He leaned in closer, feeling a small rush of adrenaline course through his body. He had, by now, completely forgotten about the knife wounds, and not even the constant dull throb of pain could distract him from the events unfolding before his eyes. He had to suppress the urge to grin, licking his lips briefly as he leaned in closer still. "It's too late," he told her, speaking so softly it could hardly be called a whisper. "It's too late, love. No one will hear you scream for help, love. You'll die in here, love, just you an' me, alone in the dark, in this box..." Oh, but this was fun. How long would it take, he wondered, until she was so consumed with fear that she couldn't even speak, couldn't even move? "It's startin' tae get a little stuffy in here, love, don't you think? A pity there's no window tae open... Do you think is what bein' buried alive feels like, love?"