Round 7 Transcript

As the sound echoes through the quiet house, Jeane grips the lamp tightly, her eyes fixed on the doorway where The Force now stands, her flashlight beam sweeping the kitchen. The ceramic ashtray lies shattered on the counter, shards of ceramic scattered across the surface. Jeane's heart racing, she takes a step back, positioning herself defensively between the door and her escape keys, which hang within easy reach on the hook above the wall. The Force, her gaze locked on Jeane, slowly advances into the kitchen, her knife at the ready.

Jeane Cromwell backs toward the counter, the heavy brass lamp held like a club. Who's there? I know you broke in! She keeps her voice loud and steady, trying to sound like she still has control even while her heart pounds. Her grip slips on the lamp's smooth surface—sweat makes it slick. You've got five seconds to leave before I call the cops and defend myself. She shifts her stance, ready to swing if someone charges through the doorway, eyes fixed on the dark living room beyond.

The house feels wrong now: too many shadows and too much silence after that sound. I am moving through the kitchen with my back to the wall, checking the dark corners with the flashlight beam. The beam shakes a little—adrenaline—but the hand holding the gun is steady. I don't know what made that noise upstairs. Probably a branch hitting the window, or the wind in the eaves. But probably not. The house feels occupied now. Occupied by something besides me and the woman who lives here. The kitchen is clear: no one hiding behind the fridge, no movement in the pantry. Good. Now I need to check the living room and dining area. Move fast, cover the angles, keep the guns ready. If she's hiding, she's terrified. If she's armed, she's dangerous. Both are problems I need to solve quickly. I step into the doorway between kitchen and living room, sweep the flashlight left-right, then move across the open space toward the front window. The blinds are closed but I can see streetlights through them. Still dark outside. No one coming to help. No one knows she's in trouble yet. That's fine. I like it this way: quiet, private, efficient. Less mess that way too. The living room is clear. Now the dining area behind me. Then the stairs. I hear a floorboard creak somewhere above. Not my imagination. Someone's up there, definitely moving around. She's not hiding. She's trying to escape through the house. Bad mistake. I move toward the stairs, guns up, ready to kill her the moment she appears.