He releases my mouth and spins me around before slamming me back into the wall. Using his body, he presses me into the wall as both large hands go around my throat.
I try to scream.
With frantic fingers, I try to work at the hold of my attacker, but as my vision begins to fade, I grow weaker.
No. I cannot die like this.
Not now.
God, please.
“If you don’t stop looking, you’re going to find yourself dead, too,” the attacker growls. The distorter makes it impossible to make out the voice, and with the lights out, I can’t see a thing. I reach up with trembling fingers to try to feel for his facial features—anything that might help me identify him if I survive, but the mask he’s wearing is thick and covers everything.
My hands fall back to my throat when he tightens his grip.
“Do you hear me?” he asks, pulling me forward and slamming me back into the wall.
I try to scream again.
Try to do anything, but I’m helpless.
He pulls me away from the wall and throws me onto the ground. Panic claws at me as I suck in a ragged breath and try to crawl away. But he’s there, pinning me to the ground. A cloth saturated in a sickeningly sweet liquid is shoved over my face, and I fight the urge to breathe, knowing that if I do, there’s no telling what will happen to me.
But it’s useless.
The fibers scratch against my skin, and as I slowly lose the fight for consciousness, all I can do is send up a prayer.
The Lord is my Shepherd.
6.Shawn
“Beckett, open up.” I bang on her door again, frustrated that she didn’t answer her phone and that I had to drive all the way over here to give her bad news to her face.
My captain ripped me a new one earlier for using resources to look into a closed case that’s not in my jurisdiction, and he’s ordered me to stop.
I nearly got suspended when I argued back, but here we are.
“Beckett, it’s Shawn.”
Still nothing.
My stomach begins to twist with unease. Surely, she wouldn’t be sleeping through this…right? Not wanting to leave the door, I withdraw my cell phone to call the front desk. But as I start to, the elevator doors ding, and a man wearing a golden nametag, carrying an armful of towels, steps off.
“Hey, do you work here?” I ask.
He nods.
I pull the badge out of my shirt and show it to him. “Detective Sampson. I need to get into this room. Now.”
“I need to call my mana?—”
“I have probable cause, and I need to get into this room. The seconds you’re wasting by making a call we both know will result in me getting what I need anyway could mean all the difference. Open the door.” I’m being intense, and everything is probably fine.
But what if it’s not?
Clearly frustrated, the guy reaches into his pocket and withdraws a white keycard. I place my hand on the hilt of my weapon, ready to draw if anything is off, and shove into the room.
It’s pitch black.
