The third mouse

The room was silent and still; only broken by the harsh ragged breaths that Mollie took as she tried to hold back the sobs and threatening hysterics. The memories and the overwhelming guilt that accompanied them had all but rendered her paralysed. They refused to be suppressed and ignored any longer.

He stood completely quiet and impassive, his face was like stone. He seemed to show no reaction to the woman pouring out her heart on the sofa.

There was no sound from the rest of the house as each and every resident waited expectantly for the Detective's call; a call that would reveal the identity of the murderer. Thoughts and half formed theories lingered in their minds as to who was responsible and who was the intended victim.

He slipped his hand inside his pocket as he glared down at the weeping girl.

The movement caught Mollie's eye and she was pulled from her state of self-absorption and reflection. A frown flicked across her forehead as she looked at his impassive face and his cold eyes that had hardened and now glinted maliciously in the dim light. A queer expression twisted at the corner of his mouth. Her frown deepened further when she spotted the small gun clasped in his hand, hanging at his side almost casually…just waiting for her to notice it.

"I thought…you weren't allowed guns…"

The queer expression blossomed into a leer.

"I'm not."

He raised the gun and leveled it at her head, his fingers caressing the smooth, sleek barrel possessively.

Mollie was forced to watch as the cool, collected man that she had trusted, and put herself in the power of, transformed into a sadistic killer, childlike and mentally scarred, wanting to lash out at those he felt had betrayed him and his own.

No one could save her, they had all been deceived, by a very clever killer who had finally caught the third little blind mouse in his iron barred mousetrap. So she waited for the cat to stop playing with his prize, because she knew that as soon as it got bored the mouse would end up dead.