They were so, so close.

Surrounded by sunflowers, almost taller than they were, they approached closer to the gate. They were so focused on escape that they didn't notice Johnny, standing at a short distance, among the sunflowers. He's twirling his skinning knife, confident about his ability to stop them before they got too much farther, though he takes joy in giving them false hope.

Stumbling to the gate, they grab hold of the frame and--

"Cuttin' it a lil' too close, there." Johnny finally intervenes, a gloved hand coming down to grab their arm and yank them back. His knife raises, and he presses it to their neck, wrangling them into a position which made it easier for him to control them; their back to his chest, his arm across their front in an iron grip.

"Where d'ya think you're goin'?" He mumbles, a big shit-eating grin on his scarred face. He runs the back of his hand along their jaw and digs the knife into their throat. Not far enough to cut, unless they start to squirm too much. "No, no, you're stayin' right here with me." They're his favorite, after all.