We walked to the front door quickly – trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. When Redman pressed the door bell, I pulled out my knife and concealed it behind my leg. My heart began to race like crazy when John Patterson peeked out the window beside the door, hesitated, then began to unlock the door. Once the door was open, he extended his hand. "John Patterson. And you are?" I smirked. "Pissed the fuck off!" Before he could react, I stabbed him twice in the stomach with powerful upward swings. He began to stumble backwards, holding his stomach wounds as blood seeped through his fingers and dripped onto the expensive, plush, tan colored carpet. We then calmly walked in, and Redman calmly closed and locked the door before he turned off the porch light. I slowly and silently followed John Patterson in the direction he was stumbling. "Honey, who was that?" Seconds after her question lingered in silence, he led us into the kitchen.
