Jane was not having a good day. It was not enough that she had returned home to find it sadly lacking in Alan’s presence. Then, once she had resigned herself to missing him, he had messaged her to inform her that he likely wouldn’t be home for most of the week. She had rolled over in bed to read the message, before ever so politely hurling her cellphone across the room. The device had probably broken, but she was too tired to get up and find a different outlet for her rage.

Then she had sat in her bed, and fumed. She realized that their relationship was relatively new, but when Alan returned they were going to sit down and have a talk about what was and was not okay. Her father had once told her that his wife used to do things that drove him absolutely crazy. He swore, he’d nearly killed her on several occasions, until he’d sat down with she felt the same about him. They had talked all night, sharing their worries and complaints, and come away from it a stronger couple. Her father always got a far away look in his eyes then, trying to hold back tears. He really had loved his wife.

Jane hoped to she and Alan would be the same someday.

Of course, once Jane had set a course of action, she had happily returned to sleep. That was her first mistake she realized in retrospect. She should have hunted Alan down right then and there. The man only had a few regular hangouts, and with Dan supposedly out of town that list was shortened even further.

But she didn’t. Which was why, that same evening Jane had been quietly watching the news for reports of her latest kill, when the phone had rung. Under normal circumstances there was no way she would have ever willingly answered it. She hated answering the phone. It was only ever people calling to drag Alan away, or telemarketers.

Everytime the phone went off, the little part of Jane that told her Alan’s constitution probably couldn’t handle more than a little bit of tranquilizer would rear its ugly head. She hated it, the itching sensation when the thoughts running through her head and what she actually wanted contravened each other. She wanted to let Alan go out and live his life. He’d come home and kiss her awake, make her breakfast at 9 pm, and if she was lucky - they’d make love before she set out for the night. Unfortunately, they hadn’t quite reached the point where that was a common occurrence anywhere besides Jane’s imagination - and the thought that she could absolutely monopolize, claim him, mark him and fill his entire world with her using some rope and a needle was…

She distracted herself by answering the phone.

“What?” she snapped, hoping to scare away any telemarketer before the conversation actually started.

“Jane it’s me. I know I already told you I wouldn’t be home, but uh…” Alan paused, and Jane’s tension skyrocketed. He was going to leave her. He was going to try to leave her. She could feel it, in the way he paused. Trying to find a way to explain something he didn’t want to have to say. She wouldn’t let him, they were happy together, he just had to do what she wanted and they could be happy together. She could -

“There are some… men… trying to find me. They dress like cops but, aren't. I don’t know why but they're definitely trying to kill me.

“It's probably a good idea to find somewhere else to stay for a while. Incase they visit the loft.” Alan said. He sounded lost and confused. Her dear sweet Alan completely out of his depth.

Then a dark thought occurred to her. What if the police were chasing Alan… to get to her? Almost as though the thought had summoned them, there was a knock at the front door that sent an electric charge arcing down her spine.

“Police! Open up!” screamed a masculine voice, muffled by the thickness of the door she had convinced Alan to help her pay for, just for this situation.

“...where are ya now then?” Jane asked after a moment, striding across the room to pluck her favourite knife from the sink where she’d washed it upon arriving home.

“Phone might be tapped, so I can’t say.” Alan explained. Jane pursed her lips. He was probably right. She’d have to track him down herself.

“Alan Maxwell you are under arrest!” that same voice yelled, and Jane’s keen ears could hear the mumble of other people in the hall - no doubt her neighbours trying to figure out what was going on.

Yeah, the jig was up here. She’d collect Alan and then disappear for a while - just like Dad taught her. It’d probably stress Al out for a while, but he’d get used to it. Better than prison.

“You should probably hang up” a husky voice crooned at Jane through the phone. It wasn’t Alan, no it sounded like someone standing nearby. Jane blinked once, letting that fact sink in - which unfortunately robbed her of much time to actually retort.

“Shit yeah. Jane I gotta go.” Alan blurted, and in Jane’s minds eye, the thieving bitch sneered at her over the phone connection. How dare she give orders to her Alan? How dare she make him hang up on her? Never mind the fact that she originally agreed with the assessment. She was now livid with hatred and anger.

“Who was that?! Al if you fucking hang up I -” The phone line clicked and returned to the dial tone. Leaving Jane screaming incoherently at it. Then a deadly stillness came over her. A calm focus that masked the fury bubbling in her stomach.

She walked to the front door of the apartment and unlocked the latches while peering out the spy hole. There were three men outside. One was unarmed, but to either side of him were two men holding what she could only guess were automatic weapons. Her instincts kicked in, and all the blood rushed to her head. She saw red.

Unable to control herself, she stepped back, pulling the door open behind her so that she was hidden behind it as she moved. The men on the other side seemed confused at first - until the unarmed man at their center took command.

“Sweep it.” he commanded, and the two men at this sides lined up to come through the door. Police officers, her father had once taught her, always enter a room the exact same way every time. It was a tactic called ‘slicing the pie’ wherein, the officer would nose his gun forward, and slowly turn as he entered an area, ensuring that anything that could see him was also in position to be shot.

She snorted inwardly. Mindless adherence to tactics like this was why no one had ever caught her, her father, or anyone else in their extended family. Like a snake striking, she hefted her cleaver and whipped her arm the side of the door, deftly judging the size of the man coming through it by the height of the gun barrel she could see slowly panning the room.

Her strike was true, catching him in the unprotected area of his neck just under his chin that body armor wouldn’t be able to cover - for mobility purposes. Faster than his partner could react, she released the blade, stepping into her victims immediate vicinity and past his gun barrel.She hooked her hands into the straps of his combat vest and hurled him around, placing him between herself and the other armed member of the group.

“What the he-” was all she allowed that man to say before pulling the sidearm from her erstwhile shields belt and firing it deftly at his partners face. Releasing the man she had first stabbed - who was not actually dead yet, merely dying and likely in shock, she pulled her butchers knife from his throat. Then she turned towards the third man, almost as though he was an afterthought.

And in truth, to Jane, unarmed as he was, he truly was an afterthought.

Because despite Alan’s beliefs that she was a useless, angry party goer, Jane was exceptionally good at one thing, and one thing only.

Jane had been raised from a very young age to be one of the most prolific serial killers the world has ever known. A fact that her third potential victim seemed to have gleaned quite easily, because he had moved to flee well before she had actually turned to face him.

She weighed the pros and cons of chasing him down, but ultimately decided that, if the police had already arrived at her home, she was going to get caught anyway. So instead, she calmly wiped her cleaver on the back of the couch, dragged the dead and dying man out of her doorway, and locked it soundly.

She would need to pack some things before leaving. She didn’t know where her man was, but she knew where she was going to start looking. And she was going to have to dress down if she wanted to have any hope of walking into that dinky little hobby shop of his without every big dumb nerd she encountered turning into a potential witness.

It was no matter though. Truthfully, with the exception of whoever that woman was, this was a good thing. If the cops wanted Alan for something, it would be much easier to convince him to leave with her.

After all, the couple that slays together, stays together.

She allowed that sickeningly lovey dovey quote of her fathers to fill her mind as she packed, and soon, she was out the fire escape, and hustling into the night.