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Just like the bedroom door, the doorknob was missing from the bathroom door. I’d anticipated that. My parents’ bathroom had a linen hutch for their towels, extra bedding, and other stuff they’d chosen to store in there. I put my back to the side of it, set my feet on the wall, and pushed. Grunting loudly, I used the strength in my legs to knock over the heavy hutch in front of the door just as Mr. X tried to shove it open. The sound of the hutch crashing to the floor echoed loudly in the bathroom, followed by Mr. X yelling my name on the other side of the door.
The hutch wouldn’t keep him out for long, which I’d known before coming in here. I rushed across the bathroom over to what looked like a cabinet door in the wall near the shower. It wasn’t a cabinet. My parents’ bathroom was located over the laundry room. And the door in the wall was a laundry chute.
When we had been kids, Shayla and I used to climb down the chute. I was older and bigger now, but I was certain I could still fit. Ripping open the door, I peered down the narrow tunnel made of wood. It was going to be a tight fit. As soon as I started to slide my body into the chute feet-first, Mr. X started ramming against the door with what I assumed was his whole body. If he kept doing that, he’d get inside in no time.
Moving as fast as I could, I continued lowering myself into the tight tunnel. I put my feet tightly against the walls of the chute to help lower me down and to keep me from falling. As soon as I was fully inside, I closed the door to the chute. Nothing could be seen but darkness. I did my best not to focus on it and started working my way down, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“Shiloh!” Mr. X roared and I froze. His stomps as he moved around the bathroom made the walls in the chute vibrate.
When they started to sound far away, I moved down some more. I was almost to the bottom when the door to the chute was ripped open.
“Shiloh!” he yelled down at me.
I only glanced up at him for a second, to see him staring down at me, before dropping down the chute the rest of the way. I fell into a basket that was sitting on top of the dryer to catch the clothes. Because the basket was too small for my body, it tipped over and I fell to the floor. I tried to catch myself with my hands. They slowed down my fall a little, but the rest of me still smacked to the ground.
Breathing heavily and starting to feel pain, I got to my feet. The first few steps I took, I limped. As I made my way out of the laundry room and into the mudroom, I tried my best to quiet my breathing.
I had two ways to get to the front door. I could go through the guest bathroom to my mom’s office or take the hall by the stairs. Stepping out of the mudroom, I turned left and cut through the Jack-and-Jill guest bathroom that led to my mom’s office. Taking the hall by the stairs would leave me too exposed.
Before I stepped out into the foyer, I leaned on the wall in my mom’s office so I could peek out. I looked up the stairs and down the hall and tried to see into the living room straight across the foyer. I didn’t see Mr. X anywhere. Silently, I stepped out of my mom’s office. With the front door in my sight, I crept toward it. I strained to listen for any sound that would give me a hint of where Mr. X was in the house. I heard nothing. Just the hum of the air-conditioning blowing through the vents.
Ten more steps until I reached the front door…nine more steps…eight more…
The wood floor creaked under the weight of my foot. My whole body tightened up as the sound echoed through the silent house. With my heart booming in my ears, I took a quick look around, bracing for him to jump out. When he didn’t, I zeroed in on the front door. It was my only hope—my only way out. I rushed the remaining distance, my pace quick and no longer quiet. I lifted my hand, reaching for my freedom.
My fingers barely brushed the doorknob when a hand grabbed me by my hair and yanked me back. I let out a loud, broken scream as my back collided with the front of Mr. X’s body.
“I can’t let you go.” His cold voice was devoid of emotion.
That made me pause. In the nick of time, I saw his knife coming up toward my throat. I caught his wrist and forearm with my hands before the knife could reach me.
He pulled my head back harder, exposing my throat. I let out a strangled grunt as I fought against his strength. His knife inched closer and closer as my arms weakened.
Think!
I took the risk of looking around, desperate to find anything that would help me. There was nothing close.
Think! What would Logan do?
I thought back to the few self-defense moves he had taught Shayla and me on our last trip to Texas. We had been at the beach. The memory of Shayla’s laughter echoed in my head; she’d pretended to stomp on Logan’s instep and dropped to the sand, squealing as she’d crawled away from him. She hadn’t taken Logan’s lesson seriously but had humored him nonetheless.
I pulled myself back to my horrific reality. With the last bit of strength I had, I pushed Mr. X’s blade back a little, then slammed my foot down on his. The moment his grunt reached my ears, I dropped to the floor, losing a good chunk of hair in the process. I refused to let the burning on my scalp slow me down. I shot back to my feet and hurried for the door.
“No!” he bellowed behind me before a searing pain sliced across my shoulder blade. Crying out, I stumbled and fell against the door. I grabbed the doorknob to keep me from falling completely to the ground. I twisted it, the door swung open, and I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin for only a breath before his arms locked around my waist. Lifted into the air, I thrashed and screamed as loud as I could, hoping anyone might hear me with the door open.
Then I was airborne.
The air was knocked from my lungs as my spine slammed against the wooden stairs. Mr. X braced himself above me by holding himself up with one hand on the step behind my head. “You are mine!” he roared in my face. Spittle hit my cheeks and his rancid breath filled my nose.
My breath hitched. Not from the smell. But from the excruciating pain that exploded in my stomach.
He had stabbed me.
His knife was buried in my stomach. Time slowed as he withdrew. His eyes were dilated, emotionless, pitch-black depths as he stared down at me. Blood clung to his black and gray stubble along his jawline and chin. “No one else can have you,” he said, sounding detached as he plunged the knife back into my stomach.
I didn’t know why I put my hands on his shoulders as he withdrew the knife again. I didn’t know why I met his eyes or why I asked him, “Don’t you love me?” I didn’t know what had possessed me to say that, but it made him pause and I could have sworn I saw regret in his eyes.
I took that as my chance to ram my knee between his legs. He made a choking noise. His hand that was holding him up gave out and he fell on top of me. Shoving him to the side, I rolled off the stairs to the floor. With a hand pressed to my bleeding abdomen, I forced myself to my feet.
