And Then She Was Gone(10)

“I can make it,” she reassured herself.

A muffled sound made her turn to the side. Not far away, along the tree line atop the hill, a darker shadow stood apart from the others—a hulking silhouette emerging from the woods.

The figure rushed toward her.

Stacy shrieked incoherently and bolted.

Her pursuer’s footsteps rang loudly off the tar behind her. They were heavy and fast. Tears blurred Stacy’s vision, but she cast one fleeting glance over her shoulder. Like a bear crashing down from a mountain, her pursuer was gaining on her fast.

The figure was still shrouded in darkness, and the only detail Stacy could make out clearly was that they wore a ski mask.

As she ran, Stacy rifled through her handbag, searching desperately for her phone. Tight bands circled her chest as she gasped for air. Her heart thumped and thrashed like an unbalanced washing machine.

Her fingers found the phone. She began to dial. But just then her heel caught on a broken edge in the paving stones, and she stumbled and pitched forward.

She would have fallen if her assailant hadn’t caught her. Long fingers seized her belt around her waist. The leather dug into her stomach as she was yanked back.

“Let me go,” she pleaded.

Hoping they were just after her money, she flung her handbag as far into the woods as she could. “Take it. Just take it!” she screamed.

Her scream turned into a guttural wail when the attacker ignored the bag and kept hold of her.

Her hands clutched at the air. She felt like she was swimming through a riptide, desperate to make it to shore.

She darted a glance at her attacker. The front of the ski mask was painted with a skull—a skull with a twisted, evil grin. She recoiled and tried to pull away.

If they don’t want money…

She fought back as hard as she could. She raised her leg and drove her heel down onto her attacker’s foot. A growl of pain emerged from beneath the mask, and the fingers grasping her belt let go.

Stacy took off.

“Help!” she cried out into the stillness of the night. But no one answered.

The light was still too far away, and there was no reason to believe mere light would protect her now. Her only chance was to lose her attacker in the darkness. So she kicked off her heels and ran off the path, the wet grass slick beneath her bare feet.

She still had her phone in her hand, and once again she tried to dial. But her attacker had recovered quickly, and now closed the distance, fast. She felt herself pushed from behind, and she pitched forward and landed hard on her chest. The phone flew from her hand and landed softly in the grass in front of her, the numbers 911 illuminated on the screen. She just needed to press the call button.

But it was too late. A hand grabbed the back of her neck. Long fingers wrapped around her belt and yanked her up.

She screamed and grabbed at the hands, but the thick fingers only tightened their grip. A muscular arm circled her waist from behind and dragged her toward the woods. Her arms thrashed, but she could only beat helplessly at the air. She kicked backward, and her foot struck flesh, but her attacker didn’t slow.

Fear turned into abject terror. “No,” she wept.

She dug her feet into the ground as she was yanked backward, trying to slow their progress. A rock sliced deep into her heel and blood flowed, but still she struggled.

Finally her attacker must have decided they were far enough from the path, as Stacy was flung roughly to the ground, face up.

“Please, no—”

The attacker’s full weight dropped down on top of her.

Something brushed against her thigh. Stacy shoved her palms into the ground and pushed up as hard as she could. “No!”

With one last burst of strength, she clawed at her attacker’s face. Grasping the ski mask, she wrenched it off.

Her eyes went wide. “You?”

A fist struck her violently. The blow cut her lip. She tried to think, but her mind fogged. “No…” she mumbled.

Then the fist struck again, and everything went black.





3





Can’t You See the Resemblance?





About ready to go out of his mind, Jack waited in the long line at the passport office. He’d been there for almost an hour, and as the line crawled forward, his patience inched downward until it was running on fumes. And now the man in front of him was chatting with the woman behind the counter as though they were old friends.

The government office looked as if someone had mashed together a bank and a deli. Speckled gray and black linoleum tiles covered the open floor. A counter divided the room in half. There were five sections where clerks could assist people, but only one window was open. Jack stood with a half dozen other people in a roped-off section that made him feel like a rat in a maze. For the hundredth time, he willed the line to move forward.