began to pull. Not out, but down. The knife sliced through his torso sending blood pouring from the gash to puddle at his feet. His abdomen split apart and his intestines slithered out, coiling on the concrete like a nest of vipers.
Jadine stumbled further away, an involuntary scream bursting from her lips. Though she wanted to look away, the gruesome sight held her captive, forcing her to bare witness to the clown’s hideous demise.
“What is it? What’s happening?” Trevin asked, seeing the revulsion stretch across her face. From his position on the floor, he couldn’t see what was going on. “Stace,” he whispered urgently, “Look over my shoulder and tell me what’s happening.”
Stacy leaned as far around him as she could without disrupting his first aid treatment. “I can’t see anything but the toes of his shoes. And blood.” She pressed her free hand to her mouth and leaned back against the wall. “Oh, God, there’s so much blood.”
Working as quickly as his shaking hands would allow, Trevin slapped a pad over Stacy’s cut and wrapped it with gauze and tape. “Alley oop,” he said boosting her to her feet.
Together, they hurried to Jadine’s side. Phone trembling in her hand, Jadine stood transfixed. As the three watched, the terrible clown wrenched the blade through his groin with a scream.
“What the bloody hell is he doing?” Trevin asked, his hands rising to his face.
The jester collapsed to the ground, wriggling and howling in agony. The large shoes slamming against the metal door frame again and again; his spurting blood obscuring their view. With one last kick that rattled the door, the clown moaned and then lay still.