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She started moving, inching backward, afraid that at any second she might stumble and fall, and he would pounce on her.
Her throat was dry as dust in fear. The night, so black and cold, seemed to wrap around her, its talons piercing her skin, an icy fear infusing her blood.
There was no way out. No walls, no windows, no doorway that she could sense. Backward, step by step, bracing herself for the inevitable—
Bam!
The gun went off though no flash of light burst from its muzzle. Anne-Marie stumbled backward, farther into the darkness.
Bang! Another hit! She felt no pain, but when she clutched her stomach, then lifted her hand, she saw the blood. Dark red stains running down her palm.
Why? she mouthed, staring at her attacker. Why?
“Because you deserve it,” he sneered, his voice deep and accusing. “Because of what you did.”
“I’m sorry!” she cried, staring into the void.
“I loved you, Stacey. That’s what you go by now, isn’t it? Stacey Donahue.”
“Y-yes, I’m Stacey,” she admitted, though that didn’t sound right. No, wait! “You’ve got the wrong person,” she said desperately. “I’m Jessica. Jessica Williams. Yes, Jessica Williams!”
“Are you?” he said, toying with her. “Last I heard you were Stacey Donahue.”
“No! You’re wrong.”
“While you were in Colorado,” he reminded her. “Denver.”
She was confused, still stumbling backward, her skin crawling as she felt him getting closer. “I’m . . . I’m from Louisiana,” she said, then realized her mistake. “I mean Nebraska!” Oh, God, was that right? She couldn’t remember.
“Anne-Marie is from New Orleans.” His voice was cold. Empty. And he was getting closer. Squinting, she tried to see him, even just a glimmer of his shadow, or the glow of his eyes, or anything, but she saw nothing but blackness.
“I’m Jessica. Jessica Williams. I live in Montana. Yes. That’s right. I’m Jessica and I live in Montana—”
“Not for long.”
Oh, God, he was going to kill her!
The bullet into her gut wasn’t enough. And then she saw it. Rising silver in a slow arc, a knife with a glinting blade.
“No!”
Recoiling, she stumbled and fell backward, tumbling and flailing. Trying to get her grip, she descended into the darkness. Downward, farther and farther until she splashed into the water, piercing the surface of a slow moving river. The water covered her and she began kicking, trying to swim to the surface, but the harder she struggled, the farther down she slid, the water sucking her into a slow-turning but deadly whirlpool. Downward she spun, trying to scream, to breathe, as the vicious eddy funneled far from the surface. In the darkness, she spied a plume, blood red and swirling around her, enveloping. Thrashing, she tried to breathe, couldn’t suck in any air, gasped wildly. Desperately she fought.
Bang!
She shot upward, throwing off her pillow and sitting straight up in bed. Her tiny pistol tumbled to the floor and landed with a sharp thud. For a second, she didn’t know where she was, couldn’t find her bearings. Her heart was drumming and she was breathing hard from the feeling of suffocation, her own damn pillow having covered her face.
Oh, Lord. She dropped her face into her hands and tried to cast off the dream, the fear, the feeling of desperation.
It had been so real. No, so surreal, but she was still cold, the flesh on her arms rising in tiny goose pimples despite her sweatshirt. She pulled the sleeping bag over her shoulders for warmth.
Bang!
She nearly shrieked, scrambled on the floor for her gun, then realized the noise was the wind buffeting the cabin, its gusts causing something, probably a tree limb, to pound against the roof. In her dream, the rush of the wind whistling down the chimney had been the sound of the river and the thud of that branch had become the report of a gun, nothing more.
She let out her breath slowly, then threw off the covers and walked to the window where she peered outside to the darkness beyond.
Is this how you want to live the rest of your life?
