This must be the serial-killer, thought I. The years of my dealing with criminals and crime made me trust my gut instincts, making quick split-second decisions and never regretting them.
Seeing and touching my own warm blood flowing into rivulets into my thick mane was nerve-wrecking. . A sharp axe lay nearby. I gathered myself to be on my feet. The blood-shot eyes of the serial killer were staring at me. He fell on me suddenly without a warning. I held him in an embrace to prevent him from falling on the floor and my fingers felt warm and sticky. The serial killer had a knife pierced in his back. My gaze moved up from the bleeding wound to my maid , Shantabai , who was standing behind him with blood on her clothes. He was losing blood and consciousness too. I had to act fast. I asked Shantabai to collect the keys of my Police Jeep from the table. Surprisingly she was quick. I lifted his body, put it into the jeep, called the Head Quarters and started towards the City Hospital. I had failed to notice that Shantabai too had joined. She was crying and shivering. I assured her that she had not done any wrong by piercing the knife into the serial-killer and that the cut was not deep enough to kill him. I owed my life to her.If it hadn't been for her, I would have been the next victim. Shantabai was weeping and calling out 'Shamu ,Shamu'. I was stunned. I asked if she knew him. The serial-killer was her husband. FOR : WRITE TRIBE