You stand up as he asked you to, slow and careful, making no sudden movements...and then you seize your chance and do the unexpected: you fling yourself toward him, throwing your arms out to wrap around his waist!

He gives a grunt of surprise as your body weight collides into his, and he falls backward. A gunshot rings out through the barn, and for an instant, it's silent as you fall through the air, holding onto Wes with all your strength. The two of you land in a tangle of limbs. You raise yourself up onto your knees, straddling him, and grope for his arm.

Your head is wrenched cruelly back—he has a hold of your hair now, and your neck screams in agony as he tries to drag you off him to the side, but you've got a hold on his wrist with both hands. You are going to get that gun if it's the last thing you do.

He bucks his hips, trying to throw you off, and your body jerks, so you dig in with your nails, wrapping your hand around his and pushing with all your strength to keep you from turning the gun on you.

Your scalp screams and throbs, but there is no time to focus on pain, and in a moment, he releases your hair. He's grappling with your hands now, and it'll only be a moment before he overpowers you, throws you off of him, and shoots you dead, so you do the only thing you can think of.

You lean forward and bite down on the meat of his thumb with your teeth. Hard.

Wes grunts an ugly curse. His grasp on the gun loosens. You don't let go, clenching your jaw like a rabid dog and fumbling for the gun. He's pushing your face with his left hand, but now you have the gun in your left. It's slippery with blood.

You don't give yourself time to think. You turn the gun as much in his direction as you can in half of a second and pull the trigger.

The rapport of the gun echoes in the silence of the barn.

Wes's hand falls away from your face.

You bare your teeth. The iron taste of his blood is on your lips. Breathing heavily, you look down at what remains of Wes's face, and then you slump to the side and vomit onto the floorboards of the barn.

Someone's crying. Is it you, or is it the nameless girl trapped in the barn with you? You can't be certain.

You don't want to touch Wes, but you need to call for help. As you reach out your shaking hand, you keep your eyes trained on the horrifying remains of his head, certain that at any moment he's going to reach up and grab you.

His body is still warm when you lay your shaking hands on his hips, feeling through his pockets for a cell phone. You find one.

You aren't certain what happens after that; in your memory, it's all a blur, but you must have called 911, because the next thing you remember is shivering in the back of an ambulance, staring at the sinister facade of that barn and watch as two uniformed officers lead Ivy, wide-eyed and shuddering, from the yawning double doors.

You don't think you'll ever be able to rid yourself of the taste of Wes's blood.

ENDING ACHIEVED: Head Games

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