Round 3 Transcript

Jeane grips the lamp in both hands like a baseball bat and listens to the dark house. The rain makes everything sound too loud—the gutters, the eaves, the downspouts—but under all that water noise there's something else. A floorboard just shifted weight in the kitchen. She moves fast and quiet toward the narrow hallway leading back, her bare feet silent on the hardwood. The lamp weighs solid and reassuring, brass cool against her palms. Who's there? I know someone's in my house! Show yourself or I'm calling the police! She stops at the mouth of the hallway, lamp ready, and peers into the kitchen where shadows play across the countertops and appliances. Come out. Her voice is steel, no shaking. If you leave now, we can forget this happened. If not—She hefts the lamp slightly—I've broken noses before. The rain pounds the roof overhead like fists. Her heart hammers in her chest but her hands stay steady. I'm serious. Last chance. Come out or I start breaking things. She takes a small step forward into the kitchen doorway, putting herself in view of the back door and side window where movement might be seen.

The house is too quiet. Rain pounds the windows like fists, but inside—nothing. No sound of her moving, no breathing, no heartbeat I can hear over my own. The lamp casts a weak circle of light, shadows pooling everywhere else. I check the chair first, instinctively. Empty. Good. She's not hiding in the obvious place. That means she's somewhere clever—or stupid enough to run and get cornered elsewhere. Kitchen has knives. Stairwell leads up to bedrooms. Back door is an escape route for her, a problem for me. I need to flush her out, close distance, end this cleanly. First step: check the kitchen. Fast, efficient. If she's there, I finish it. If not, I move on knowing where she's not. No waiting. No thinking. Just doing.