Graphic death and rage warning
~~

Pull.

That was all she could think. Pull. Harder and harder and harder. She would escape this time, once again. Thank god she knew what to do. Thank god she chose to wear fucking high heels. The tape ripped again and she pulled harder, straining her wrists. She pulled up and out, applying more pressure with her heel.

Another rip.

Come on . She thought to herself.

Rip.

A rip so fierce she nearly fell over. In one swift movement she had ripped the tape binding her wrists together, and to the pole behind her in half. She pulled her wrists around for her to see them and look at them with grateful eyes. She didn't look at them long, though, she had to get to work. She had to keep moving.

She reached down to untie her feet. Her hands were frantic and shaking as she worked as quickly as she could.

Unwrapped.

Free. finally the tape over her mouth. She gripped the edges and pulled, it took a few layers of skin with it  and she hissed in pain. But she was free. Seen and heard, suck on that, Samuel. She dropped the tape and made her way to the stairs, running up them, her hands grasped the door.

Locked. Of course. He had learned from last time. She was going to die here. He would come home, find her loose, and kill her for disobeying him. She had risen from her own premeditated death only to die once again. No, she couldn't think like that, what could she use? She threw herself at the door. No use, and now her entire left side was throbbing with pain. She shrieked in frustration.

She was so close. So close. What could she use? Think Fancy, think. You solved a case that had been cold for years, almost as long as she had been alive. She wasn't going to let this stop her. She raced back down the stairs and looked around. There were beer bottles scattered in one corner, a fridge, the table with the knife, and a closet.

She tried the closet first. Locked. Of course. The knife was her next thought. She wiped it against her shirt, her blood was still on it, and marched back up the stairs. She wouldn't be able to use it in the lock, each lock is molded around a specific shape of a specific key. This knife would not be able to mold into that perfect shape. She decided to use the knife as a make shift screwdriver, unscrewing the bolts that held the lock in place. It kept slipping, not out of her hands but out of the bolts.

"Come on...." She muttered. After what felt like an hour but could only really be five minutes, she got the first bolt loose. She started on the second. With her practice from the first, it made this one easier. She had it out much faster than the other. The lock fell outward, into the house and the door slowly creaked inward.

Freedom.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

She was in the house now. She couldn't stop she had to keep going he could be back any second. She would escape, report him to the police and this time they would get him. She looked around the room. This house was tiny. Everything was in one large room. Kitchen and livingroom and even the bedroom. All right here.

In the corner by a small fireplace she noticed something. Something that could be useful. An ax, probably used to get firewood. She reacted quickly, grabbing the ax and taking it with her. She needed all the protection she could get on her escape. He could be back any minute. She made her way to the door. She opened it and ran out, turning to look at the place she had been kept. An address was next to the door. Perfect.

24 Mirkwood Drive. 24 Mirkwood Drive. 24 Mirkwood Drive. Remember remember remember. She would. She would remember and she would tell the police. The police would fix this. She staggered down the gravel road. The police would help.

Wait, would they?

They hadn't before, that's how this monster still roamed free because the police had failed. And these police, the ones who would be assigned to this case would be incompetent to solve this as well. Being in this situation, taken, dead to the world, it really makes you wonder who will look for you when you disappear, and even more important, will they find you in time?

They couldn't, hadn't, and wouldn't. They didn't find her last time and they wouldn't find her this time. No, if she wanted justice, any justice at all, it wouldn't be through the police. It would have to be in her own way. Samuel wanted a full circle moment? She was about to give him one.

She stopped in the middle of the gravel road and she turned back.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Oh, she had had plenty of time to escape. It took Mr. Patrick a full twenty seven minutes to return from helping Ness with whatever he had deemed so important to interrupt his father's very important business for. Fancy was eternally grateful to ness. He would never know it but he had saved her life. If he had never called his father and begged him for his help with his computer for his blogs Fancy would still be down there in that basement ready to die.

But she wasn't. Instead, now she stood behind the safety of a tall pine tree, waiting for him to return. And he did. Twenty seven minutes later. He grumbled as he walked up the steps of the sloped porch and opened the door. He immediately noticed the lock to the basement door was on the ground, and the basement door itself was wide open.

"Huh?" He said at first. "Aw shit." he followed after. He took a step forward and that's when Fancy made her move. To her it was all in slow motion. She stomped up the steps, right behind him. He had to have heard her coming.

"HEY!"

She shouted and he turned, eyes wide as soon as he registered what he was looking at but Fancy gave him no time to react. She brought the ax down on his face with a sickening crunch of his skull shattering under the impact under the blow.

"No-"

He whispered, still conscious somehow.

"Stop-"

He begged and she swung the ax back over her shoulder and brought it down again on his face. Blood splattered and hit her.

"Please-"

His final words. She swung again, and again and again until the lump of flesh on the ground oozing with fresh red blood wasn't even recognizable as Mr. Patrick let alone a body.

Justice.

Full circle moment. She stood over his body for a moment, drenched in his blood that sprayed from his body as she slaughtered him, her monster, her boogyman. She had killed him and she had done a damn good job. There was a sound, it reverberated around her, and Fancy's body shook from its power, its rage. It rung in her ears and echoed through the woods. It was a scream, a scream of rage and emotion. Of pain and of war. It was a scream so raw and real and it was hers.

She dropped the ax and it clattered to the ground, splashing in the blood that pooled by the body. Now was for the not so fun part. But the part every hollywood movie dramatizes to seem almost ethical. Clean up. And Fancy had a few ideas of how to make this even more full circle. It was the least she could do for Mr. Patrick, I mean, she had killed him dead. The least she could do was honor his wishes of full circle desires. She owed him that. One more full circle tribute, say no more.

But first, a phone call.