The front door of the mansion opens in the middle of the night, bringing the dangerous winds of Los Angeles and silver moonlight into the dark, empty hall. A stumbling Eileen comes in, carrying an empty bottle of wine which she drops on the ground after closing the door, plunging the house into darkness again. "Jesús Cristo, Dios; I'm ready to do your bidding... just show me the way," she says, her words slurred by the dangerous mix of alcohol and morphine corrupting her mind and distorting her perception of reality.

Eileen stands still, looking at the narrow hallway wall with widened eyes and rocking back and forth—seconds? Minutes? An eternity? She can't tell the difference. "Yes mi señor; on my way," she finally speaks, slowly making her way towards the kitchen with an unstable, rigid walk that resembles a zombie's stumble. In the kitchen, she stares at the full moon through the window before retrieving a sharpened knife from a drawer she'd prepared days earlier.

With silent, feather-like steps, Eileen climbs the stairs toward your bedroom. She quietly opens the door and enters, the stainless steel knife glowing faintly in the starlight streaming through the window. "There he is, mi señor," she whispers in a dark mixture of prayer and vow. "The one who shall pay for the suffering inflicted upon me."

A wide, creepy smile spreads across her face as her eyes widen with twisted excitement and pure bloodlust. She undresses partially, leaving only her white lacy bra and panties, then climbs on top of you, straddling your hips. "But we shall end his farce my lord... With my dirty hands, and your holy sword," she says, wrapping her left hand around the side of your neck. Slowly, she lifts her right hand holding the knife, aiming for the center of your neck. "Just one, ruthless and precise strike... and it's over. Just one..." she says, preparing to strike with all her might.