She takes a moment to remember how to breathe, and draws in a good amount of air to deliver the life-saving speech. But the words don’t come. What does is an almost exasberated sigh, and her eyes widen in horror. This is not the moment to falter.

“Nothing?” he says. He fingers the trigger of a gleaming silver pistol, directing the shot somewhere between her eyes.

“Please,” she croaks.

“Please? Wow. I’ve never heard that one before. I guess I’ll just have to let you go now, won’t I?” he says, and lowers the gun mockingly. She barely hears his lifeless laugh beneath her sobs. “I need better than that.”

“I—have a kid. He’s two. He needs me, he won’t survive on his own. His dad died when he was—“

She stops when his laughter grows still. He buckles, clutches his chest, and practically screams with mirth.

“You don’t have a kid, lady. You know how I know? It’s name would have been out of your mouth within a second of me pulling this gun. You would tell me where he took his first steps, and how his first word was mama, and other bullshit that isn’t going to change my mind! No, you’re crying for yourself. Real moms cry for them,” He is shouting now. She doesn’t know what to say. He was right. Tim’s face didn’t swim in front of her vision the moment he ambushed her on the fifteenth floor. Tears poured down her face not for him, who would be orphaned, but for herself.

“I am a real mom. I’m not—I’m not a good mom.” She manages. She was losing this. Her years in her debate taught her that much. But can he be reasoned with, really? whether that is a possibility, the game is lost. The clock strikes twelve with one booming note and he lifts the gun once more, pulling the trigger in the same moment. Her back breaks glass and she’s falling through the air. That was quick. Quicker than she thought it would be.