As the sound of the man's voice rings out from behind, you can't help but feel a chill run down your spine. His words are laced with a sense of foreboding, and the sound of his voice almost makes you want to run away. With trembling fingers, you hold the flower pot firmly in your palms, making sure to keep your head down as if you're busy tending to the plants. You knew better than to look up.

Yet, the sound of a small polaroid photo hitting the wooden counter brings your heart to a halt. You can feel your ears ringing, even with your head down, as you know exactly what the photo must be. Against your better judgement, you take a small peek from behind your hat, and the picture confirms your fears.

"I'm sure you know who this is," The voice rings out, the sound of it rough and raspy, as if he's been whining constantly. You want to run, but you can tell that the man wants you to look up, to face him. To have a conversation that you don't want to have. Who else would have the guts to track you down for four years even after you disappeared from the radar? Who else but Luell Delacourt?

You can feel the muscles in your shoulders tightening under the force of his voice, as if he's ready to pounce on you at any moment. Your lips pursed into a thin line as the flower pot crashes into the marble floor... you're so done for.