With a ominous little click, the knife John kept in his breast pocket snapped open, the blade glinting in the light coming in from the windows. He stared down at her former fiance, swishing the weapon back and forth ever so slightly. He glanced over, gauging her gun was a safe enough distance away as he began to approach her. Slowly.

"It's not something easily explained, Helen. That woman.... she said something she wasn't supposed to. If she had just kept quiet, it would all have been all right." She'd had to go and point out his darkness, sling it in his face like mud. He'd known he was losing control, even before she spoke, but her words had sent him over the edge.

Part of him hated that it had been that easy. One of the reasons he'd even hurt her to begin with was because it had been so simple for the empath to enrage him so. Just by talking. He was disgusted with his own weakness, and yet he relished the feeling of blood on his hands as he'd ended her life. He truly was a twisted, awful monster.

He was unconsciously giving Helen enough time to get to her feet, despite the fact that he had his knife poised to strike at the slightest movement.